There’s A New Kunt In Town

The infamous lawyercunt is an archetype first identified (and happily ridiculed) by CH artisans of the hairy oyster. But the lawyercunt has gotten a little long in the fang. It isn’t that she’s grown mellower with age, or that her occupation has started attracting a less lizardly class of humans. It’s just that times change, and new opportunities for leeching off productive society attract the attention of master class attention whores with a taste for gratuitous drama and lying through their teeth.

Enter the social media consultant, aka Twittercunt.

If anyone can usurp the lawyercunt in cuntishness, it’s the Twittercunt. I was reminded of the Twittercunt’s foul ascendence up the social status ladder of our declining American empire whilst perusing the musings of the Lead Sadist over at MPC (My Patriarchal Cocksmanship):

real talk all the social media consultants I have met, which is a few, have been amoral opportunistic scumbags

I’ve also seen a few partners of mine stung by them, where they’ll bring in a social media person who will then shmooze the client and steer all the business to him and his friends

really they make used car salesman seem like altruistic do-gooders

It’s funny because around the time of reading that I was retelling a salacious story to a friend about a past lover of extraordinary wantonness who transmogrified into the very thing we both assumed she was fated to become: A social media consultant. I’ve known in the French way five or six Twittercunts (all women), and all but one were sociopathic sluts, capable of lying to their mamas’ faces if it meant an extension of family credit to shack up with a bike messenger. (The one exception, ironically, happened to be one of the sweetest, kindest girls with whom I’ve had the pleasure to share pleasure. I do fondly recall her on occasion.) I wouldn’t be surprised to learn that some of them amassed cock counts in the triple digits.

Not that I’m complaining. If you have game, a challenging demeanor, and an asshole attitude (to which she deeply relates), the social media cuntsultant is a sure thing, and down to submit to just about every degradation under a harvest moon. Just don’t expect her to make even empty gestures toward fidelity. She’ll fuck around on you, but as long as you go in knowing what she is, there’s poon gold to be mined until the bloom wears off the romance (three months, tops).

We now live in the age of high-tech, field tested, focus grouped, multimodal mastery over human perception, and the social media cuntsultant is its most psychopathically committed avatar.  You think I’m exaggerating? Take a look at this list of occupations which attract the most psychopaths. Number 2 is Lawyer, and number 3 is Media (TV/Radio). If you add number 4 (Salesperson) to number 3, you birth the social media whore anti-christ.

Oh well. A declining nation gets the middlewoman, amoral, self-promoting parasites it deserves.

(Good rule of thumb: If your nation has a lot of engineers working to put a man on the moon, you live in a golden era. If your nation has a lot of hucksters spinning gold out of carts of dung, start thinking about early overseas retirement.)

So here’s to you, Twittercunt, ouster of argumentative lawyercunts. You’re just as untrustworthy, slutty and good to go as your sophistic sisters, but at least you don’t make a federal case out of every minor disagreement.

A song for the new kunt in town:

There’s talk in the bars it sounds so familiar,
great expectations everybody’s watching you.
Players you meet they all seem to know you,
even your old friends treat you like the town screw.

Twittercunt maven,
the new ho in town,
everybody bangs you,
so chug your Pill down.

You look in her eyes the crazy is on display,
sex in the bathroom, here we go again.
But after awhile you’re thinkin’ she’s gonna stray,
it’s those restless muffs that always spread.

Twittercunt maven,
the new ho in town.
Will you catch VD
from her sideways frown?

There’s so many cocks she went and holstered,
but night after night you’re willing to bone her,
no rubber,
pray you recover.

There’s jive on Facebook it’s there to inflate her,
doesn’t really matter which client she sucks.
She’s LinkedIn and buzzed, creating nothing of value,
they will never forget her ’til her boobs are hitting the floor.

Where you been lately?
There’s a new ho in town.
Everybody bangs her,
don’t they,
and she’s SEOed
every penis around.
Oh my my
There’s a new ho in town
Just another new slore in town

hooooo, hoooo
Everybody’s banging out
hooooo, hoooo
the new ho in town,
hooooo, hoooo
Everywhere she’s walkin’ like
hooooo, hoooo
the town pound.

