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Archive for the ‘Hungry Hungry Hippos’ Category

One immense and expanding frontline in the War of Beauty vs Ugliness is the obesity epidemic, which threatens to consume every last american in an orgy of consumption. From the CDC’s latest “Obesity and Overweight Report in the US”, via a Gaystream Media tentacle:

A troubling new report released Friday by the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention shows that almost 40 percent of American adults and nearly 20 percent of adolescents are obese — the highest rates ever recorded for the U.S.

“It’s difficult to be optimistic at this point,” said Dr. Frank Hu, chair of the Department of Nutrition at the Harvard School of Public Health. “The trend of obesity has been steadily increasing in both children and adults despite many public health efforts to improve nutrition and physical activity.” […]

Overall, 70.7 percent of Americans are either overweight or obese, meaning that an unhealthy weight has become the norm, with normal weight Americans — a BMI of less than 25 — now in the minority.

The Eloi and the Morlocks. The elves and the orcs. The SWPLs and the rest.

Bad news, readers. Ugliness is winning. Beauty is in retreat.

In the US, squatemalan reconquista drives a lot of the growth in overweight and obese “Americans”, but if you consult the CDC source data you’ll discover that White women and even Waifu-Americans are getting fatter, too. No one race is untouched by the scourge of the calorie splurge.

Government intervention could help turn this around, but that would require rolling back significant sectors of modernity to a quasi-premodern stage. Is the Chamber of Commerce Party ready to accept punishing regulations on the sale of sugar, wheat, and soy, or anti-monopoly actions to rein in Big Agriculture? Is NIH or CDC ready to give full support to inverting the anti-fat, pro-carbface USDA food pyramid to one that is healthier for all Americans? What about the public? Are they ready for societal assaults on open borders to the Girth World and the en masse relocation of prime fertility women from home and hearth to the workforce?

All these trends have contributed to the obesity crisis. But instead we live in Round Clown World where fatties are accepted, normalized, and glorified, and men are shamed for their natural sexual desire to prefer slender babes. Instead of fixing the problem, we have committed ourselves to MAKING THE PROBLEM A THOUSAND TIMES WORSE.

“When in a hole, keep digging until you’ve carved out the beating heart of your nation and sacrificed it to a portly Aztec god”, should be the motto of the Freakqualist Left.

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Because I am a humanitarian and love to give and give until it hurts, I submit this uplifting essay to fat chicks everywhere who need to hear these 14 things for their mental health and mortal souls.

14 things every fat girl absolutely needs to hear:

  1. push away from the table
  2. coffee, not sugary milkshake with coffee added
  3. eat less, exercise better
  4. weight room, not treadmill
  5. fatness ruins your health and quality of life
  6. your romantic life will suffer because men prefer slender women
  7. if you are a white fatty, your odds of mudsharking rise
  8. intermittent fasting and portion control are your friends
  9. curvy doesn’t mean beach ball. it means hourglass.
  10. you’ll have to put out faster to keep a man’s interest
  11. even an extra five pounds makes a difference to men
  12. the fatter you are, the lonelier you’ll be
  13. the fatter you are, the farther down you’ll have to settle to find a man willing to stick with you
  14. excuses and feminist boilerplate won’t make men hard for you

HTH, fatties!

FYI this is a response to the same femmedia-elevated fatty satirized in this CH post who is beloved by her fellow sexual market losers for “telling it like it is”. More like “scarfing it down like it is going out of style”, right, Jes Baker?

For years, Jes has worked in this sphere of reminding people— especially women— of their right to feel beautiful.

Women and poopytalk, inseparable! Explaining simple concepts to fat feminist retards loses its allure after the third iteration, but here I go again, into the breached whale. Nothing is stopping fatties from their “right” to feel beautiful, a meaningless conceit at any rate. But ginned-up Fake Feeling and reality are two distinct universes, and no matter how much a fatty exercises her right to feel beautiful and assuage her butthurt ego, that won’t change the fact that most men will deem her falling far short of beautiful. No fatty self-motivational in the world can convince men she’s hot.

My 14 pieces of fatty-smiting flair, if followed to the letter, will reunite fat chicks with genuine feelings of self-worth that no feminist happy-clappy feedgood nonsense can hope to accomplish.

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You are about to enter another dimension of the sexual market. A dimension not only of unsightly fat and scolding schoolmarmery, but of repulsive loudmouthed bitterbitches. A journey into a worthless land of self-entitled fat Hillary-loving bitches. Next stop, the Would Not Bang Zone!

Via AutoAdmit, a gem quality thread has coalesced around the story of a fat chick in DC — Jesse Peterson — who was the featured coastal shitlibopolis representative of her swelling species in a Bezos Post Date Lab social experiment designed to prove the pointlessness of pursuing the post-femininity American cow. A couple of AAers put it best,

Date: August 3rd, 2017 9:04 AM
Author: Ozzie Canseco

its incredible how women are all converging to this one horrible personality.

