Archive for the ‘Hitting The Wall’ Category

Anna Merlan has a post up at Jizzebel about Trump, Hitler, Nazis, White Nationalists, and Hitler. That’s really all you need to know. In full, it is as stupid and incoherent and rife with empty-headed aging Millennial snark as CH’s executive summary makes it sound. Basically, shitlibs are flooding their diapers that Whites are starting to do what other racial groups have always done: embrace a race-aware political identity.

But the real story here, as is usually the case with these indignant witch burning histrionics from the thin-skinned bluehair nosepierce generation, is the circus sideshow that defines the life of the author. Let us recall that Anna Merlan is the acid-blooded feminist xenomorph who helped breathe life into the UVA fraternity rape hoax (a hoax roundly exposed by numerous media outlets), who was rightly condemned for her poor journalistic standards (i.e., libel), who lashed out in a vengeful rage and initially refused to own up to her part in the lie, and who finally was forced to issue a snide apology for her efforts at menstrually smearing the reputations of innocent men.

Merlan the Lizard

Merlan the Lizard

A huge cunt, all in all.

Anna Merlan’s been lying her whole life. She’s a Nimrod Class sociopath and attention whore, who uses lies to construct her glowing self-conception. A sane society would shun her kind to the icy wastelands, and never allow her to sully any respectable organization.

Given the well-known background on Anna Merlan — her lying, dissembling, malevolence, man-hating, and unethical, incompetent journalistic practices that make mockery of the field — why is she still employed? How is it that she is still able to have a platform to vomit her lies and libel after everything that is known about her?

Could it be………


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Although rare, one does occasionally encounter the younger grown man-older woman couple. (I specify “grown man”, because there is room in the sexual market for inexperienced teenage and early 20s beta males to pop their cherries in the easy and uncomplicated, if road-worn, guiding folds of older woman orifice.)

The married younger man-older woman is a coupling that seems to defy not just evolutionary theory but also common sense. Why would a man so ludicrously work against his reproductive interests? There is already a built-in preference among women to date and marry older men than themselves, and a woman’s fertility window is much shorter than a man’s. One would have to be either a fetishist who gets his GILF freak on, or a complete loser lacking any confidence in his ability to marry at least a few boner-inspiring years down the poon market.

While fetishists of every stripe exist, they are so rare — much rarer than the noise their advocates make on SJW comment boards where all that matters is parroting the Pantywaist Line — that it’s safe to compartmentalize them into a box full of Darwinian exceptions who don’t violate the general rule governing sex interactions.

More common are the lesser beta and omega male losers who have so little to offer women, or who believe they have so little to offer, that they settle, with a sad resignation they have spent their lives expertly concealing under self-soothing bromides and plastic smiles from public inquisition, for older broads with short shelf lives and lowered standards.

If the numbers of these loser husband-older wife couples are increasing, (anecdotally, there does appear to be a slight uptick in their numbers, mirroring the slight uptick in the numbers of white women-black men couples. I invite the reader to make the relevant connection), we can identify a number of social changes that may be contributing to the odd pairings.

Reader corvinus explains,

CH: and then marry, if he wishes to marry, a younger woman.

This. About 10 years younger.

As to why it’s considered the norm to marry a woman the same age as you, I have a couple of ideas:

1) Social pressure, especially from the women.
2) Online dating, which has a stronger age-homogamy bias than IRL.
3) Lack of game on the men’s part.

Interestingly enough, apparently during the recession, the age at first marriage has gone up faster for men than for women, suggesting that women are more willing to consider marrying somewhat older men than they were before.

During times of economic hardship, women smartly choose established men with more resources (betas). The inverse is also true: during times of female economic self-sufficiency, women vaginally choose charming jerkboys with or without resources.

Corvinus has hit on the big three reasons why younger man-older women marriages continue to exist and offend good taste.

Social pressure is a big deal, because women are the lemming sex and bend to the will of the group more readily than do men. If more older women are getting locked out of the chase for older, resource-rich men, then they will seek succor from their misery by propagandizing the wonderful wonderfulness of fucking younger men in short-term flings. (We here at CH know better. These women hurt badly on the inside.) The lies of feminism can have an impact on how socially comfortable women feel about dating older men.