There’s a new ho in town,
(and you’re gonna hear it)
There’s a new ho in town,
(you just wanna hit it)
There’s a new ho in town,
a social media clown,
Her life’s a PR campaign.
Everybody’s talking
There’s a new ho in town
Players start to working
There’s a new ho in town…
and she gets passed around…
like her padded CV…
people say she’s easy…

It would be great if the reader who performed The Wreck of the Beta Male Cuckold could do a rendition of There’s a New Kunt in Town. He has a good voice.

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How To Outgame Manipulative Women

PrettyWi$e, a possible troll whose question nonetheless serves to impart a useful lesson, asks,

My girl sent me a nude about 20mins ago… And replied saying “oops wrong number”. I will admit it did get under my shit, but should I even respond to such crap?

What this reader’s girl is running is a form of Reverse Eavesdropping Game. Or, if you prefer simplicity, she has dropped a massive shit test on him.

This is why I suspect the reader is a troll. A common troll tactic on game blogs is to lie about a girl the troll “knows” who uses the game tactics found here to befuddle men. The suspicion is justified because in the real world women hardly ever resort to arcane male game tactics to get men into bed. If a woman wants to bed a man, she only needs to look cute enough and signal her availability.

Troll or not, if you play the field you will encounter the occasional playette who co-opts male game for shits and giggles, or who loves to incite dramatic bursts of jealousy to externally validate her sexual worth. You should know how to handle them.

The correct response to a girl “accidentally” sending you a nude she wants you to think was meant for another man is “bad lighting”.

Other good responses:
“you and ur dad have a weird thing”
“gay”
“lol”
“lame”
“nice save”
“if you want me you just have to ask”
“your flirting technique needs work”

The attitude of indifference and non-reactiveness conveyed by these responses is what matters. There are other responses that would work well, as long as whatever you say has an air of nonchalant condescension and assumed high value. The brilliance of such a reply is that it simultaneously robs the manipulative girl of a victory dance while instantly flipping the script so that she is on the defensive, riddled with doubt about her attractiveness and scrambling to regain the upper hand.

Game doesn’t have to be this malevolent to work, but some girls are just begging for the hamster whip.

PS If this reader’s scenario ever happens to you, it’s a good bet the girl wants you badly and is showing it by making you chase her. Think about it. If a girl really did accidentally send you a nude of herself meant for someone else that she didn’t want you to see, she wouldn’t follow up with an implied apology. She’d go into hiding and hope you don’t bring it up. Or she’d already be two steps out the door on you and in that case not give a shit what you think about her antics.

PPS Another countermeasure to manipulative bitch game is radio silence. If you don’t respond to her incitement to jealousy at all, the next time you and her meet she’ll be chin-deep in hamster turds wondering what you’re thinking about her mischief-making. Keep up the ruse of feigned obliviousness as long as possible, even post-coitally, and she’ll hardly be able to contain her frustration with your inscrutability. An added bonus is that this gives you time to determine if she really is cheating, and to execute the “pump and surprise dump” finishing move should you discover she’s been disloyal. “Ah, that was great. I hope I left some in your tank for that other guy you’re banging. You’re gonna need it.” Right after, toss a razor blade at her. She’ll probably need that too.

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Romantic Beta Male Gets What’s Coming To Him

Remember this post about the romantic Kiwi betaboy who followed an American woman around all night on New Year’s Eve like a puppy dog, only to part at 6AM with nothing to show for it but her coy instruction to “find me”? The niceguy romantic beta had one photo of her on his phone, which he promptly enlarged to masturbation size and uploaded to Facebook hoping she would see the green light at the end of his pier and the world would help them reunite in McLovin bliss.

There’s an update to this story. The girl found out about his Facebook campaign to locate her. Guess what happened.

A lovelorn New Zealand man who asked the Internet for help finding the American girl he met in Hong Kong last year on New Year’s Eve has found her – and she doesn’t seem too happy about it.

