Archive for the ‘Hamster of the Month Contest’ Category

A gross skank brags about cheating on every man she’s been with, and pretends it’s her preferred career path. It’s a classic case of sweet lemons rationalization (the inverse of sour grapes rationalization). She can’t get a quality man to commit to her, so she lovelessly fucks around with losers or fly by night cads who have no problem pumping and dumping a sloppy slut for a no muss no fuss easy lay, and then claims it’s the perfect lifestyle for her and anyone who will listen. Those LSMV lemons are really sweet! she swears through jizz-stained tears.

When I talk about my future with my friends, it always includes marriage and children. But I’ve also cheated on every person I’ve ever been with.

No man worth marrying is gonna wife up and have kids with a slattern. What man could trust such a bargain bin cum receptacle? Why would any man with something on the ball give a Proud Slut and an incorrigible cheater the blessing of birthing his champions? He’ll always wonder if the kids are his. The lowest of loser males might consider it, but that’s because they have no other options except incel, and the skank will be reminded daily of her low value as a woman by loserboy’s presence in her life.

People don’t refrain from cheating because they’re happy with their partners, they refrain from cheating because they’re afraid of being caught.

That’s not the whole story. Fear of being caught rarely stops a cheater from turning thought into action. The primary reasons monogamous people don’t cheat are because 1. they can’t (un-tradeable undesirability) and 2. they actually love their lover. Oh, and guilt. Most people feel guilt about cheating on their lovers or spouses. People who putatively don’t feel guilt, like Gross Skank, are sociopaths missing a part of their humanity.

Fear of being caught factors prominently into the decision for older married men who have money and holdings they could lose in divorce court, or for stay-at-home moms married to alpha males who aren’t apt to “forgive and support” a wife caught cheating.

But Gross Skank has never been in love (sad!) so it’s easy for her to cheat on the street curs sniffing around her putrid pussy, and then act as if spreading her diseased jizz trap for these hard-up losers (how much you wanna bet most aren’t white?) is some sort of achievement, (it’s not an achievement for women….getting a man with options to stick around, now that’s an achievement).

It’s easier to get away with than you think

Only if the males she fucks are beta noobs who have little experience with women and can’t identify the warning signs of a slut. Or they don’t give a shit about her character.

If you’re worried about them seeing you on Tinder, don’t be. Ask them why they were on it in the first place.

That non sequitur won’t allay their suspicions.

And if a friend sees you? Say your account is old.

She must have very gullible friends if they believe her unconvincing bullshit.

There’s no easier way to get bored of someone than by dating them.

And nobody wants to date someone who doesn’t have their own life. Seriously dating someone is similar to moving in — you can’t just un-move in with someone you’re seeing. You’re either going to spend the rest of your lives together, or you’re going to split. Those are literally the only two options. With decades of time ahead of you, why rush into pushing other people out?

I hope (and assume) you know this by now, but guys want whoever is least interested in them. Once you’re dating, it’s impossible to keep playing hard to get unless you actively work towards making yourself unavailable.

Psychological projection — thinking that others feel the same way one feels — is everywhere in this age of bruised, fragile egos. And women are particularly prone to this cognitive bias, because as a rule women are more solipsistic than are men. When a woman is rejected by a man — rejection for a woman is romantic, not sexual — she is brutally soul-seared by the experience; to protect her ego from imploding to a hamster singularity, she rationalizes the rejection as her failure to be insufficiently man-like, rather than insufficiently woman-like which would be a much harsher indictment on her worth as a woman.

Men don’t want whoever is least interested in them. Men want beautiful women who are attentive, feminine, and loving toward them. Women, otoh, *do* desire challenging men who give ambiguous signals of interest for them and who “have their own life”. A herpes incubator like Gross Skank who can’t get what she wants from high value men — marriage and kids — subverts the reality of differing male and female desires to avoid confronting the obvious cause of her woes: her revolt against ideal femininity.

Not all girls think men are attracted to the same traits that they are attracted to, but most do. And slutty low value girls are the worst afflicted by this psychological deflector shield. The slut who thinks men want what she wants can justify to herself why men don’t stick around after porking her without harming her self-conception as a desirable woman.