Online dating does create a sex market skew against the intangibles of courtship. That is, women who try to find a man exclusively online will subconsciously bias the crude, artless markers of a man’s SMV — his listed age and profile pic — at the expense of the complex, refined cues of his seductive prowess (amply explored in the CH archives). Luckily, there are plenty of smooth moves a man can execute to evade this age-homogamy bias of online dating.

Lack of game. This is the big pink tuna. In my travels around the world of women, I’ve come to observe that younger man-older woman relationships are invariably of four kinds:

– The older woman was preternaturally attractive and slender, and competing in a local market filled with chubby younger women and off-the-market married men. In this milieu, an older woman (but not too much older) will capture the interest of younger unmarried men fed up with the feeding schedules of their female peers.

– The younger man was a beta male to the core. This is the explanation for 90% of younger man-older woman marriages. You take a lesser beta with little experience bedding women, add an older, sexually aggressive broad with her talons out for contractually locking down an indentured servant a husband, and you’ve got a combustible situation the beta has no hope of exerting any control over its direction. These couples flout natural law because the beta male has few sexual market options, or believes in his heart he has few options. Scarcity mentality is the soulkiller of masculinity.

– The younger man was black, the older woman a flabby white. For biomechanical reasons I don’t feel like hammering into submission yet again, it is an observable fact that black men are simply more tolerant of SMV hideousness in the women they screw, and this goes double when black men date white women. A black man will spear white land whales or go down on the wrinkled vag flaps of old white women that no white man would touch.

– The older woman was rich. Many of the younger men in these relationships are closeted gays on the psychopathy spectrum.

tl;dr: There’s a reason we feel an emotional swell of harmoniousness when we see older man-younger woman couples, and we feel a jolt of emotional discomfort when we see the opposite.


I forgot to mention sex ratio skew as a potential cause of increased younger man-older woman marriages. In a prime nubility market in which men outnumbered (against the historical average) the available hot young minxes, there would be immense pressure at the younger male margins to tragically settle for older women who are the sexual and/or marital discards of older alpha men in the process of trading up to younger lovers. An ahistorical sex ratio skew can introduce plenty of tumult and “black swans” into the normal functioning of the sexual market.

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Commenter Peter draws a scalpel to the aging female’s id and explains why so many wrinkled German divorcées head to the Dark Incontinent for spiritually enervating EatPrayFuck sex tours.

In Europe reasonably attractive women will occasionally date and marry African black men. So there is definitely some cultural element to these preferences. White women in America learn intuitively at a very young age that a relationship with a black man makes you damaged goods in the eyes of any white man worth marrying. The stigma in Germany is not as bad, especially given the high profiles in soccer and entertainment of all sorts of German “Mischlingskinder” with African fathers. Of course, even in Germany Africans are mostly the fall backs for aging German divorcees. But unlike America, middle aged German hags actually take pride in taking sex tours to Africa where they pay young African men to fuck them and give them back rubs for a few weeks a year. I’m sure at some level fucking black men is a way to take revenge on a society that rejects you as unattractive and superfluous.

This really gets to the heart of the EATPRAYSLUT Western white woman social phenomenon. White men are simply more discriminating than black men, and as a result of that heightened discriminatory aesthetic, there are a lot of leftover aging white women who can no longer compete in their native culture’s fully secularized sexual market, so, thanks to jetliner travel on the cheap facilitating easy access to lil’ Butt Nakeds who will balm their burned ids, lots of spinster discards are heading down for a thrill that will secretly keep them up at night weeping bitter tears for their metadeath fates.

So, globalization has that going for it, which is nice.

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Commenter natphilosopher poses an interesting thought experiment,

What I want to know is, what’s the CH translation factor [for female age versus female fatness]?
I figure, maybe 2-2.5 pounds/year?
A 20 year old who’s 50 pounds overweight against the same woman 20-25 years later, but now she’s lost the extra weight and toned up?

No, better yet, CH, they are both at the end of the bar. It’s the middle of nowhere, so there’s no other action and your stationed here for a while. The newly divorced mother, toned and horny, and the overweight but otherwise hot daughter and two of her overweight friends. The mother is so hot for her age, which is 39, that under the circumstances she appeals to the mighty CH. How many pounds per year does the daughter have to be overweight for the Mom to win CH’s attention?

