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Archive for the ‘Girls’ Category

Female suffrage was a big mistake, part infinity in a series.

Austria had an election recently, pitting a nationalist, immigration restrictionist patriot (Hofer) against a globalist, open borders nutjob (Van der Bellen). The vote results confirm a pattern seen all over the Western world: White women are voting in the shitlib traitors who will drown White nations in a polluted sea of third world misery.

hofermen

Men invade, women invite. Right now, White women — especially over-educated White women — have the West’s power structures by the balls, gleefully cutting them off and handing them to migrants, invaders, refugees and general admission Diversity for display in their conquerors’ trophy cases. White men have responded by… well, until the Trumpening struck fear in the hearts of the West’s enemies, throwing up their hands and retreating to pr0n, opioids, and video games.

Trump is the West’s last, best, chance to turn this thing around. If TheCunt wins, it’s GAME OVER for America as we have known her.

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A reader worthy of wielding the obsidian Chateau shiv sends a screen cap of his Tinder response to a single mom-by-choice. The lols are strong (and frequent) in this one. (Reader’s Twatter handle is @FUSigma.)

How to teach cause-and-effect to Millennial Tinderellas & impose sanctions on single mommery:

(It’s especially effective if it’s done immediately, so that the reason is obvious.)

singlemomsand

consequences

A few thoughts:

First, this reader’s Game, however little of it he revealed here, is tight. He promptly starts off with a qualifying question, to which the single-mom-by-choice eagerly feels the urge to defend her skankly honor. The quickest seductions occur when the woman is thrown back in the defensive crouch. In fact, the line “So how normal are you?” could legitimately serve as an effective, all-purpose opener. Don’t even bother with the “hi”, just stroll up and drop that hamster nuke at ground zero. It’ll get laughs from the cool, self-confident (read: thin and cute) women, and that’s practically the same as foreplay.

Second, I commend the sly follow-up leading question; not “are you divorced?” (which can trigger an offended rebuttal), but “how long have you been divorced?” This is assume-the-slut Game, and she couldn’t resist correcting his assumption.

Third, this woman is weaponized American Whore, marinated in decades of feminist cunt indoctrination. Her answer — “I’ve never been married lol” — indicates a confidence with, or an obliviousness to, how she’ll be received by men for admitting she shat out a bastard with a fly-by-night jerkboy. She thinks men will praise her. And why does she think men will praise her shitty life choices? Because she probably has experience on Tinder stringing along thirsty beta and omega pre-op Millennial males to treat her nicely and boost her ego major, in return for a fraction of the sex she lavished in one night on her sperm donor.

Fourth, notice all the “lol”s Alayna scatters throughout her banter. This is a tell-tale verbal tic that hints at the desperation and self-doubt lurking underneath her tough skank facade. Insincere LOLs are an attempt to coax intimacy, and a conversational bonding, that doesn’t yet exist. Beta males do it all the time (which is why  they fail). The scattershot LOL is also a ploy to distract someone from keying in on the LOLyer’s personal flaws (which in this case is the single mommery and Samsonite sprog).

Finally, my opinion is that the best message shiv to deliver single moms-by-choice is the pump-and-dump. Leading her on to get what you want out of her — a quick and dirty no muss no fuss lay while avoiding tripping over her kid’s toys on the way to the bedroom, and then ghosting — will leave bloodier stigmata on her soul than the curt “Unmatch”. The problem is that very few men can pull off this cold-hearted maneuver without getting physiologically attached to the pussy and returning repeatedly to that over-used well, because very few men are alpha males accustomed to living with the knowledge of endless sexual market options. Therefore, an alternative special lesson to teach the feminist-brainwashed squadrons of stupidly proud single moms is what FUSigma did here: the rhetorical pump-and-dump.

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I experienced two unfolding events in one day recently that imo are microcosms of the American sexual market.

