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Archive for the ‘Girls’ Category

There are myriad sex differences — physical, emotional, mental, temperamental, and psychological — that anyone of sane mind unblemished by equalist propaganda can observe permeating every aspect of daily life in which men and women interact. But maybe the most pervasive, immutable, and encompassing sex difference is…penmanship. Johnny Redux writes,

I always have found one very fascinating difference between males and females, which can only be explained by brain behavior – pretty much 90% of the time, you can tell the difference between male and female handwriting. That shows how the brain actually behaves and interprets things, when pen is put to paper. It covers all educational levels, and all professions. I am not concerned with primate writing, so I can only speak on what I have seen of my race.

So true, and the Chateau covered this topic a while ago in this post. Cursive summary: the more biologically and irretrievably feminine the woman (according to digit ratio and personality assessment), the more feminine the handwriting. The God of Biomechanics is a prankster who likes to mock our cherished moral aspirations with the flick of a pen.

So if you’re dating a girl who still owns a pen and writes her d’s and p’s with bloated, pregnant relish and tops her i’s with hearts, wife that bitch up.

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An insightful comment by JD (John Derbyshire?) over at the Goodbye, America photojournal, speculating about the reason why so many women, particularly White women, glom onto Freak Acceptance.

Female consumers have perceived weaknesses. “Am I gonna be a good mom? Time to worry… rev up the rationalization hamster”. Female consumer watches freak females “redefining” motherhood on YouTube or Ellen. “If these freaks can cover up their weakness in public then so can I! All I have to do is subscribe to this new idea/emotion of freak motherhood and I can protect my pride, cuz lol, I’ll be a way better mother than some freak in a dress. Hmm maybe the best way to get out this new message of redefining motherhood is through supporting Dove so they can spread this message…”.

Globalization — aka worldwide SCALE — has hijacked the female instincts to conformism, social inclusion, and hypergamous status competition, resulting in multivariate, multinational ad campaigns that push women’s id-buttons as effectively as they push product. JD has identified one of those female instincts: a desire for high social status through approved mothering. It’s an instinct which is a strength in small-scale Dunbar-delineated contexts, but a glaring weakness in large-scale media-driven social organizations that, thanks to the full spectrum infiltration of social media and TV, means your average American mom can compare her mom-cred to moms halfway across the globe and all the way across the threshold of human degeneracy.

This was unheard of for all of human history up until the last couple of generations. That’s gotta have unforeseen consequences, which can already be seen by those not yet succumbed to soyification.

American moms are getting hit by mixed social status pinging messages — they wither with the comparison to glam-moms or humblebragging Faceborg-moms, but cheer up when some cross-dressing man-titted mistake of nature pumped up with a cocktail of bovine growth hormones is glorified by Globohomo, Inc. as an equally plausible representative of good mothering. The Real Moms know in their bones that the Fake Moms are degenerate losers, so the agitprop tranny clown show helps feed the egos of the Real Moms.

PS Speaking of Derb, he has a good article at Unz about the reality of voter fraud in America, and what it portends for the Anglo-Saxon foundation of the Law. (Answer: it portends nothing good, because non-Anglos in specific and non-Westerners in general simply don’t share the same faith and instinctual affinity for the English system of law. As Triggering E puts it,

WEIRDO societies require WEIRDOs to make them work. The less WEIRDO a society becomes, the more being a WEIRDO–characterized by high social trust, reciprocity, political compromise, generosity to those in need, isonomy, etc–switches from being an advantage to being a disadvantage. Social trust declines, reciprocity disappears, political compromise is replaced by a winner-take-all ethnic spoils system, generosity is exploited to the point that it is seen as an entitlement, and the legal system gets hijacked by racial grievance concepts like “social justice”. It’s a vicious circle.

A vicious, tightening noose around the neck of the Anglosphere.

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Bless her White Thrower heart (it’s in the right place), this girl shows what happens when women try to do a man’s job: Bigly kickback that knocks her small frame off-balance and sends the powered-up candlelight vigil shooting in every direction (hypothetically in the faces of friendlies).

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Nonlinear Seduction

Vagnette #1:

A past girlfling back in town had spotted me and flounced over to say hello.

HER: “Heeeeey, [Lucifer’s Third Leg], it’s been a while.”

ME: “It has! Heeeeey back atcha.”

HER: “What’ve you been up to?”

ME: “Oh just doing my thing.”

HER: “Your thing? What thing is that?”

ME: “Ah you know, all the things. This and that. Mostly that. I prefer that over this.”

HER: “Hm, you’re still as silly as ever,” she said as her eyes glowed with event horizon gravitingle pull.