The variables:

39-year-old mom, slender and toned.


20-year-old daughter, 50 pounds overweight.

Which woman commands not just CH’s turgid attention, but most men’s attention (since the vast majority of men share the same preferences in women)?

In other words, how much fat has to accumulate on a prime nubility young woman before a height-weight proportionate woman twice her age begins to look like a more sexually alluring prospect?

Reminder: Presented with two equally slender women 20 years apart, most men will, given a free choice, choose the younger woman for sex AND love. (yes, both)

The formula is simple: Youth >>>> Cougardom, at a healthy body weight, every time. It gets complicated when we fiddle with the variables and compare a young fatty to an older, age-adjusted hottie.

Thinking hard about this (because neither cougars nor fatties are sexual fantasy material), I conclude that the thin mom would earn the CH rod of approval. Youthful bloom, rare and exquisite as it is, can’t withstand 50 pounds of disfiguring blubber. Wrinkles and sag are no man’s idea of boner-fuel, but the equivalent of Lindy West is like the anti-Viagra: Boners implode into a black hole of flaccidness, from which no seed can escape.

I’d therefore have to agree with natphilosopher’s mathematical elegance: A 20-year-old daughter would have to be 2.5 lbs per year fatter than her 39-year-old mom. But only if her mom is already thin. If the daughter is 50 pounds fatter than her obese mom, that’s a dirigible sideshow no one wants to contemplate puncturing.

50 pounds of superfluous fat is a lot of unsexxxy BBBBBBBBW adipose. What if the daughter is, say, 40 pounds heavier than her twice-as-old slender mom? 30 pounds? 20?

At 40 pounds difference, most men would still opt to bang the thin mom with the extra 20 years.

At 30 pounds difference, the pattern of fat accumulation on the daughter will start to matter. Did her additional 30 pounds settle on her ass and tits, and avoid her face, neck, belly and arms? Then I conclude that even numbers of men would choose the daughter and the mother.

At 20 pounds difference, the same as above applies, but now the daughter’s sheer youthfulness exerts a powerful influence on men’s autonomic desires. Most men will overlook an extra 20 pounds on a 20-year-old if the only alternative is sex with a thin 39-year-old (again, presuming equal facial attractiveness, i.e. bone structure).

At 10 pounds difference, the daughter wins nearly every time.

I hope this answer has cleared up everyone’s questions on the matter of female fatness and female age and their deleterious, and synergistically deflating, effects on men’s libidos.

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Don’t marry a woman over 30. There are the obvious reasons…

– The over-30 woman has lower fertility. If you want to build a dynasty, your over-30 wife might stall out at 1.3 heirs.

– The over-30 woman has likely amassed an impressive knob count. When you marry a 30+ woman, you’re marrying her 30+ cockas. Hope you like getting phantom cucked! As magically prehensile as your penis may be, she’ll never look up to it in cross-eyed awe like she did with her first cock when she was younger, hotter, tighter, and inexperienced.

– The over-30 woman is bitter from a wasted prime spent on failed relationships she hoped would lead to marriage. Now that you’re marrying her, she should be grateful, but she’s not. You remain perplexed, as is the wont of your beta male class.

– The over-30 woman fell in love with her career and the alpha male bosses she answers to before she fell in love with you. Wrong order.

But all these reasons pale in importance to the fact that a man marrying an over-30 woman is investing everything he has in a rapidly depreciating pleasure provider that has already lost a lot of its aesthetic value.

As reader Trainspotter helpfully notes,

Zombie Shane: “But the fall-off [in a woman’s attractiveness] a few years later can be shockingly abrupt.”

It certainly can be. So many guys these days are marrying early 30’s women, and then, almost immediately – Bam! The wall. It’s over almost before it began. It comes on so fast these guys should qualify for some sort of PTSD related disability.

As I go through my week, I often see married couples walking about. At least nine times out of ten, the wife is so unattractive that there is no way I could possibly imagine doing her, and these are just women in their 30’s. In fact, it is impossible for me to imagine most of them as having ever been attractive enough to warrant male attention.

Perhaps the fault is mine, and my imagination impoverished. Where I saw only blight, sag and bloat, their male partners saw bounteous opportunity, vistas beyond compare.