Scene 1:

A car was pulling out of a parking garage and for a second the driver didn’t notice a woman pedestrian walking in front of his car until his bumper was almost at her knees. He braked about a foot short of grazing her. She whirled around and, flush-faced, yelled at him to watch what he was doing. He gave the universal non-verbal cue of culpability for a driver misstep — shoulder shrug, head dip, and hands up palms facing outward — but this wasn’t enough penitence for her, and she slapped the hood of his car while yelling ‘fuck you’.

This was an outburst too far. The driver, a pudgeball-faced White dude, rolled his window down a little to yell back ‘hey don’t hit my car you crazy bitch’. The woman, a White, manjawed 30-something who if looks are anything to go by was not ((())), had stomped ten feet away from the car, cursing like a drunk sailor the whole time as families with little kids strolled near. The driver’s impudence reignited her rage, and she whisked around once more to launch into him, a fusillade of “fucking dick”s flying from her piehole.

Then, amazingly, she PUT UP HER DUKES and challenged the man to fight her. AN ADULT MAN. “Why don’t you get out of that car and say that to my face, fucking ASSHOLE”, or words to that effect. Her bony cheeks had deepened to a burgundy hue and she was rocking back and forth on her post-workout sneakers, ready to Amazon Prime drone those hands. She looked every bit the crazy bitch the driver called her. Much screaming and breast-thumping later, coupled with the growing risk she would try to kick out his car’s headlamps, the driver rolled up his window, flipped her the bird, and zoomed off, a final victorious BITCH carrying on his exhaust fumes.

She seethed and as I walked farther away from the scene of the gine I could hear her F bombs reverberating down the street. I remember thinking, ‘that bitch has more testosterone than half the men I know’.

Scene #2:

Not more than a few blocks from aggrocunthighTgirl, I had an opportunity to uncrinkle the lingering disgust etched on my face from bearing witness to a manjawed psychoplath chimping out like a ghetto thug. Turning a corner, I found myself walking behind a vision in a powder blue felt sundress that stopped just below the cutaneous crease demarcating ass from leg, the kind of dress that clings softly to the skin, dipping into valleys where erogenous splits in womanly flesh funnel to downy furrows. The bottom of the dress imitated a lily-lipped bell, which amplified its impact on my horny level, and my thoughts drifted to a stiff breeze catching the parabolic fabric in an upward draft, revealing the snapper clapper inside.

From her tiny, thin waist bobbled a magnificently round ass, and her tits must have been spectacular because I caught a corona of side boob from the back. I tried not to look directly at it, using a mirror instead. She was tall and shapely, a hot rod of pure hourglass humdingery, wavy flaxen hair running riot over her entire back, framed by bare arms of the most delectable peaches and cream hue. I walked closer, thinking this was a va va vooman I had to impose my will upon, or at least had to see if her face was as inspiring as her body.

I wouldn’t have to bother. She heard a voice calling her name and turned toward the direction of its origination, which came from behind me, thus giving me a full view of her otherworldly visage…..

which, by my calculation, was the face of a 14 year old girl.

loleen

The discovery did nothing to thwart my emerging boner, but it did give me a bit of a queasy feeling somewhere nestled in the higher cognition modules of my brain.

The voice belonged to her cow mother, who shambled to her daughter’s side and took her arm, French-style, and they walked quickly away in another direction. I saw no father with them.

Two vagnettes, in my mind, so emblematic of our liberated sexual market. A pugilist city spinster with a man-hating chip on her Crossfit-carved shoulder, and a sexpot teenager whose mother had probably paid for the sexy clothes that would make her daughter look like a much older sophisticated slut.

Woman living vicariously through man, mother living vicariously through daughter. I living vicariously through myself. Pepe strokes his green chin knowingly.

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It’s generally advisable to avoid ever apologizing for any infraction of social or courtship etiquette — particularly if the rules of the etiquette which would constrain you were established by your enemies — if it’s women’s hearts you want to hoard (and men’s loyalty you want to mobilize). However, even alphas with unimpeachable state control occasionally must pay tribute to the strategic, if half-assed, mea culpa. Along the serpentine path to incredible power, extreme circumstances will present which vociferously demand at least a feint in the direction of quasi-apology.