We talked more, and she departed with a smile and a promise to MEAT again.

***

Vagnette #2:

A ladyfriend and I were sidewalking when we noticed what possibly may have been a self-driving all-electric test vehicle parked at the curb.

HER: “Check out that car! Pretty cool huh?”

ME: “I dunno. Will it take me to paradise?”

HER: *shoulder punch followed by penis grab*

In the realm of seduction — which is any realm that a man is alone with a woman and he isn’t a sniveling beta orbiter enabling her emotional vampirism — logic and reason won’t work on women. Oh sure women can sufficiently mimic the cadences of logic and reason, and even summon a convincing simulacrum of interest in the worlds of logic and reason when circumstances demand, but it’s not what juices women’s genderpulp. What women want is nonlinearity. Unpredictability. Surprize bantzsex. Cleverness. Or even silliness.

Anything but what they EXPECT the typical beta boob to say to them.

Beta male conversations with attractive women are like the weather. Everyone talks about it, no one says anything interesting. “How about this weather we’re having?” “Yeah, it’s been so nice.” Weatherjive is a fine lube for polite social interaction (I’M NOT A DANGER I TALK ABOUT THE WEATHER) but it’s horrible for lubing sexual tension. The unexpected  — “WEATHER IS FOR PLEBS” — is undiluted snapper stimulant. When you knock a woman off her daily script, her vagina explodes like a CIA-sponsored Syrian barrel bomb.

Logic and reason create civilizations, but destroy vaginations. The evo sike dudes would say that the freewheeling, devil-may-ZFG, out-of-cleft-field, flirty tangents that demarcate charming jerkboys from boring betas are an evolved preference in women to help them discriminate in favor of men who would have the cognitive horsepower to gather ARE RESOURCES when the gathering is tough. Perhaps long ago, that nonlinearly seductive man was equally adept at conniving stuff from other men as he was at stuffing gines.

Game lesson: Don’t sweat your conversations with women. Let it fly. You might say something stupid occasionally, but at least you won’t be a bore. And the hottest chicks hate nothing more than a man who bores them.

Chicks HATE HATE HATE boring men.
Worse than they hate unemployed bums.
Worse than they hate pygmales.
Worse than they hate nümales.
Worse than they hate neomaxizimdweebmales.

Don’t be boring and predictable and you’ll discover women expectantly hanging on your next word. Follow-ups to opening lines become much easier, and convos flow much smoother, when the girl can’t call your next move.

Studiously avoid self-entrapment in the world of “point A-to-point B” sanity. This is the world of women you’re in now, so check your sanity at the door and climb on the ride that is wild.

CH Maxim #14: KEEP HER GUESSING, KEEP HER GEYSERING

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I once dated a hot little minx who was the spitting image of this chick.

In a slinky dress and made up, she would turn heads. Beautiful face, curvy hourglass figure, long legs, pert tits. Men AND women would check her out (former with lust, latter with envy and curiosity and proxy attraction for the CH with her) when we were out together.

But there was a problem. She was an illusionist hottie. Back home, clothes off, her body betrayed a surprising patchwork of unsightly flaws; thigh and ass dimples, creeping cottage cheese, an incipient fupa, and blotchy skin tone (probably from a bad diet). Even in dimmed light, I could see that the road to vajhalla would be a bumpy one.

She didn’t lift weights, and tragically she was one of those girls who could have benefited immensely from weightlifting instead of counting steps on her ClitBit. She was the poster girl for yoga pants as the push-up bra for the booty.

None of her body flaws were deal breakers. But there was just enough taut-less terrain wildly out of sync with her after hours glamour that I could never make peace with the whole package. The world saw one woman; I saw another. Sure, I loved showing her off when out on the town, but my pride was tainted with insider knowledge of the grit beneath the glitz.

It got to be that near fling’s end, I was looking for excuses to leave post-date with the intention of avoiding sex with her. {ed: judge me harshly.} Once, I made a cuddle suggestion when she started heating up during foreplay. COSMIC POLARITY INVERTED.

This woman created the worst dickonance —

dickonance: an incongruous feeling caused when intense arousal for a fully clothed woman clashes with deflating desire for her disrobed form.

— in me I have ever had to compartmentalize. I loved going out with her and soaking up her beauty when she was dressed to the nines, but I was indifferent to sleeping with her afterward. It was never that bad, but the wickedly unfair juxtaposition was needling me to the edge of insanity — I felt like Nature was playing a cruel joke on me, robbing me of the one nonnegotiable pleasure of a hot woman’s love: her stimulating naked form. The wedge between us widened to a chasm of unspeakable provenance.