Do these men have stomachs of iron, or something? What power of will do they possess that I lack, in order to service these mighty warpigs? Most assuredly, I could never do what they do. I lack the strength, to my great and eternal shame.

Col. Kurtz himself has nothing on such gods, strolling amongst mere mortals such as I. Give me ten divisions of men like that and…well, not exactly sure what I could do. Probably bump up porn sales a notch or so.

“It’s over almost before it began.” The shining shiv delivered. The message received in pierced heartmeat. Surprise expiration!

Marrying an over-30 woman is like buying a used car one mile short of its 120,000 mile servicing. Yeah, you’ll enjoy a few bumpy rides sitting in that steal, but it won’t be long before the tailpipe falls off somewhere on Route BigMistake and the heater blows ice queen air.

The over-30 woman can fix herself up enough to fool the prospective provider hubby for a short while, and once the line that is dotted is signed the ruse will be discarded. The short time horizon thinking and avoidance of easy prescience are the thermal exhaust ports of many a beta schlub too desperate for love to project the catalyst of their ardor a few years forward.

Marry her young and un-plunged. That’s the ticket (if you must punch it). This way, you get to enjoy five to ten more years of your wife’s prime nubility before her petals start floating to the ground. Ten years of almost famous sex in exchange for surrendering your natural male prerogative for poosy variety beats two years of reunion tour sex at the same exorbitant price.

There’s another, subtle, reason to refuse the wedded diss of marrying the over-30 woman. Now, naturally, if you marry an under-30 woman, the day will come, ostensibly, that she’ll be your over-30 wife. But you’ll have something that chagrined men who married women on the cusp of sagging cups don’t have: Years of very fond, very monopolized, very supple memories. If you maritally snag a 21-year-old minx and occupy her sugar walls for the next ten years, the spermatomically bonded cervix-splattered glue of all those splendid tumbles of passion accrue into something larger than the sum of your individuated speckles. All that young woman heat, heat which will never be replicated with the older version of your wife, captures into limbic amber a network of interlocked, superconductive emotions with the power to sustain lovingrapture a good ways past the poignantly brief era of peak wife ripeness, onward into the elevator muzak era of bland marital inertia (50 years, plus or minus).

You marry an over-30 woman and you’re left grasping at a grease truck menu of curdled, pear-shaped memories and wrinkled recollections for sustenance.

Don’t fall victim to marrying that Charlie Brown Christmas tree that drops its one bulb as soon as you carry it across the threshold. Find yourself a young healthy fir, chop it down, decorate it with your tinsel, and leave lots of unwrapped gifts under its voluptuous boughs. Just make sure there’s no room under there for anyone else’s gifts.

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A 59-year-old woman, international speaker and writer (“productive citizen”), laments the icy rejection she received at the hands of a 55-year-old man who felt a surge of natural male biological disgust for her naked wrinkly old lady body.

And so, we planned a weekend together. That’s when things got confusing, unspoken and just-not-quite there. We went to bed in a couple’s way — unclothed and touching — all parts near. Kisses were shared and sleep came in hugs. I attempted more intimacy throughout the weekend and was deterred each time.

On Monday evening over the phone, I asked this man who had shared my bed for three nights running why we had not made love. “Your body is too wrinkly,” he said without a pause. “I have spoiled myself over the years with young woman. I just can’t get excited with you. I love your energy and your laughter. I like your head and your heart. But, I just can’t deal with your body.”

I was stunned. The hurt would come later. I asked him slowly and carefully if he found my body hard to look at. He said yes. “So, this means seeing me naked was troublesome to you?” I asked. He told me he had just looked away. And when the lights were out, he pretended my body was younger — that I was younger. My breath came deep and full as I processed this information. My face blazed as I felt embarrassed and shamed by memories of my easy nakedness with him in days just passed.

We talked for some time more, my head reeling at the content of the conversation. He spoke of special stockings and clothing that would “hide” my years. He blithely told me he loved “little black dresses” and strappy shoes. He said my hair was not long and flowing as he preferred, but that was okay because it was “cool looking.” I felt like a Barbie Doll on acid as I listened to this man. He was totally oblivious to the viciousness of his words.

She thinks this man a sadistic monster, but he was perhaps more honest with her (and with himself) than any man she has known. They aren’t called the ugly truths for nothing.