Which is why I give a pass to Trump for his “apology” to Megyn Kelly. (The sneer quotes are very apt, you’ll soon see.)

A reader forwarded this video clip from the interview between Megyn “blood coming out of her wherever” Kelly and Donald God Emperor Trump. She has cornered him into explaining his multiple “retweets” of various tweets that contained references to her, Megyn, as a bimbo. Watch and learn from a Master Charismatic how to say “my bad” like a badboy rogue.

GREAT example of Trump’s charisma in the exchange from 6:12 – 6:25 from interview w/ crazy Megyn.

When a woman wants an apology, don’t give it to her. If she craves it and NEEDS it, give her a simulacrum of an apology, and deliver it with a cheeky grin. Which is what Trump did here. And, unsurprisingly, Megyn’s mile-wide smile right after that charming BROADside testified to the effectiveness of Trump’s coy concession.

By way of making a stark alpha male-beta male comparison, try to imagine ¡Jeb! Bush in the same situation. (Suspend your disbelief for this flight of fancy.) Megyn has put the pressure on Jeb to account for his retweets of Jeb fans referring to her as a bimbo. How do you think Jeb would have replied?

Megyn: “You retweet…bimbo.”

Yeb: “Did I say that?”

Megyn: “Many times.”

Yeb: “I am really sorry. That’s not who I am. It was the heat of the moment, and I got carried away. Geez, my wife — and let me remind everyone how much I respect and love my wife, she’s my hero — my wife would never tolerate such abusive misogynistic language, and she’d never let me hear the end of it if I did anything that looked like I might be approving of it, even if someone else said it……..”

Megyno: *no smile, vagina snapped shut tighter than a clam at low tide, resentment welling* “You sicken me, chauvinist pig.”

***

Update: A readers points out another fine example of Trump’s tight Game in his interview with Megyn.

At 6.35 Trump says, “You’ve had a life that’s not been that easy”

How perfect is this? If you told a woman she had an easy life she’d take it as patronizing; if you told a woman she had a hard life she’d think you were saying she was from the ghetto.

you’ve had a life that’s not been that easy

Look at her face after that! The alpha knows when to misdirect and make it about her again so she can do what women do best at: talk about themselves.

Ambiguity, backhanded compliments (negs), frame control…. these are the tactics of the successful seducer.

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Tattoos are everywhere. I believe more women than men now sport the under-skin ink. While I personally am not put off that much by small, inconspicuous tats on attractive women, what I see parading around lately are women who have disfigured themselves under sheets of blotchy doodles. Why? Why would women — particularly White women whose alabaster skin is a bucket of boner bait no other race of women can simulate — deliberately uglify themselves? Worse, deliberately advertise their sluttiness? (Tattoos are a major slut tell.)

Reader Ang Aamer offers a possible explanation, and it relates to the rapid browning of America,

White girls getting numerous tattoos always struck me as the girls trying to look more like their less white boyfriends. Almost maiming the beauty to fit in more.

I would bet the 40 year old does not feel that she can have any control over her daughter. Because she remembers when she was that age and that she herself was uncontrollable.

Which is why you don’t control the behavior of your offspring you control the environment. If daughter were brought up in an area where South Americans were rare she might hook up with a white bad boy and at least have a daughter with better looks to perhaps break the cycle… Blue eyes could do that. Or even better live in an area without public transportation so the not-whites can’t make it out to court your white daughter … but that’s me.

I will say this pointedly to any fathers out there. Go to your daughter’s school and LOOK at the student body. That is the gene pool of your potential Grandchildren. It takes like 2 minutes to go to the local high school website and look at the graduating class picture. COUNT the colors and do the math. If there is a high probability of you getting a diversity package delivered by the Stork… MOVE.