Reese McKee, 25, gained thousands of followers when he posted a picture of ‘Katie’ and his story of dancing the night away with her last December. She left him only with a first name, a hint that she lived ‘in D.C.’ and the alluring request: ‘find me.’

He has now revealed that online sleuths did, indeed, find her. And they mobbed her with so many messages that she deleted every single one of her social media accounts within hours. […]

Mr McKee says he hasn’t reached out to her yet – he’s waiting for the online furor to die down.

But, as one slightly horrified blogger points out, it’s likely she has no desire to to speak with Mr McKee now. Their romantic night took place nearly one year ago.

‘A year is enough time for someone to get married, go through several relationships, or even have a child,’ blogger amiantos writes.

It takes a lot of beta to convince a blue city American girl to tear down her Facebook wall. She must have felt the kind of disgust that’s typically reserved for mutilated bodies, dog shit, and flabby male feminists.

Moral of the story: Women are so predictable.

Some good does appear to have come out of this niceguy’s romantic abandonment.

Even Mr McKee seems a little sheepish about his quest to be reunited with the girl he had a chance meeting with a year ago. He told the Herald that he has turned down multiple media interview requests – including from ABC’s Good Morning America.

Shortly after Katie was found, he deleted his Facebook profile and the Facebook event that invited fans to help find her.

What’s that sensation hiding between the lines? Oh yes. Burning shame. Enough time has passed since the RealTalk Revolution invaded the public consciousness that it wouldn’t be a stretch to think betaboy here caught his eyeballs on a few websites such as this one and experienced a rude awakening about the nature of women and his own self-defeating courtship missteps. Two people win when a man is saved from incel purgatory: The man, and the woman he dates who gets to experience the joy of a proper seduction.

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Should You Make A Girlfriend Jealous With Nudes Of Your Exes?

The post subject says it all. A reader asks,

Read your site regularly. Thanks for the time and effort.

Interested in your thoughts: I’ve got a recent girlfriend- good looking, moneyed background, sweet girl but lots of confidence.  She is, however, outright jealous- or at least catty- about an ex of mine who she has found notes from and a couple pictures of us together.

She recently lost her phone and asked to temporarily borrow my old one.  While sanitizing it I found found a few nudes my ex sent me.  She looks good.  Do I leave them and stoke the flames further? Or leave it to simmer? Opportunity or foolishness?

A girlfriend who is excessively jealous of an ex-girlfriend of comparable SMV is projecting a desire to have a boyfriend who is adept at attracting other women. The catty jealousy is manufactured drama that she indulges because it serves the purpose of making her more attracted to you. You may consider this flattery… or a warning sign of troubles ahead.

If your ex is hotter than your current girlfriend (be honest with yourself), the jealousy is nothing less than raw insecurity. Women know, despite their socially acceptable protestations to the contrary, what really matters to men. A hotter ex-girlfriend translates as a greater risk of you trading up in the near future.

My answer is partly dependent on which of the two contexts above is relevant to you. If you get the sense that your girlfriend is very much in love and her jealousy is revealed insecurity, the smart move is to delete the photos so she doesn’t see them and melt into a puddle of manic self-doubt. (The smarter move is to not let her borrow your phone so that you may keep the photos for your old age when the nostalgic masturbation material will come in HANDY.)

But if she seems like the drama-prone type (INFIDELITY ALERT) and her jealousy strikes you as deliberately hyperbolic, you may want your girlfriend to “accidentally” come across those nude photos of your ex as a means of assuring she stays in your orbit. A drama queen needs these occasional reminders of your surfeit of sexual market options. Keep the ho on her toes.

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The Project To Feminize Western Men And Masculinize Western Women

I wonder if the dam is beginning to burst on public discourse, leading to growing awareness of converging androgyny of the sexes. CH was out front informing the masses of a strange trend toward sexual unipolarity characterized by a psychological and physiognomic swapping and sharing of normal sexually dimorphic traits. Men appeared to be getting womanlier and women manlier.

But it was the stuff of quirky anecdote and peripheral observation, out there on the bleeding edge of heartistian thought. The science had yet to catch up to CH’s eagle eye. But now the ♥science♥ is here, and as per usual the boys in the lab are busily verifying precocious CH insight.