Men don’t get impotent; women get old. You won’t hear any therapist telling that raw reality to struggling older couples. Be prepared for soul-flaying pain of this nature to become commonplace in post-sanity and post-restricted female sexuality America. Marriage rates are at a historical low and never-married or divorced older women are desperate for romance. They’re in the field when they should be in the home with grandchildren, deluding themselves that the older men who they think by rights are theirs instead are more interested in the younger women with tighter bodies and fresher histocompatibilities. And to make matters worse, more than a few of those younger women love the company of older men.

The sexual market is not equal. It’s not fair. It’s not progressive. And it’s not a rom-com with a happy ending. It is a tearjerker, however.

Compounding the difficulties that older, single women face in the arena of zero-sum mate acquisition is the altered perspective of single older men who are accustomed to dating younger women. When you’ve tasted a morsel of Kobe filet mignon and washed it down with a 2010 Hewitt cabernet, an 80/20 ground beef burger with a tepid Bud Light just isn’t going to get you up in the morning.

Some commenters had a fun time with this lady’s id yelp.

I can relate…there is this woman who is obsessed with me who calls me everyday, she is the nicest woman I ever met,but when I saw her naked I freaked out.

I usually like to keep the lights on but with her I did not want to see, and I tried to think of my ex who had a superb body.

Everything is wrinkly and saggy…it is impossible for me to be passionate about such a woman even though she has the best personality.

Part of me feels sad for her, but I just can not be with her, I have to be passionate about what I see, not only about what us in her heart and her head.

Men are very visual, I am very visual. At some point I had no choice but to tell her I had trouble looking at her naked body.

She is my age but I look 15 years younger while she looks older than her age.

with clothes on she is cute, she even has an hourglass figure, she gets a lot of attention from men but they have no idea what is under her clothes. how everything is very saggy and wrinkly.

sorry if I go on and on, but I am right smack in the middle of a similar situation as the Huffington story..


Women gotta understand, God put our eyes right up front…

Personality? Well, okay… but our ears are way back on the head.


“I didn’t even want to try to explain the hurt and the horror that he had inflicted upon me. I actually felt sickly sorry for this man as I hung up the phone”

!!!Hamster time!!!!


Try servicing a monster and you’ll understand what horror is.

Older women’s best hope is for an epidemic of mass amnesia to strike men and men only. In this way, no single older man crashing the dating market and creating tsunamis for older female hamsters to surf will remember what prime pussy looks and feels like under clothes. Unencumbered by these fond recollections, he can more easily be catechized in the belief of stylishly-clothed but surreptitiously wrinkled hags as the pinnacle of female sexuality… at least for a short while, until his occipital resumes control of his prefrontal and penile.

The whole sordid spectacle reminds me of a dating exploit from a time not yet beyond crystalline recall. I had met a 20-ish blonde in the dusky brick-relief bowels of a drunken after-party. Already buzzing from one drink too many, I began to imagine scenarios… transactions… with her shapely vessel as she spoke of childhood dreams and favorite movie scenes. I made feints toward a same night lay (never a dull moment on the CH sexpress) but she wouldn’t bite, preferring instead to indicate her interest with strong pleas for a follow-up date. “you will call me, right?” “you’ve got my number right there.” SMILE SMILE SMILE “i’ll see you soon!”

Sufficiently sated from recent conquests, I dropped the idea of an effortful seduction whisking her from venue to vainroom before sleepiness took its toll. I agreed to call her, and confessed to myself that the date was happily anticipated. I like blondes. I like 20-ish women. I like them most when they like me in kind.

Two evenings later, we met at a small bistro. She was already there when I arrived, seated indoors under bright light only paces from an outdoor area softly illumined by decorative patio lights. This was her critical mistake. From twenty feet, barely through the restaurant’s entranceway and acutely sober, I saw her heart-swelling silhouette from two nights ago, now unshadowed, had morphed into the splotchy, shattering skin wrap of a woman accelerating to her upper 30s. My smile dropped faster than an unsupported witch’s teat.