Reader PA adds,

The rare high-end mudsharks (ones who consort with Talented Tenth or high functioning coloreds and remain members of White society), generally keep normal grooming habits.

The much more common low-end mixers, ones who assimilate into the male’s usually ghetto society, will NEVER keep their hair long and pretty.

Even if in many cases that’s their sole physically attractive feature. It’s usually the Mudshark Facelift, with hair pulled up tight to a bun on top of her head.

As I figure, they do that to avoid antagonizing the black females they socialize with. Also, it’s slovenliness — laziness about grooming — which is congruent with their other defects of character.

But I hadn’t considered your more transcendent point about self-maiming before.

Tattoos in the current year could be seen as a sort of “maimgeld”: the tribute that White women pay in self-disfigurement to a growing Diversitopia they live in that both covets the White women’s exquisite natural looks and hates it to the verge of eliminationist rage. So all these negative body modifications by Whites could be construed as an effort to blend invisibly into the muddying waters of late stage America.

Self-maiming (to alleviate the envy felt by the lesser races of women) and slut signaling (to attract the attention of alpha males on the prowl for easy r-selected sex) are the two big subconscious reasons tattoos have become such a cultural marker for White women.

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Recall the aphorism, “Men invade, women invite“. I wrote not too long ago that Western White women are at the forefront of pushing open borders multikult annihilation.

Now, reader Passerby forwards a study (with commentary) which provides evidence of a deeply rooted, evolved sex-based psychological underpinning for women’s generally higher rate of enthusiasm for welcoming the mud world onto historically White shores.

Circle of Friends (women) or Members of a Group (men)? Sex Differences in Relational and Collective Attachment to Groups

http://gpi.sagepub.com/content/6/3/251.full.pdf

http://gpi.sagepub.com/content/8/2/159.full.pdf

In two studies, findings showed that the extent to which a woman was relationally attached (i.e. felt close to the other members of her group) was sufficient to explain the group’s importance to her. In contrast, men’s ratings of group importance depended upon the extent of both relational and collective attachment (i.e.attached to the group identity).

Men perceive the bigger picture. Women primarily perceive their feelz. Which isn’t necessarily a bad thing… until the scope of women’s influence extends beyond their immediate childcare-recruiting social group to the scale of a nation, with all that entails (e.g., border control).

One interesting consequence of women’s lack of interest in a group’s collective identity is that it may lead to important sex differences in group-related outcomes. For example, if women value a group based only on their attachment to individual members of that group, then their group membership may be less stable than men’s. Prentice et al. (1994) suggest that groups with strong common identity attachments may last longer because their existence is less contingent on good relations between current group members. It is possible that this extends to individual group membership as well. The importance that men place on a group’s identity may result in greater longevity and stability in the face of changing group membership. If common bonds dissolve, men may remain in a group for its sense of common identity, whereas the group would lose all value for women.

What is the practical meaning of this? Women care mostly about close people, their “circle” , and not about larger groups based on common identity. If her lover is from another group, then she will (most likely) no longer care about her original group (her ethnicity).

Women are more trusting of foreigners and friends who are not from their ethnicity. In contrast, men are less trusting of foreigners and friends who are not from their ethnicity.
Among children and adolescents, female play-groups tend to emphasize interpersonal interactions (relatives, friends), while male play-groups emphasize teams and large groups (tribes).

Basically, women are loyal only to close people who directly benefit them. Men, in comparison, are also loyal to people with common identity (their own tribe).

Loyalty is a mostly alien concept to women. They JUST DON’T GET IT.

Thus, we can expect any ethnic group with large female influence and female leadership to self destroy, as the female leadership will not care about preserving their own ethnicity or group cohesion, leading to the feminised group opening their borders, accepting anyone in, and eventually becoming a minority in their own country.

Mutter Merkel is a childless spinster. That alone should have disqualified her from running a country.