In the end, you’re going to date a lot of people and you’re going to marry almost none of them.

Almost? Sluttery is the triumph of self-delusion over experience.

But how many of your friends and interests are you going to shelve while placing them first, only to realize you’re boring and impossible to date afterwards? You have nothing of your own because everything you had was shared.

Telling. She defines herself by the number of cocks she hoovers. And if she isn’t hoovering random cocks and cheating on “boyfriends”, she’s “boring”. This is a woman so empty inside she needs gallons of cum to spackle a veneer on her paint-stripped soul.

Someone should remind her that most emotionally healthy women manage to have their own personalities while being faithfully committed to a man.

Guys don’t want you to sleep with other people because it’s the only thing they have that we don’t.

That’s not it. Men don’t want their gfs or wives to sleep with other men because it’s disgusting and she could get knocked up, cuckolding him.

And once you rise above that, they realize they’ve lost their grip on that leash they thought was so tight.

So very revealing. This is unfiltered man-spite. She’s trying to lash out at men because she’s been burned so many times by them in her quest to find the love that has eluded her for her whole life.

I didn’t love any of the people I cheated with, and I never went on to date them in the future.

The palimpsestic lament of the unloveable lovelorn.

But ultimately, they taught me more about myself than any of the guys I called my boyfriend.

Obviously, these “boyfriends” were nothing of the sort, and her naming designation was an exercise in ego assuaging conceit to avoid calling them what they really were: dildo-shaped opioids.

And as far as the “boyfriends” are concerned, they’ve all slid into my DMs since. Checkmate.

I put “boyfriends” in sneer quotes above to highlight Gross Skank’s essential dishonesty, but here she is one line later putting “boyfriends” in sneer quotes herself, so if she comes by here to wake up on the table and witness her own vivisection she should find herself in complete agreement with what I wrote about her. Checkmate.

Executive summary: Butthurt Caroline Phinney pens the Fake Braggahocio of a lonely hearts club cunt.


A reader writes: “the whole article reads like a foolish attempt to project the image that she’s super in demand, which she’s obviously not if you look at her nose. Literally ruined any hope of marriage.”

Yeah, it’s all another version of LOOKATME by a road-worn disposable cumdump. I’m sure all the “boyfriends” she cheated on have shed copious cockodile tears over losing such a prize.

As with all matters issuing from the Degenerate Freak Mafia, their underlying motivation is revealed with a quick glance at their physical form.

Here’s Gross Skank at her absolute best, caked with makeup and saturation lighting:

And here she is the morning after (which explains why her pumpings are always followed by dumpings):

Yeesh. This is all publicly accessible, readers. She wants the world to see this, so who am I to deny her the audience she craves?

Finally, the full body physiognomy:


Physiognomy — or more generally, anthroposcopy — is realer than ever.

High T, Low E boy-shaped hole fucknchuck aggrocunt sex piston slurping wine slag from the bottle wants you to know she cheats on every man she’s been with and will continue to do so, men really like it despite not a one of them sticking around to show their appreciation, and by the way she dreams of marriage and kids one day, a dream which eludes her, but that’s totally unrelated to her decision to shill for skank glorification.

PS Related: Research shows American women are becoming less feminine since the 1970s.

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Commenter Randon Guy points to a comment JudgyBitch made in which she described in more detail why she left her first niceguy boyfriend who helped her through the ordeal of her broken family.

Later on in the reply to the comment section so as to further explain why she said what she said about him being too weak.

She said partly it was because she couldn’t trust herself to be a good wife for him, that his willingness to bend over would end up with her mistreating him.

To some extent it seems like she was doing it to also avoid becoming like her father/mother had been.

This is pure post hoc, ergo propter hamster rationalization. Niceguys hear this crap all the time from women — a glorified it’s not you, it’s me — and it must drive them batty. Imagine you’re the niceguy dating JudgyBitch and she dumps you because…wait for it…she was afraid she would treat you like crap.

So treating him like disposable crap and dumping him is the solution to treating him like reusable crap while still fucking him.

