A Neg Fit For A Hottie

We haven’t talked about negs in a while. A refresher before diving to the chewy center of this post: Negs are backhanded compliments most effectively used on prettier girls as a means of temporarily jarring them from their glowing self-perception and thus raising your relative sexual market status. Negs are, succinctly, jerkboy quips that instantly disabuse women of the notion you might be the typical ass-kissing beta male.

That out of the way, I came across a joke-y chat that happened to reveal a new neg with excellent potential to create bedroom havoc. The man’s replies are on the left.

On any girl under an 8, this neg would be too rough. If you assault a plain jane with it, she’ll be hurt and lash out spitefully or gracelessly exit the conversation. But on a real babe, this is dynamite. It works because the HB8+ knows going in that men think she’s cute. So to be reminded of that – “words can’t describe how cute you are” – just confirms her working presumption that you are a garden variety beta suck-up. Then, as she’s resting in the warm confines of her validated biases and feeling impudent as a result of her rapid vaginal turtling, you crash her comfort zone with the “numbers can tho. 3/10” donkeypunchline.

BOOM, drop the sike. The hottie won’t take it all that personally because a part of her will know, or convince herself to know, that you don’t really mean it. Another part of her will wonder if you do mean it. And in between those uncertainty poles, as nervous internal laughter pacifies her princess id, her vagina will swell with the corpuscular injection of seductive ambiguity.

(If you’re wondering where to go after ‘3/10’, just change the topic to something random or qualifying of her ability to keep your attention. Her defenses are down, so you have the freedom to set the conversational agenda. Whatever you say next, DON’T backpedal from the neg, DON’T apologize, DON’T say “j/k” and for the love of all that is unholy DON’T assauge her feelings if she puts up a butthurt front. DOUBLE DOWN, and she’ll go DOWN ON THE DOUBLE.)

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The Moral Derangement Of Elizabeth Fauxcahontas Warren

Donald Trump calls the esteemed, conspicuously White, Senator from Massachusetts, Elizabeth Warren, “goofy” and “Pocahontas”, (I prefer the term of art “Fauxcahontas”), for her Deformative Action system-gaming mischief of claiming American Indian blood to land a plum job at Harvard. So she’s just another corrupt White leftoid leveraging anti-White virtue signaling for her pecuniary benefit.

She’s in the news again for staging a social media-ready, attention whoring “sit-in” in Congress to protest lack of Congressional action on stripping the 2nd Amendment of all meaning. She’s a gun control nut (aka “take all means of power from law-abiding White men” nut), among other nuttiness, and looking at photos of her and reading her Twats, the “goofy” label is apt.

However, I would go farther than Trump. Rabbit Warren is no mere goofball. She’s a sociopath. A malevolent modern era witch burner. A fucking crazy-eyed SJW psycho carrying a viral load of civilizational death. Evidence:

lol the losers in the center look like they should be picking gnats off each other https://t.co/nwXucWtjRH

— Bumbling American (@BumblingUSA) June 22, 2016

Those soulless, fanatic eyes. Let’s zoom in for a closer inspection.

Unmistakable. We’ve seen those eyes thousands of times. It’s the Charles Manson-esque look of every high-strung, SJW zealot who was ever triggered into a fire and brimstone sermon about the evils of White privilege.

Here’s the deal on these degenerate equalist freaks: once you understand that their religion is race creationism — and that any attacks on their religious belief using incontrovertible evidence to the contrary will be met with the same ear-plugging, gum-flapping storm of rage and denial and psychological projection that one will often see manifest when the strict adherents of any traditional religion are attacked — then you’ll know why sanctimoniously preaching about “gun control” is a big part of their liturgy.

The gun control (((debate))) is a classic case of negative transference. American Whites have a gun violence rate about on par with White Europe. The Rabbit Warrens know deep in their schoolmarmy, sooty hearts that blacks and Muslim migrants are disproportionate vectors of gun violence (either drive-by or mass-shooting), but they can’t abide that percolating reality. It clashes with their entire worldview. To own up to a racial reality would be to disavow their most cherished beliefs. It would be like an Evangelical renouncing Jesus or a Jew accepting Jesus. Sheer heresy.

And they can’t have that. So they transfer their cognitively demanding bad feelings about black and Muslim violence onto Whites, and most ludicrously onto lawful White men in particular, to help ease the pain of self-doubting waywardness from their religion. “Bad White man! Bad guns that White men love so much! Ahh, I’m a good Race Creationist again. I’ll still go to gated community heaven, where all signals are virtuous and all self-righteousness at the expense of BadWhites rewarded with a Godly smirk of knowingness.”