Commenter chris writes,

@CH

In your posts.

https://heartiste.wordpress.com/2009/06/15/the-masculinization-of-the-western-white-female/
https://heartiste.wordpress.com/2013/01/15/the-manjaw-ification-of-american-women-science/
https://heartiste.wordpress.com/2013/09/26/study-women-really-are-becoming-more-like-men/

[ed: see also:

https://heartiste.wordpress.com/2009/04/24/the-feminization-of-the-western-white-male/
https://heartiste.wordpress.com/2012/02/22/are-the-chemicals-of-modern-society-emasculating-men/
https://heartiste.wordpress.com/2013/11/28/is-humanity-becoming-androgynous/ ]

You discuss the masculinisation of western women [and feminization of western men].

This article might explain a mechanism for it:

http://www.livescience.com/3098-female-figure-hourglass.html

“Androgens, a class of hormones that includes testosterone, increase waist-to-hip ratios in women by increasing visceral fat, which is carried around the waist. But on the upside, increased androgen levels are also associated with increased strength, stamina and competitiveness. Cortisol, a hormone that helps the body deal with stressful situations, also increases fat carried around the waist.

Hormone levels linked with a high waist-to-hip ratio could lead to such health benefits, which would be particularly useful during times of stress, Cashdan said. These benefits could outweigh those attained from having the tiny waist, hourglass figure, she said.

Perhaps the differences between predominant body shapes in some societies have to do with sexual equality, Cashdan said.

In Japan, Greece and Portugal, where women tend to be less economically independent, men place a higher value on a mate’s thin waist than men in Britain or Denmark, where there tends to be more sexual equality, Cashdan said. And in some non-Western societies where food is scarce and women bear the responsibility for finding it, men actually prefer larger waist-to-hip ratios.

“Waist-to-hip ratio may indeed be a useful signal to men, then, but whether men prefer a [waist-to-hip ratio] associated with lower or higher androgen/estrogen ratios (or value them equally) should depend on the degree to which they want their mates to be strong, tough, economically successful and politically competitive,” Cashdan writes.”

So as we head to a female forager/matriarchal/feminist society, in order to compete and WIN, the women will have to, and are, masculinising.

It’s interesting how the feminists who agitate for a society organised along these lines are the females most likely to be successful in these societies. Feminist women win, non-feminist women lose.

Feminism is a war of women against other women.

It’s about making the feminist/female forager mating strategy the winning mating strategy.

And any woman who isn’t a masculinised female/feminist, will be a loser in this world.

Fitting, yes, that the Western leftoid project to economically and socially equalize the sexes is literally equalizing men and women in body mass, shape and temperament. Fuck with the forces of nature and nature will fuck you right back, hard.

But I wouldn’t make too much hay of this latest study. One, there is a mound of accumulated evidence that male preference, at least in Europe and Asia, is for women with waist-hip ratios of 0.7 and BMIs falling between 17 and 23. Two, the enlarging (heh), sugar-fueled and automobile-enabled Western obesity epidemic is likely distorting measurements of the natural WHRs of women under a layer of belly blubber. Three, what the above study could be measuring is not changes in innate, unconstrained male preference but rapid female adaptation to environmental pressures that occur *despite* male sexual preference. (Note, also, that the majority of sampled countries in the data set were non-European. A good rule of thumb: Female beauty standards are universal, EXCEPT in Africa. “Except in Africa” is a clause that could be appended to a lot of generalizable observations about human nature.)

Nevertheless, this study is hinting at something that CH has noticed: Western women are looking, and acting, manlier. We have cast about for reasons why, and now we have one plausible mechanism: When propagandized sexual equality pushes women into the workforce and away from children and home, their bodies respond by jacking up their tiny reserve of male hormones until they more resemble the men with whom they now compete in arenas historically occupied only by men.

And so what kind of women does our post-biology, androgyne culture beget? Manjaws. Narrower eyes and hips. Thinner lips. Wider waists. Aggressive posturing. Leering, focused gazes. Snarls and snarks.