You’d have to forgive a guy for thinking that’s a load of self-serving BS and the real reason is something else. The typical niceguy would be glad for more time in Pound Town and a chance to decide for himself if she’s mistreating him.

I don’t mean to pinch a steamer on JudgyBitch’s parade. As far as one can bitchily judge from a single blog post confessional, she seems like a decent woman who turned she life around. She made an edible omelette out of some very rotten eggs, defying what could have been her genetic fate. She doesn’t hate men, which is a minor miracle in this day and age. And scanning her archives, it appears she’s /ourgal/, so I can’t find it in me to savage her hamster too much.

But I will use her as a springboard to remind the beta males strolling into this happy hunting ground that whatever reason a woman gives you for dumping you, it’s WAAAAY downstream from the real reason, which is that your niceness shut off her tingle spigot.

The tingle is immunized against all rationalizations: one may call it a splooge, gush, womb flume, squirting hibiscus, it all runs off her vagina like tepid beta sperm off a greasy keyboard. But call the tingle a command center of the female vessel and you will be astonished at how she recoils, how injured she is, how she suddenly shrinks back: “I didn’t want to hurt him!”

This is important, because it gets to the heart of what this blog is about: Don’t listen to what women say; instead, watch what women do.

A woman will NEVER dump a niceguy because she’s afraid of hurting him. Or for any other rationalization that sounds good to community college couples therapists. A woman WILL dump a niceguy if she stops wanting to fuck him.

It’s only when a woman’s tingles dry up that the thought of her niceguy boyfriend touching her repulses her, and it’s only when that happens that she rationalizes plausible sounding but nevertheless fantastical reasons for why her labia furled like a slug under a shower of salt.

The Tingle is the gom jabbar. The one ring to rule them all. The Voight-Kampff replicant test. The cosmic palimpsest. The Prime Directive. The Force. Women DO NOT STOP FUCKING a man who gives them the Tingle. Women DO NOT DUMP a man who gives them the Tingle. Women DO DUMP a man, for sundry rationales, who is incapable of giving, or has stopped giving, them the Tingle.

Once the Tingle is gone, a woman’s heart is gone, and her head is recruited to gussy up the only reason for the coldness in her heart and vagina.

No matter how nicely a man treats a woman, no matter how much of a gentleman he is to her, she won’t love him as long as he doesn’t give her the Tingle. If a woman doesn’t feel the Tingle, she’ll rationalize any nice behavior from a niceguy as bad behavior, or as behavior that incites her to bad behavior. She will invent new and creative reasons for dumping the niceguy, reasons that could fill a ten page listicle in Teen Vogue, when the reducible truth is that his niceness desiccates her vagina.

Similarly, no matter how badly a man treats a woman, no matter how much of an asshole he is to her, she will not leave him as long as he gives her the Tingle. If she feels it, she’ll rationalize any shitty behavior from a man as good behavior, or as reasonable and predictable behavior caused by her own bad behavior, and invent new and creative reasons for staying with him. Sure she will bitch and moan and continually ignore her friends’ advice to dump him, but she’ll always run back to his arms, happy to be with the man who coaxes the Tingle from her. Maybe, some day in the distant future, she will have put up with enough of his assholery and decide leaving him is better than more Tingles, but she won’t do it without plenty of personal anguish, and she’ll never feel great about leaving him.

The niceguy? She’ll hardly spare a second for the pain of losing him. *shrug* No Tingle, No Linger. But he will make an appearance in a blog post about a journey of self-discovery, as the token emotional tampon.


Waffles comments,

Beginning to think that over 75% of LTRs are just window dressing and the majority of LTR and married couples are not happy. The best part of any relationship is pretty much universally accepted as the beginning. Once that is gone it is hard to get back to that point sexually. Which isn’t always a bad thing, but can quickly lead to other issues that are common in any LTR.

“The best part of any relationship is the beginning”. This is one of the ugliest truths. “Grow old along with me, the best is yet to be” is one of the prettiest lies to distract from that ugly truth.

All the passion, the white hot passion, the delirious vertiginous love, the beautiful obsession….it’s front-loaded, going downhill after (if you’re lucky) the first year or two. Later, tenderness and affection and maybe joy replace the passion, but the best part has been lost forever, to familiarity, age, time, and benumbing.