This could also be observed in the real world. All currently feminised groups have open borders policies and are becoming minorities in their own countries. Sweden, the most feminised country on the planet, took more refugees per capita than anyone else. In contrast, less feminised ethnic groups (Eastern Europeans, Muslims, Israeli Jews, East Asians) have closed borders and are more openly nationalist and xenophobic.

Like I’ve written before, feminization of culture and politics can be beneficial to the stability of a nation when it’s exploited during high T times to mitigate the worst excesses of rugged, expansionist, lassez faire, free-for-all masculinity. But those times are rare and brief. When societal feminization hits an inflection point of weepy vaginatude, and establishes itself deep into every institution’s nook and cranny, the result is Death of the Nation… invasion by migrant foreigners, gibsmedats are far as the eye can see, and glorification of the feminine vices at the expense of the masculine virtues.

The results of this study are interesting in that they somewhat contradict tangential studies of the online dating market which have found that women, especially White women, prefer to date same-race men. In fact, White women, if those OKCupid data analyses are to be believed, are the most racist group of prospective daters.

Maybe these conflicting findings can be reconciled by understanding that online dating market environments like OKCupid are evolutionarily atypical, aridly calculating simulacra of the real world contexts in which women sift through potential mates. Online, women have to fill in profile information explicitly asking for mate preferences, but in the hustle and bustle of the meat market women are buffeted by an extraordinary array of male mate value signals (Game) that affect their choices.

Online, a White woman, given time to mull it over in her head, will state a preference for White men, but offline (aka 99.99999999999999% of the time in which human interaction evolved) her choices will be susceptible to the frothy currents of social spindrift, and in that environment she’ll choose whichever intimate relations — native or migrant — best satisfy her immediate needs.

PS Women’s differently evolved group cohesion strategy partly explains why White wives vote more like their Republican husbands than like their Democrat single lady friends. Once married, a woman’s husband is her MOST INTIMATE relation, which means she will adopt her husband’s views as her own as her prime feminine directive subconsciously instructs her to do.

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cheating-man-bustedThere comes a time in a man’s life (or a few hundred times) when the sum total of his gathered experiences with women and the wisdom he gained from them is called upon to help him out of a pinch. The pinch I refer to is when a woman accuses you of sneaking around on the side. There are only three things that drain the blood faster from a man’s face than the thought of erectile dysfunction:

  1. When your wife serves you divorce papers.
  2. When you catch your woman fooling around with another man.
  3. When your woman busts you for cheating.

The first two haven’t happened to me, but the last one has… multiple times. And from those trials by ovarian fire I have learned a few valuable lessons. I’m here to tell you what to do — or, more precisely, what *not* to do — when your girl jabs the infidelity finger of accusation in your face.

I’ll illustrate how NOT to handle a suspicious girlfriend with a fairly recent example from my own life (about two years ago). I was three months into a torrid fling with a pretty cable TV station producer whose sexual appetite rivaled the libidos of the horniest girls in the world — the Russians. She left streaks of black fingernail polish on my shower tiles, which I did not clean off for months as a tribute to her voracious vagina.

As with most sexual dynamos, she was a Class A attention whore. There are pics of her scattered all over the social media pooniverse of her (literally) dancing on bars and hipster supplicants licking her stockinged calves. She is now a grad student, still childless. One Friday evening, we were having ice cream and she asked me to join her later at a fashion show her friends were putting on. I said maybe and offered a go-to excuse about a friend coming to town, because little did TV producer girl know I hadn’t broken up with the serious girlfriend I had been dating for a year (the serious gf didn’t know about the fling) and I had made tentative plans to see her that night. The option to blow off my loving girlfriend was not available, as her and I were at a critical juncture where any more asshole behavior on my part (such as not seeing her on a Friday night) would’ve caused her to dump me to avoid further pain. I wished not for that gravy train to end.

