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Archive for the ‘Girls’ Category

“But I’m ALL Milhouse!”

Sorry, Milhouse, chicks don’t really want niceguys. They want jerks they can pretend are niceguys underneath. Allow me to introduce you to the female rationalization hamster:

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Reader mendo earned himself an honorary Chateau post with this gem of a comment in which he explains his “beauty-boning correlation” categories of varying intimacy.

Reminds me of a recent categorization I’ve been developing in regards to rating a women’s face.

Beautiful–making out whilst boning her

Pretty–looking at her whilst boning

Okay–looking at the boning

It’s hardcore cuz it’s true.

Okay-looking chicks get the “straight to doggy style” treatment and a denouement hastened by staring intently at the insertion point. Pretty chicks get missionary and eye contact, and a perfunctory effort to engage the cum-stumping kegels. Beautiful babes get a marathon lovemaking session afforded by a pre-date rub-out to take the edge off, deep passionate kissing, eye contact so profound that the iris juices commingle, and intimacy that makes it feel like you’re jizzing straight into her heart.

Related: Hotter women = better sex. And SCIENCE! agrees.

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Reader Gas Mask parodied (aka improved the veracity of) a dating app advertisement featured on the Goodbye, America blog. The original ad:

And Gas Mask’s pitch perfect parody:

The blue city dating scene is now filled with these over-credentialed yet airheaded yoga-pants’ed “spiritual but not religious” aging beauties regurgitating platitudes and catchwords so vapid they could only be cynically interpreted as misdirection from what these women really want: the destruction of everything their White men built for them.

The luxury of this vacuous virtue signaling that characterizes the societal output of our shared single White woman problem will be like muff dust in the wind once the money, and the White man self-effacing indulgence, runs out. That day is coming sooner than our entrenched globohomo elites know.

My favorite comments from that Goodbye, America post:

Finally, a dating site for women who want geldings or gays.
-Alex the Goon

It is no doubt a tired story. Attractive white woman in yoga pants making “friends” with the locals. Some of them are living that life, and it’s largely paid for by a cuck white man. If it isn’t, and she is still sexy enough, those trips to Dubai are for making friendly with the buttholes of royalty while he takes a dump on her head. But, hey, culture, right?
-James ashleh

Its all about the image and self absorption. Nothing else matters.

It would never even occur to them there that this might be what they’re all about. But they are.
-Cecil Henry

And just what, exactly, is “personal growth”? Growth can be measured. Can any of these self-absorbed broads give me a concise explanation as to how they measure personal growth? Please quantify it for me.
-KGB

Quantification class is hard.

I can stroke the fragile egos of self-contextualizing globalist girls with the best of amoral womanizers, and if the poon is what you want I suggest you do the same. Needlessly antagonizing globowhores by calling them out on their vapidity isn’t good pickup policy. But if you intend to stay with one of these space cadettes, you’ll need to set ground rules early: No poopytalk, no “after hours” with their yogi/cocaine dealer, and no solo travel to chocolate paradises.

The Inspired Woman is the Self-Centered Woman. She’s inspired to tell the world (and jealous girlfriends) about all the globohomo consumerist bullshit and Pedowood-approved moral posturing that inspires her. If women wonder why men can’t be counted on to treat them like princesses anymore, well maybe it’s because these women already treat themselves like princesses and men have decided their pedestal services are no longer needed.

PS There’s one category of inspiration missing from the original meetmindful self-mindfuck: children. As GBFM would say, “lzzllol DOWN WITH THE PATRIARCHY UP WITH MY PATREONARCHY lzzllolzzzl”.

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I’ve resisted turning this blog into a gossip mill, but a juicy titbit hurtled across my wired tin can that I feel impelled to comment on, if for no other reason than that it devilishly and deviously exploits anti-pozz alt-icons to corroborate timeless Chateau maxims. (In this case, “chicks dig jerks“.)

ie it’s all about my ravenous ego.

I won’t mention names, but I’m sure some readers will be able to identify the players without much trouble. Word between the sheets is that a well-known alt-right ladyhawke, a pretty petticoat by any man’s standard, had some kind of illicit romance with physiognomically-approved Based Stickman, the scofflaw 40 year old husband of a waifu and father of an Elliot Rodger who is a hero to the alt-right for bashing antifa skulls in Berkeley and beyond, (ps I approve of his actions as well, though my affiliation with the alt-anything is shall we say, peripheral).

It’s only a rumor, so take it with a dose of skepticism, but it’s a rumor that 4chan maultistes fueled when they found a photo of the smitten minx wearing the morning-after sweater of the smiting sphinx.

Moral of the story: Chicks dig jerks. All kinds of chicks. Left chicks. Right chicks. Indie chicks. Feminist chicks. Fat chicks. Skinny chicks. Lovely chicks. Lovelorn chicks. And yes, alt-right chicks.