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File under: Too funny

No further shivving, yer honor.

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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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One thing I have noticed (as has reader DoBA) is the incredible amount of hysterical bile flung at Trump by has-been ex-sluts, spinsters, cougars, and bitterbitch skanks whose salad days are receding in the rearview mirror. DoBA:

Re: Louise Mensch.

A lot of people don’t like Trump, but I’ve noticed a pattern in that the people who truly seem to DESPISE him with an obsessive fervor all seem to be aged ex-sluts. Examples among women I know: An old “rock club” slut who used to fuck metal bands passing through town; a former college friend who fucked almost the whole dorm hall and several professors; and the town slut who not only fucked but *dated* her high school bio teacher, then went on to be in countless wet t-shirt contests.

I could give more examples, but these are the most glaring. Why? Because they especially took offense to Trump’s pussy-grabbing comment. That’s right — the very women who were the first to actually get their tits out in their teens and twenties are now indignant in their forties that a man (OMG!) would actually talk about sex. Imagine that. How rude!

There has to be some weird psychological thing going on here. Resentment? Loss of power? Lack of control over the sexual market? All of the above?

I have three theories to explain the psychological motivations of ex-slut hatred of Trump (and by extension, hatred of Trumperica and its people).

  1. Shame. Ex-sluts have to carry the burden of their sluttery and no matter how much they put on a brave grrlpower face, they HATE HATE HATE to be reminded that they joyfully acquiesced to alpha men like a young Trump using their youthful bodies for fleeting pleasures of the flesh and of the peak femininity.
  2. The Wall. Ex-sluts try to ignore The Wall and their inevitable sex and romance-destroying impact with it. As with the shame of their sexual histories, ex-sluts don’t like reminders of their rapidly coalescing sexual (and marital) worthlessness. Trump’s well-known ALPHA MALE ENTITLEMENT in the company of younger hotter tighter women, and his implied DISAVOWAL of spending romantic effort on older women, is a constant needle under the skin of aging beauties for whom Trump is the visual embodiment of every man they secretly desire but can now no longer attract.
  3. Social ostracism. Fact is, if Trumperica is realized in all its feminism-jettisoning, patriarchy-recovering glory, sluts and spinsters will have a hard go of it, especially in the marital market. A nation of beta males energized with a renewed masculinity and healthy male prerogative will feel less inclined to suck up to low value women or, worse, settle for them out of a misplaced sense of lack of options which have heretofore been drilled into their heads by the man-hating shrikegeist. Trumperica means the end of beta male thirst, at least as it is practiced today under the rules of our degenerate matriarchy: in public, with ostentatiousness and self-defeating white knight earnestness. The drying up of the beta male thirst pool will mean, blessedly, less attention lavished on fading cock hop stars by any man but the most desperately indiscriminate blacks. Ex-sluts will feel this social demotion in their bones, and they fight against its arrival — an arrival in the form of Trump and his aesthete army — with a passion they are no longer able to conjure in the bedroom.

I hope this clears up the matter!

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There’s no better way to start your week than getting down into the slop with squealing pigs, but in the porcine annals of oinkery this magnificent squeal must rank as one of the most try-hard, butthurt boar bleats ever to disgrace a social media trough. The title alone could convince the judges to give her straight 10s for porkingsthatneverhappened.txt.

I’m Fat And I Have Sex With Hot Strangers

Mic drop. Or should I say, meatloaf drop.

I could just post her photo and stop there, nothing else needing to be said.

If bed frames could cry.

This human-pig hybrid’s shrieking id is a sight to behold. She must have the fattest rationalization hamster in the known universe. (Obligingly, CH crowns her the Hamster of the Month winner.)

First, she tries to lull the reader into complacent acceptance of her wild claims to come by throwing out a morsel, or twenty, of preemptive candor.

I am fat — not curvy, fat. I have a fat stomach and I jiggle when I walk.

“jiggle” = flesh tsunami. Now I’m not saying she’s fat, but when she wades into the ocean Indonesians head for high ground.