Trump, of course, is the hungry wolf who found the rabbit warren, and is busy tearing apart rabbit flesh as tufts of bloody fur fly in every direction. That’s why Elizabeth Warren looks like she escaped the funny farm recently. Trump knows, like we DGAFians of the shiv-right know, that there’s no reasoning with religious fanatics. There’s only mockery, derision, ostracism, and if things get bad enough, cleansing cruelty.

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Birthday Cat Lights Another Cooter Candle

Birthday Cat is a multi-functional Game changer, capable of flipping girls from cold to hot in an instant. Use judiciously, but never second-guess His Royal Kitty’s pedigree, because Birthday Cat has slain pussies on all social media platforms and in all courtship contexts. The latest delirious victim (somewhat NSFW):

Birthday Cat is the emoji equivalent of “lol”, “gay”, or “bring da movies“. I think he’s even better than those, because girls can’t resist a cute jerkcat.

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Trumpentroopers Trigger Faggy Manboob

A libfag (((reporter))), Jared Yates Sexton, attended a Trump rally and received a healthy dose of realtalk from shitlords who correctly identified his mincing faggotry and gleefully reminded him of it. An unintentionally uplifting documentary followed.

(I’m betting most of Sexton’s quotes are shitthatneverhappened.txt, but I hope some of it is true, because it’s funny as fuck.)

Trump event like a security state. Just watched a girl get denied for being “too alternative.”

Just got told I don’t “look right.”

Crowd chanting BUILD THAT WALL BUILD THAT WALL over operatic music.

I don’t like Hitler comparisons but that was positively like Nuremburg rally level crazy.

Lots of people yelling bitch at Clinton’s mention

Bragging that he took credentials from WA Post. Crowd yells Kill them all.

Says Obama lousy president, can’t repeat what I’m hearing in the crowd [ed: gay mulatto? :)]

Trump says “take care of our protestor, don’t huuuurt him, take him home to mommy”

Trump comparing immigrants to snakes

Calls Elizabeth Warren Pocahontas, says he was asked to apologized, will only apologize to Pocahontas. Guy next to me does a war dance [ed: LOL]

Rally ends. Crowd on way mumbling about immigrants. Vendors yelling HILLARY SUCKS BUT NOT LIKE MONICA. America. 2016. [ed: shitlords have the best humor. it’s earthy]

Just overheard: “you can’t trust Latinos. Some maybe but not most”

Suv blaring I Am A Real American, waving Trump hats and flipping off homeless and car with Mexican flag. What reality is this

This reality is the crumbling, finally!, of your idiotic equalist leftoid worldview. It hurts. Good. Someone should take you home to mommy.

If shitlibs are feeling fearful about the rise of the God Emperor, well, they’ve earned their fear.

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Shitlord Of The Week

I’ve had to upgrade the Shitlord of the Month series to Shitlord of the Week, because they’re starting to crop up in the news more frequently. This is a positive sign that a Shitlord Rebellion is a-brewing. When we hit Shitlord of the Day, the Gallows will be heavy with the swinging bodies of traitors and the Wall will gleam from Brownsville to Imperial Beach.

SOTW is owned by this huh-White man, whose shitlib-eating grin could launch a thousand brown triggerings.

Nothing drives the anti-White left and mud hordes insane like mockery. AMUSED MASTERY, in the Game parlance. Trump has it in droves, and that’s why he’s steamrolling the nation on a shoestring budget and a skeleton crew.

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Jerkboy Game Narrated In Real Time

You ever get stuck on a really awful date and wondered what to do about it? This jerklord decided the best defense is to be really offensive. With a little encouragement from his mates, he pulled out all the tricks in the Asshole’s Guide to Making Women Horny (Or Sorry They Ever Took You for a Beta Pushover). Follow the story from top to bottom, and keep an eye out in one of the videos for the exact second our ho-tagonist experiences a pleasant zap in her taco trap.

View post on imgur.com

Were you paying attention? Right after the hair tussle, she smiled a bit and a momentary look of…intrigue… swept across her face. THAT was the turning point, when she changed from uninterested rude bitch with her face in her phone to curious rude bitch with her face out of her phone and looking at this man with the minerals to do what he just did.

When a girl is this cunty on a date — literally more interested in her 6 inch phone screen than in you — there are three options available to you that at least salvage your dignity if not help you savage her vagina.