She never knew the real reason it ended. I supplied a plausible explanation for my receding ardor that required no recourse to the state of her maculation, an explanation which in fact made me out to be a very bad person but bad in an understandable OH GEE ANOTHER NONCOMMITTAL DOUCHEBAG way and not bad in an OH FUCK YOU ARE THE DEVIL INCARNATE way. A few female tears I can handle. A deluge of waterworks that wrack the body and shake the shoulders I prefer not to witness. Or, worse, she might lunge for the kitchen knives in a blind rage.

I had no intention of revealing the stark nature of my un-caged id. She didn’t merit any meanness, so I committed relationship seppuku.

When it ended, friends asked what the hell I was thinking. “She was a hottie! What the hell were you thinking?” was what they said. I lied that we had incompatible personalities. I doubt they bought it, (no one really buys it when a man claims a relationship ended because of personality issues), but I was not eager to sully her lady-honor by exposing the pocked underbelly of our separation. I expose it here, anonymously and obliquely, because I suppose I’m seeking absolution. To confront one’s superficiality is fun and games in abstraction-space, but not so fun in real life with real lovers and their real hearts on the line.

The duality of man is his endless struggle to embrace, and to reject, to free, and to tame, the animal of him.

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The latest ham-fisted Spoogle attempt at anti-White, anti-nationalism propaganda is a perfect specimen of vapid antiracism clown world effluvium. The difference this time is that the artist isn’t (as far as we know) a diversinerd in Spoogle’s employ.

A 15-year-old girl from ground zero of empathobesic White Puritanism — Connecticut — doodled this shitlib excrescence for the win and a $30K scholarship from Spoogle. In a few years, she’ll be a voter.

Let’s count up the lies.

The science nerd black kid.
The blue-eyed Jewess.
The White girl shorter than all the nonwhites.
The three White boys are either gay, handicapped, or crippled.

Do you think this teen girl got rejected by a White boy she was crushing on? That’d be the way to bet!

About the only honest representation are the shadowhand devil’s horns in the background, subtly reminding the viewer of the inherently dehumanizing malevolence in the scene.

PS ABG. Anything. But. Google. Use duckduckgo or startpage. Don’t give Spoogle a single click.

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2017:

At least she didn’t get fat. The truth is that if this single White woman quit booze-hounding, abandoned her manipulative and caustic martyrdom act, and realized that her obsessive refusal to settle for a boring but reliable beta male will become a necessity thrust upon her once the Wall hits her (sooner than she thinks), she could actually stop being alone and lonely, literally wallowing in mud for cheap pity attention at Christmastime.

May the Lord Below guide her to the Chateau, where her best hope for a happy future awaits her.

PS Single White women wondering where all the good men went need only look at the above snarkcards. Chugging wine, mocking love, breaking her parents’ hearts….yeah, that’s not what most men with options would consider relationship material, let alone marriage material.

Negative sexual market feedback loops are accelerating and intensifying. Prepare for Stage One Sexbot (SOS) rollout.

PPS Commenter Augustus Tilton adds,

It’s weird when women brag about drunkenness and gluttony

It’s weird because it seemingly defies the God of Biomechanics and His Laws. But when a sexual market is under tremendous stress and cracking from the pressure, sex-based behavior anomalies are part of the biomechanical playbook.

The kind of piglike behavior from women exemplified in this post and in the previous post about the single mom mudshark is only possible when women don’t feel a need to impress their own men; societies that have become quasi-matriarchal and feminist, and consequently overrun with suckup beta males dying of thirst, produce pigwomen in abundance.

I am fond of saying Game can save lives, and it can, but Game has a larger purpose than even the salvation of individual men trapped in the maze of a strange new mating matrix; Game can save whole nations and races from the brink of annihilation. Not kidding, if by Game we mean “men assuming control of their women and their culture”. White men who have rediscovered their balls and ZFG potential are the only force in the known universe that can pull wayward White women back to sanity and femininity. But if the nation continues churning out twisted psychologically and scrotally disfigured manginas like Scalzi, our fate is the abyss.

Single White women want the attention of White men, despite their protestations to the contrary. That will never change. White men therefore have leverage over the political views of single White women. Men can shun libshit women. The shunning will have a chilling effect on other libshit open-borders-and-rapefugee-loving single White women, who fear nothing so much as social exile to the icy wastelands. But it will take courage and ZFG, something in short supply among White men. Game is best viewed, in the bigger picture, as a project to restore that incomparably persuasive alpha attitude which went missing from White men sometime between Iwo Jima and Yo MTV Raps.

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