Recall this contrast between composites of Golden Age Hollywood starlets and modern actresses:

The face composite on the left is of actresses from 2008, the right of actresses from the 1940s. Neither are unattractive, but the left one clearly has undergone some masculinization. Anymore, and she veers into tranny territory. What does this mean for men? Most men will feel like sexually conquering the girl on the left, and romantically protecting the girl on the right. Funny, that seems to be the way our sexual market is heading.

What else do our present and future masculine women offer? Shrieking feminist agit-prop. Wall to wall lies to deny sex differences. “Art” made from menstrual blood. Pussy riots. Delayed childbirth. Women breaking their bodies competing in high-impact sports traditionally dominated by men. And, in a final middle finger to the god of biomechanics, a simultaneous war to feminize men so that women’s descent to maleness can proceed unhindered.

That last part is happening too, in case you were wondering. I could show you a pic of John Scalzi as proof and call it a day, but as demonstrated by the CH links above there is similar data-rich evidence piling up that something weird and disconcerting is happening to Western men to turn them into mewling manboobs, overweight male feminists, slope-shouldered hipsters, and huge beta sycophants. Although it isn’t (yet) making the nightly news, far-flung quarters are beginning to pick up on the CH-identified disturbing inversion of men to a physical and psychological female form.

None of this is good news, except to ugly feminists and socially awkward male toadies who never stood a chance in the grindhouse of the mating bazaar. I don’t see how civilization sustains itself under these conditions, not demographically at any rate. There will be a price to pay for messing with nature’s prime directive. I don’t know exactly what amount, or what currency we’ll pay it in, but the bill is coming due.

The title of this post is not an affectation. The convergent masculinization and feminization of the sexes to a shapeless, infantilized alien gray is a deliberate project by the elites as much as it is an emergent phenomenon of uncontrolled environmental insults. The ruling class wants this. People in power, people who don’t want to relinquish even a speck of their power, want their nearest competition — white middle class men — gelded. They want them soft and blubbery and pliable. They want women unfeminine, self-supporting, aggressive and ballcutting, because they know that a culture dominated by such women will reinforce and solidify the slavish adherence to the preferred propaganda matrix of the elite.

The elite’s most dangerous enemy are men like themselves, competent and hungry, but with less to lose. And so the elite play social engineering with the sexes, in hopes of ridding themselves of men capable of rebelling. If they taste success, they will move on from social engineering to biological engineering of the wider culture of men to cement their rule. You scoff. Ask yourself, are you, at this late hour, willing to place your faith in the benevolence of your ruling elite should such technological game-changers drop in their laps?

Ultimately, whether our ruling class knows it or they bumble along like drug addicts seeking the next pleasurable injection of power at any cost, their sex-swapping project will turn the West into matricentric, female forager Africa. And it shouldn’t be too hard to figure out what comes next.

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Extreme Disqualification Game

We sat in a window box of the cafe. Warming sunlight marched through and glittered off her black hair. As I spoke absent-mindedly about a girl I loved whom I recently lost, barely comprehending in my stream of consciousness that I was airing my inner thoughts, a sunshaft grazed her cheek and I saw that she was silently crying. Two soft tears traced slowly downward, framed within an expressionless face. The effect hit me hard, not because it was the first time I made a woman cry from sheer carelessness, but because her tears were so incongruent with her personality. She was an Ivy-educated business consultant, easily turning six figures, ambitious, sure of herself in ways she thought mattered, and to the undiscerning eye cold and opaque.

She was also pretty, but the timing of our fling threw her orbit away from mine. Pleasing enough, she regrettably didn’t press my buttons like my recent ex-girlfriend had. And so, when she earnestly pried for my truest feelings, she received in return the fate of suffering reckless confessions she didn’t want to hear. My emotions were raw, and I unloaded on her callously as she took my strafe on every flank. Not meaning to hurt her, I had, and every time we had sex since then, over the following weeks, it ended with her tucking her knees under her chin naked on the bed to quietly cry into the wrapped bubble of her body.