Society tells me that this is a radical notion.

Did we sleep in class during all those years of stentorian Chateau inculcation? Society tells you nothing, moocow. It’s the God of Biomechanics who deems your lard disgusting to the vast majority of people. Even to fellow fatties!

It’s not. There are more girls like me out there. We just aren’t given space to be visible.

How much space do you need? The Great Plains?

I feel like I was put on this earth to be colorful and take up space

So were landfills.

and I am not ashamed.

Keep telling yourself.. and everyone else.. that.

We are told by the media that we need to live in shame, stop eating seventeen cheeseburgers,

That’s an oddly precise number.

We are told to wear something “more flattering” and “not to show so much skin” and “put your boobs away Melissa, you are scaring the children.”


Oh, I’m sorry, I would have cleavage even if I wore a turtleneck and I’m sick of trying to hide it.

Fat pigs love to assert a phony pride in their tits. But sacs of amorphous blubber don’t an attractive bust make. That’s not cleavage, Miss Piggy, that’s a sandworm lair.

My own father told me when I was 10 years old that no man would ever want to hold my hand unless I lost weight and stopped biting my fingernails.

Father of the Year. Not kidding. She only had to listen…

LOL@dad, they want to do so much more than hold hands now.

F YOU DAD, giving blowjobs in the dark to drunk losers is where I’m at now!

I am fat and I have casual sex with strangers, attractive strangers even.

That “even” is such a deadweight giveaway. Translation: once, a long time ago when she wasn’t yet fully fattened for the slaughter, she scissored with a lesbian who actually made the effort to trim her bush and shoo the parrots and monkeys out.

It was an impromptu mini vacation before I move to Portland to go back to school for my art degree, start a boudoir photography business and live amongst other body-positive, sex-positive women like myself and the beautiful beards that love us.

Who can tell parody from reality anymore?

I started swiping right on men and women on Tinder as I waited to deplane at LAX.

“Deplane, boss, deplane!” “No, that’s not a plane, Tattoo, it’s a fattie.”

I follow Amber Rose on Instagram and I find it infuriating watching other women tear each other down for what they choose to do with their own bodies.

The shunning of disfigured mental disease vectors is required.

I also find equally disturbing the entitlement some men demonstrate when a woman chooses to display any amount of skin or overt sexuality in their presence.

Men’s attractiveness standards are required. (Overt female sexuality is only offensive to men when it emerges like a reverse fat caterpillar from a size XXXXXXL chrysalis (a hard-shelled fupa).)

To me, being called a slut isn’t degrading.

The extra 200 pounds set her degradation bar high.

I see it as empowering and symbolic of me taking ownership over what I choose to do with MY body.

Stuff it full of cheap carbs until her days are an endless bloat parade of joint pain, labored breathing, smegma farming, and romantic failure.

My fat beautiful curvy soft body.

Ya know, slender women have curvy, soft bodies, too. So you don’t have that going for you, fatty.

Much to my surprise, people in LA utilize Tinder’s “Super Like” option like nobody’s business, making my quest for adventure that much easier.

Like pizza delivery.

Before I got to my first hotel I was talking to six or seven very attractive strangers.

“very attractive strangers”. The porky pig’s try-hard protestation is so transparent. Reality: these very attractive strangers looked like extras from the Star Wars cantina scene.

I have found that most men who want casual sex aren’t creeps or rapists.

Fat woman standards are very flexible, unlike their joints.

They just want to feel pleasure and make a connection however brief, just like me.

“however brief” 😆 😆

Sex doesn’t have to be a big deal. Sex doesn’t need to equal love for it to be mind blowing.

The grapes, they are sour.

It can also be about mutual pleasure and the way two or more bodies fit and complement each other.

with the help of a crowbar.

I have a pretty strict vetting process for picking up men and I have never had any problems.

“Zero alternative dating options? Check.”

I have pictures on my Tinder profile that are quite suggestive.

of a rhino birth.

If a man can have a normal conversation with me without getting gross and demanding, I give him the green-light and we keep chatting for a bit until we agree to meet up.