1. Call her out. This isn’t the most charming or ZFG option, but it is better than sitting there and suffering her rudeness like a chump. “Are you gonna be a rude bitch all night, or just during appetizers?” The meet-to-lay ratio on this tactic won’t be great, but the meet-to-self-respect ratio is through the roof. And some girls WILL react positively to being called the fuck out for extreme bitchitude.
2. Leave. Similar to #1, but without the risk of sounding butthurt. You just get up and go, no words exchanged, no excuses offered. Little chance of a lay with this move, but you’ll have tremendous satisfaction as you walk out knowing you left her in a state of confusion and Hillary-voting bitterness.
3. Amp the Asshole. What this guy did here. This is my preferred method, but be careful not to overdo it. Once you unleash your Inner Jerkboy, it’s hard to keep him from having the run of the place. This is because you’ll immediately notice the powerful effect it has on girls, and you’ll also notice how good it feels to let your Jerk Flag fly. It will raise your T levels and that’s a drug no man can resist mainlining.

The Beta Male option — the one 99% of men would choose in similar circumstances — is to sit there and force weak-ass supplicating banter hoping she’ll suddenly find you more interesting than her phone. Never happens, and her opinion of you (already in the basement) will dive even lower. Worse, some men will buy such a girl more drinks, figuring (wrongly) that if Resource Provider Toolbag Game isn’t working, that means she just needs more of it.

“But, CH…”, some readers will rebut, “…she left! His jerkboy game didn’t work!”

Ah, young pantywad, much to learn you have. After the fourth jerkboy prank (the feet on the table) it became clear to her that he was fucking around and not in the least considering her anymore as a romantic prospect. The key with Jerkboy Game is that a little goes a long way. The hair tussle and the fork grab were sufficient assholery to spark a nascent arousal in her. Had he then settled into a commanding frame, (instead of continuing with his asshole clown frame), and segued into a better rapport by saying something like, “now that I have your attention, we can get down to the serious business of making fun of you”, he stood a chance at making something of this date.

Not a big chance, but a better chance than what he had going in, which was nothing. A girl engrossed with her phone while on a date with you is already lost. May as well throw beta politesse to the wind and summon the Titans of Testicles to grant you the power of a thousand DGAF jerkboy warrior-poets.

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Sooo this (didn’t) happen: Adventures In Fat Chick Delusion

“I told him ‘jump on the grenade’, not ‘strap yourself to the ICBM and ride it to hell’.”

Is this a case of a rare, genuine fatty fucker feeding the belly and the ego of a blustering megabeast?

I considered this photo and the man who is part of it for submission to the next Beta of the Month contest, but three red flags have me convinced this is staged (and thus not up to the Chateau’s impeccable BOTM contest entry standards).

Before I give those clues away, try to find them yourselves.

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Ok, here’s where the porkster failed in her mission to further a credible fat acceptance agit-prop.

1. The feminist fatty hashtags are too “on the snout”. No woman, not even a bitter disguntled obesity, will oink repeatedly on Instagram about “beauty standards” and “body love” when she’s just received an engagement ring, fulfilling a fantasy that most women hold dear since girlhood. Powerful feelings of love, yes real love not “body love”, will supersede a normal fatty’s political agitation programming, and the hashtags will say instead #justengaged #lovehim #imgettingmarried etc.
2. Whenever a woman starts a thought with “So”, particularly a “so” with three “o”s, it’s a good bet whatever follows is complete bullshit. “Sooo” is the shorter version of “No, but honest-to-God…”. Liars say this a lot.
3. Finally, the dead giveaway… any fatty fucker worth his blubber-induced boner will know that his porky princess’s sausage links require the dashingly-dilated, goatse’d ring to make it past the second pig knuckle, where the fat really starts to accumulate. Look closely and you’ll see her ring propped indolently above her second finger goiter.

Conclusion: This is a gay BFF, or a brother, or a deeply respectful low-T male feminist friend, conspiring with a fatty fat to help her collect lard-warming feelz in the fake social media universe. Is it still beta? Yes. But it’s not the kind of guileless, inept betatude that normally qualifies a man for BOTM candidacy.

If I’m proven wrong, that won’t change much. A fatty who believes her stroke of luck wresting a marital promise from the equivalent of a human unicorn — the fatty fucker who isn’t also a rotund beast with no better options — means that the world is filled with men who would shower love on her if only “thin privilege” or the pastryarchy would stop “telling them” not to, is still a fatty laboring under delusions of glandular.

Every fatty — and I mean every one of them — would experience improved romantic prospects if they pushed away from the trough.

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