When my one-sided conversation with the cosmos had finished, and her tears had shocked me back to empathy and guilt, she choked out a tiny utterance that I’ll never forget. A simple, endearing question: “So you really liked this girl?” Imagine for a moment the excruciating hollowness of unreciprocated longing that the friendzoned beta male feels as he patiently abides his love’s encomiums to another man. Women can feel this way, too.

I crashed back into her presence. Now all I could think was making amends and, truthfully, a part of me wanted to preserve for a while longer the usefulness of her distractive adoration in my time of need.

“Yes.”

I surprised myself at the forthrightness of my answer. Quickly recalibrating, “…but I could see it coming, so maybe it’s all for the best.”

She coaxed a crooked smile, but I had sunk her. She knew in that bright cafe that we would never be more together than a pleasurable temporary escape. Already approaching thirty, the weight of it landed in the breadbasket of her soul.

These stories locked in time offer lessons for times yet to come. What I had unknowingly, accidentally, obliviously, and with quite sincere effort done to this woman was run an extreme version of Disqualification Game on her. That confessional about my recent ex, the sincerity with which I expressed my confusion and unresolved desire, the indifference to how it might be received by present company, sent my replacement lover into a tailspin. She felt stronger love for me at the same time she felt the sadness of our inevitable, arriving end. Thus, our sex life carried on while her tears flowed heavier with accumulating grief.

What was accidental can be made intentional for one’s personal advantage. “I’ll always have this thing for my ex” Extreme Disqualification Game can, if delivered without a hint of manipulative urgency (almost as an afterthought), greatly increase a woman’s attraction to you. She’ll see herself as the one who can make it better, or steal your heart away, if you’re careful to stop just short of killing her hope outright. You’ll be a challenge too irresistible to some women, especially women with options, and if you parcel your redirected romance into hamster-sized pellets that make her feel as if she’s slowly winning you over, you’ll have from her a love that can transcend all other arid considerations women tend to autonomically jot down on dating profiles or personal ads.

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You Can Tell A Lot About A Nation’s Women By Its Facebook Likes

Facebook Likes are a cancer on society. They glorify feels and enervate reason. They abet lies and exile truth. But they do perform a valuable service for the keen observer of civilizational decay. The FB Like, and what gets Liked most, are revealing glimpses into a nation’s character, and especially the character of its women, for whom Facebook Likes are happy drugs for their gluttonous egos. Remove the Like, and severe withdrawal symptoms manifest, similar to the effects one sees from the psychological damage that incurs after an extended stint in an isolation chamber.

A reader passes along two telling examples.

I found these two pictures today on my FB friend’s feed.  (They aren’t my friends, fortunately, but they are friends of friends.)  Both got lots of “likes” and supportive comments.  I thought of you as soon as I saw them.

Since most of Facebook is a wasteland of middling SMV women patting each other on the backs for awe-inspiring accomplishments like getting knocked up by a black guy or sucking down in one gulp a boat of sugar through a straw, it’s fair to say that what gets Liked is what American women like. And what American women like is, to put a coarse point on it, a mountain of shit.

What do American women and their yappy beta orbiters like so much that they feel compelled to craft a public consensus of their PC boilerplate?
– Mystery meat fetuses.
– Interracial dating.
– Male empathy pregnancies.
– Fat chicks.
– Fat chicks feeding like swine on ice cream sundaes that could sustain a family of four for a week.
– Fat chicks feeding like swine while insouciantly arched eyebrows that demand acceptance leap from their bloated brows.

Could this country and its people be going down the shitter any faster? Forget Rome’s historical precedence. America is in double-time decline, setting new records of scraping bottom as we speak. I think I will dub this Millennifag cohort the Like Me Generation. “Like me, because if you don’t I’ll have a mental breakdown as the realization that I’m a mediocrity sweeps over me. Nothing less than total unanimity in judgment of my awesomeness and the rightness of my knee-jerk emotional opinions will keep me alive another day.”

Yeah, no. I think instead I will take this shiv and give it an extra twist in your guts, just because I like… yes, Like… watching you effete nancies and spluttering mutants scream bloody murder. And you know what? The country will become a place truly worth liking for your suffering.

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