Chicks can’t resist that charming jerkboy waving the stick of war over his head and hitting his main squeeze up for tens of thousands in bail money. I say this with no disrespect, only observational wryness. The Based Stickmen of the world get primo pussy, while niceguys who never broke a rule in their lives….don’t.

There is only One greater than the God Emperor and his minions, and His name is the God of Biomechanics. PieceBUH.

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A natural red-head early 20s girl in a summer dress riding a bike on a warm spring day as a gust of wind catches the hem and lifts it just enough to glimpse sheer pink panties caressing a smoothly perfect ass cheek. Praise Cleft.

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A thought occurred to me while noticing a boy-hipped, broad-shouldered manjaw crank out a 10-rep set of man-pushups at the gym without breaking a sweat. She wasn’t half-bad in the facial area, and her body, despite its cylindricality, was thin and taut. Her lunge-carved ass broke the straight line of her figure, supplying just enough rolling landscape to keep her out of the “guess what, you’re an arab banging a prepubescent boy!” zone.

These masculinized tankgrrls are all over the big blue urban sexopolises. Their creation as a distinct subspecies of human female could have both endogenous and exogenous causes: endocrine disruption e.g. in our plastics and Pills, or sexual selection increasing their numbers in the genpop. (Sexual selection could happen genetically over a few generations by reproductive skew, or culturally by encouraging low E/high T women to go even lower E/higher T in the gym, at the office, and on the marathon circuit.)

My thought was this: now that America has had to wheeze under fifty years of obesity — and given that fatness is a bigger SMV hit for women than it is for men — maybe masculinized females are becoming sought after by men simply because masculinization protects against obesity. It’s fairly well-known by researchers that testosterone inhibits fat gain and accelerates fat loss. Female obesity is SO FUCKING REPULSIVE to the vast majority of (White & Asian) men that men may be making subconscious mate choice calculations favoring masculine women and their slender, if pre-teen tubular, bodies.

A woman with jacked T is less likely to be fat, and that could mean all the difference in our fulsome Fatopia. Masculine women are a social and male mate choice response to a food and globohomoist environment that punishes curvy feminine women. Our iPhags and iFoods have killed off our Marilyn Monroes (men hardest hit).

This is a sad state of affairs, but perfectly understandable that men would rather bang a curve-less fuck piston than suffocate in the fat folds of a flabberwocky. Given free choice, and a healthy female SMV sexual market, men would choose slender, hourglass-shaped, feminine women who could never be mistaken for men. But we don’t live in that healthy sexual market; we live in a technocarb horror spun by a girthful incubus. In this nightmare, the large swath of sub-alpha American men are increasingly offered only two choices of woman: a fatty, or a mandibular muscleslut barking into her phone at subordinates as her womb turns inhospitable to sperm and egg alike.

Bang a boyische twat or a fat blob? For many men, the shrill sergeant wins that contest.

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If you come at the Queen, you best not miss.

Details.

A private friendzoning is a punch to the nuts, but a public friendzoning….well that’s just a drawing and quartering of a man’s soul. Unnecessary cruelty.

A day-spa visit to the Chateau imbibing the lessons herein could’ve saved this man such a public humiliation. Not to mention spared him the time and energy he’s obviously wasted chasing a phantom pussy.

Remember the patented CH Jumbotron Test?

Every text or email or recordable instance of conversation [or attempted lip-kiss] you have with a girl must follow this simple rule:

If it were given a public airing, let’s say on a blog or a sports stadium jumbotron, you should feel comfortable with what you have written [or executed] for the world to see.  You should not feel an urge to wince, because it will be clear to everyone reading [or watching] it how alpha you are.  If the thought of someone other than you and your girl reading [or watching] your permanently archived romantic exchanges makes you cringe with embarrassment, then you are doing something wrong that will eventually lead to your girl dumping you [or publicly thwarting your romantic yearning].

This fledgling womanizer at the Rockets game failed the Jumbotron Test in the most cringeworthy way imaginable.

A word of advice to the men assembled: When the kiss cam swings your way, jerk your ice cream cone away from the girl you’re with. That’s far more likely to win over a woman’s lust than taking advantage of the moment like a weaselly beta male to steal a kiss that you can’t be sure will be reciprocated (many such cases).

Don’t try to kiss a girl in the public eye, unless you know she’ll return the ardor. The alpha male first kisses a woman’s id before aiming for her lips. The beta male gets it backwards: estranged from a woman’s id, he tries to access it by sneaking in an opportunistic kiss on her lips. Naturally, she turns the cheek to him for assuming her heart would follow his kiss, and secretly relishes the cruelty she inflicted on her hapless blue balled orbiter.

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