Later that night, as I post-coitally lounged in my girlfriend’s bed, the TV producer texted me asking if I was coming to meet her. I didn’t respond. I wanted to see her, but the logistics were horrible. (Try escaping an intimacy-shrouded bed to see another woman without rousing suspicions. Not that easy while the oxytocin is flowing freely.) I was stuck.

The sexpot fling texted me the next day asking to meet her at a local bar later that night. Hoping for another brain frying bang, I happily met up with her. The curse of Admiral Akhbar was upon me. It was a trap. As soon as I sat down on the stool beside her, the conversation assumed an ominous tone:

HER: So why didn’t you come join me last night?

ME: Oh, I had some things come up. A buddy is leaving town and I wanted to see him before he left.

HER: What’s his name?

ME: [I hesitated for that critical split second when a girl can figure something is up] Um… Bobby.

HER: Where did you meet him?

ME: [X] street.

HER: I thought you told me your friend was coming to town?

ME: Um, oh yeah, well he was coming, but then leaving, so I wanted to catch up with him.

HER: [long pause, staring intensely into my eyes] Your story’s not consistent. What girl were you with last night?

Why did she suddenly sound like a goddamn lawyercunt?

ME: What?

HER: Why don’t you tell me who you were really with last night.

As suddenly as a tropical squall, her face hardened into a sheet of ice. The love had vanished. For some inexplicable reason, I decided a mid-course change in my story was acceptable. (It never is. Stick to your lie like it’s the 11th Commandment.)

ME: Look, I don’t like talking about this shit in my life, but my ex-girlfriend is going through a tough time and she needed me. [I was hoping to gain points for being compassionate. What a fool I was.] If I didn’t go see her, she might’ve freaked out.

HER: I don’t date cheaters. Or liars. I’m leaving town soon. It was nice knowing you.

Although I tried to smooth the waters, I did not get a bon voyage bang.

Some of you will be able to figure out where I went wrong. Pretty much everywhere. The above vignette is a textbook example of how to bungle the handling of a girl accusing you of cheating. I had violated my own rules for dealing with women.

  • I prevaricated, weakly.
  • I attempted a salvage operation.
  • I played right into her frame.
  • I confessed.

These four bullet points are everything you need to know about what NOT to do when accused by a girlfriend/wife/fling of spreading your man manna. You will want to do the exact opposite of what I did. Namely:

  • Don’t prevaricate.
  • Don’t backpedal or appease.
  • Reframe.
  • Deny deny deny!

Let’s illustrate how to properly handle the above scenario by changing the words I say.

HER: So why didn’t you come join me last night?

ME: I had some personal issues to take care or.

HER: What issues?

ME: It’s personal and nothing to do with you.

HER: Did you meet a girl?

ME: Would you like my bank account number while you’re at it, Inspector Clouseau?

HER: If you’re fucking around with someone else I want to know.

ME: No.

HER: Why don’t you tell me who you were really with last night.

ME: Heidi Klum and Scarlett Johansson. We fucked like rabbits. I had to kick them out. Clingy bitches.

HER: I don’t date cheaters. Or liars.

ME: I don’t date distrustful girls.

Now there’s no way to know if this would’ve resulted in the bang bus rolling on, but I believe the readers will agree that the odds of retaining the sexpot’s services would have been much higher had I handled it as in the second imagined scenario.

So, to recap:

When accused of cheating:

  1. Pause before answering.
  2. Speak directly. Don’t hem and haw.
  3. Look her in the eyes. Remember, every moment with a girl is a staring contest which you must win.
  4. Don’t appease. Appeasement is the great pussy desiccator.
  5. Don’t fall into her frame. Reframing is king!
  6. And, finally, deny like the sociopath you are. No matter how damning the evidence (she could walk in on you with your cock up to the hilt in strange pussy) if you keep a straight face and firmly deny everything she will rationalize a way to believe you. Yes, even the smart childless ones with multiple grad school degrees.

If you’re gonna play the man’s game, you had best know how to rig the rules in your favor.

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