Men, you don’t need game to pick up fatties. You can talk about the weather with her, if you want. What are you waiting for? (“a hindbrain transmutation”) oh, right.

I find it’s easy to pick up on the entitlement factor, and that is a major red flag.

Total loser goes out with uglyfat, has the gall to think this means she’ll put out for parking meter change.

Just because a woman is showing skin doesn’t mean you have the right to expect sex from her.

That’s not why the losers who go out with you expect sex. (hint: it’s the lsmv corpulence)

Sometimes we meet for coffee, sometimes we go on an actual date, sometimes I go to their house and we are having sex within 15 minutes and sometimes they come to my hotel room at 2am and we bond over Louis C.K. and then laugh a lot and start going at it and it feels like old friends.

I.e., she has given up on the dream of love and marriage.

This bed won’t stay empty for long.

The chicken wing bones will see to that.

I had my own multi-city-state Slut Walk in a different city every night, with my mom staying in a hotel room right across the hall.

Ever notice the typical Slut Walker is the kind of woman least likely to have the opportunity to slut it up with men? Something else to notice: mothers of grossly obese daughters are so despondent for their child’s romantic future that any display of sexuality, however skanky and soul-crushing, fills them with pride.

Oddly enough, two of my hookups visit Portland rather frequently. Round two has been discussed and I am sure will happen at some point in the future.

The triumph of hope over pump and dump.

Each guy was attractive in his own way

All of the men I have ever talked to have been nothing but complimentary about my body.

Fatties will believe anything.

I have never had anyone see me in person and walk away or stand me up.

They spotted her on the approach and darted into an alley for a quick, unnoticed escape.

I am currently the biggest I have ever been and at the same time I feel the sexiest and most present in my body that I have ever felt in my life.

What a coincidence.

I am no longer afraid of my desires or being naked in front of others.

I own my sexuality and my choices.

So do slender women, and they don’t have to lie about feeling sexy.

I have a certain number of sexy individuals to thank for that.

And those individuals are Channing Tatum, Brad Pitt, and Barack Obama.

And no, I’m not telling you my number.

(it’s large and in charge)

Well, fuckin phew, that was a hot mess.

The purpose of posts like this one, besides the slaking of very special hedonistic and aesthetic urges, is to brutally shame these shoggoths off the internet forever. Their fat pride is poison, their phony self-esteem is propaganda, and their feminist platitudes are comfort to fellow misfits providing rhetorical rationalizations to avoid taking any steps to genuinely improving themselves.

Shaming uglyfats into oblivion is not just fun, it’s a righteous moral imperative.

Whenever you read some fatty going on about how much men love her “””curves”””, and all the “””great sex””” she’s having with “””hot studs”””, you’ll know she’s lying to protect her ego from the Day of Mirrors. There are no hot studs in her bed. She is not having any sex, let alone great sex. And she will never know love in the way that a slender woman will know love.

This is the message fat chicks should be receiving, loud and clear and continually, if truth and beauty are your scene. Anything deviating from this cruel to be kind message of realtalk will only increase and amplify the ugliness, of body and mind and soul, in the world.

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Feminists… they just can’t keep their stories straight. Here’s Emma Watson, quoted at two different times, contradicting herself with an assurance that makes one wonder if she has an evil twin.

The first quote, from this past Tuesday’s gender equality speech (guffaw), reads “If men don’t have to be aggressive in order to be accepted, women won’t feel compelled to be submissive.”

(Never mind that this assertion makes absolutely no sense if you think about it for longer than a second.)

The second attribution, from two years ago, reads “But now Emma Watson has said she doubts she will date a British man ever again – because they are too shy. […] Instead an American will come up to her straight away and suggest a date – a boldness she finds attractive.”

#HeForShe? More like #HeForHeadCases.

Feminism long ago abandoned any pretense to logic or internal consistency. It’s nothing but feels all day, every day, with an extra helping of feels. Watson’s rationalization hamster, like most rodents residing in the brains of her callow ilk, is 700% thigh and 800% glutes. A swole spinner on the wheel of ego-masturbation.

Not that more evidence was needed, but once more, from the top and with throat cleared:


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