I am a master actor when crisis calls, but this disappointment was too great to conceal. She caught the full impact of it and, exacerbated by the contrast of my insanely youthful countenance, stood up from our table seconds after I had introduced myself to calmly but with a hint of croak in her voice cut the date short with a prematurity that must have set land speed records. “if it’s ok with you, we really don’t have to do this. i’m not ready for this. I’m so sorry.” Her entire body downcast and my guilt cresting a harsh wave, I eagerly (but not too eagerly!) accepted her offer.

It’s hard out there for the older woman. Yer ‘umble mareslayer revels in revealing the barbarous clashes that bloody the innersides of our polite vestments, but in real life he’s a bit less callous and handles life’s sad cameos with a softer glove.

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There’s a lot of chatter among the cuntocracy about how men aren’t “manning up” and doing their duty to marry off all the single ladies. But maybe, just maybe, part of the reason for this male abdication of the sacred institution of marriage is the poor quality of the women on offer.

Just how bad is the marriageable American female market? Jay in DC writes,

‘Hot 99.5′ is basically the hippest and most relevant DC radio station in that it has the youngest listener demographic.

They are currently holding a contest for “new brides” to post their hottest photo to win the contest (1,000 dollar prize). Now granted, more intelligent chicks are probably NOT going to put their pic out there. But there are about 100 submissions up there already so this is a pretty good cross-section of not only DC, but really the US.

Behold men, and look upon your ruination. Betas WILL marry anything. ANYTHING, and this is what keeps the perpetual cycle of disgusting fat entitled average americunts reproducing.

I really advise you take the 15 minutes or so to REALLY look at every photo. This is our future. Out of those 100 photos there are FIVE women I would date, a few more I would fuck, and 3 I would marry if they had the classic femininity to go with their looks.

That is a SAD ASS RATIO. 97 to 3 in a pretty good statistical sample are marriageable? Welcome to the USSA.


p.s. Don’t bother posting comments, they will be shot down in seconds, just enjoy the grotesquery that is these women in bridal gowns.

Browsing the blushing attention whores, I’d have to concur with Jay’s assessment; the majority of the American East Coast brides are beastly. Beauty and the beast, inverted.

Beta males won’t marry anything. That is a stretch. Ugly, older, masculine, and fatter women DO pay marriage marketplace costs that you won’t be able to readily discern in their smiling wedding day photos. The hidden nature of the cost does not preclude its exorbitance.

And what is that exorbitant cost? Settling. It’s all of the better men with whom the post-prime, pre-Wall, porky-princess American bride had to give up hope of fettering to a marital contract. As age, size and attitude veer away from the feminine ideal beloved by the vast majority of men, women will find it harder — sometimes impossibly harder — to land the man of their dreams. They will have to settle for second, third, or even 30th best if they want to be married at all.

And so what you don’t see in those blushing blimp pics are the men they truly wanted who pumped and dumped them, or ignored them for their prettier friends. What you also don’t see are the hapless losers who vowed last-ditch lifelong monogamy to a land whale in exchange for avoiding the walking death of incel, as their hearts privately sank away in forlorn regret.

That is the individual, human dynamic. What about the big picture? Interesting — in the horrible sense of the word — things happen when the supply of attractive women drastically shrinks in proportion to the supply of megafauna, feminists, careerist shrikes, manjaws, and bitter spinsters. When the marriage market essentially become an outpost of Wal-Mart (Wall-Mart!) — cheap, throwaway, high fructose corn syrup goods — men experience what could be described as an exogenous “restriction of range” problem when they set out to find marriageable women.

Instead of a normally functioning sexual market where men are presented with many options among marriageable women of varying degrees of attractiveness (who nonetheless meet the men’s threshold for long-term commitment worthiness), what transpires in a shit market like what we have now is a massive limitation in men’s acceptably attractive mate choices and a replacement with a dichotomous mate choice system. In a dichotomous mate choice system, beta males no longer have the luxury of choosing between, say, a feminine slender 6 and a tomboyish slender 7. Now they’re restricted to choosing between involuntary celibacy and marriage to a ghastly apparition.

Unfortunately for the progress of the human species, the male sex drive is so strong that more than a few hard-up betas and omegas will choose the sad, dreary marriage to a circus sideshow over the soul-crushing solitude of sexlessness.

Beauty is truth. CH is among the greats in asserting the truism of this plea for an aesthetic sensibility, and for good reason. When ugliness of body is the norm, ugliness of character and, ultimately, of nation is sure to follow.



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