***

Date: August 3rd, 2017 9:06 AM
Author: LTDanCaffey

Titcr.
It’s like all single shrews in major metros are morphing into some hybrid of Sarah Jessica Parker in SitC and the shrew from Eat, Pray, Fuck with some Beyoncé girl power mixed in.

A little background on Jesse, emeritus rider of the cock carousel, courtesy of her About page at her dating blog (aka the place she collates the wretchedness of her personality and will come to regret when she’s 40, unmarried, and sleeping with a small army of cats nestled in her gut folds):

Hey betches,

Welcome to Tinder District! I’m so glad you’re here, even though you may not be able to tell through my chronic RBF.

Afeminine? Check.

My name is J. I’m 23 years old, live in Washington, DC, and by day I do management consulting.

Anti-natalist careercunt? Check.

By night (and weekend), however, I’m a serial dater.

Slut, or pretensions to sluttery? Check.

Since I started this blog in July 2015 (when it was ClarendonTinderDiaries.wordpress.com; really rolls of the tongue, right?),

Grandiose self-conception as a dazzling prose stylist belied by horribly dull writing? Check.

I have been on over 100 first dates.

Unloveable? Check.

Two have turned into relationships (thank God those went nowhere),

Allergic to accountability for her decisions? Check.

many were good, several turned into second and even third dates – but that’s not why I’m here. The thing that keeps me coming back is the bad dates – the ones that turn into a story for me to tell my close friends, future grandchildren, and the entire Internet.

Attention whore? Check.

Oh, and the free drinks and meals. Those also keep me coming back.

Low sexual market value chick unable to date anyone but supplicating beta males who eagerly foot her bill for a chance to pork her oinky trough? Check.

So, welcome, readers! I hope you get a laugh, a nugget of useful life advice, or something new to read while at work contemplating quitting your shitty job.

XOXO,
J

And a recent photo of Jesse, for context in which to place her empty try-hard braggadocio:

She’s a 5 without the insulating layer of blubber, a 2 with it.

Sadly, Jesse is not an outlier. The shitlib cities are filled with CUNDTs like herself: totally converged into the technofemcuntyassqueen man-hating spiteborg, committed to spending their prime nubility years hunting elusive alpha males in the urban junglelove, narcissistic to a degree that would have shocked Narcissus, delusional about their sexual and romantic appeal, and more often than not carrying an extra five or fifty pounds.

Is it any wonder American men have stopped “manning up” and taken nuptial (read: financial) responsibility for these ingrate shoggoths? Women, if you struggle to find a man worthy of your curated and well-marbled self-image, look in the mirror and read the reactions of the world outside your dating blog to your crass behavior and shitty personality. 100 dates in one year? That’s not a banner to wave proudly; it’s a red flag that your goods are rotten.

How obnoxious is this bitch? From her Instawhore:

In her words, she had an awful date and hated the man with whom she was paired, yet she still wanted to exploit his graciousness by copping an “appeal deal” with him to rate each other equivalently in the Bezos Post-Op Date Lab story, so that she could continue to look good to her blog audience of aspiring spinsters. Thankfully, our intrepid beta male found an ounce of scrotal juice still circulating in his manhood and rated her lower than the entitled blobster demanded to be rated.

Management consultant Jesse Peterson, 23, describes herself as “just about the friendliest and most outgoing person there is.”

So friendly she hastily pens post-date snarkbait shitting all over the men who buy her drinks.

She also loves working out, bottomless brunch and a slightly dark sense of humor.

Working out => is 40 pounds overweight
Bottomless brunch => boundless bottom
Dark sense of humor => confuses hackneyed sarcasm for humor

I was much more nervous before this date than any Bumble or Tinder date. I’ve been on dates with a few Dans, and all of them were weird.

The fault lies not with the Dans.

We talked about favorite foods — I write a cooking and baking blog.

Avoid unmarried women who are a little too into cooking. That goes double-chinned for women into blogging about cooking.

And I write a dating blog.

If a chick admitted this to me on a first date, I would walk out immediately, no reason given. At the very least, a chick who feels comfortable telling me this doesn’t respect my refined taste in women and unapologetically high standards.

I’m just interested in exploring people and opportunities and dating culture.

Every girl who has told me she’s into “exploring people” was really into exploring herself for the umpteenth time and receiving external validation for it from the people she claims to want to explore. And “opportunities” is just slutspeak for “cockas”.

Dan: I can’t date a vegetarian; I left hungry. I got home and I ordered a turkey leg.

Vegetarian girls are more often fat than thin. That should tell them something, but when the world revolves around them and mirrors are magical devices found only in Harry Potter books, then one could be forgiven for assuming these broads have an intrinsic ability to put 2 and 2 together. Or maybe their concept of vegetarian is “a plate full of greasy fries and a side of pizza”.

I’m not ready for the gawking to end yet. From another dating-is-hell-on-fatties post at her Unloved Fatty blog:

I didn’t particularly care about continuing to talk to Jack, and I also ignore literally all CMB notifications I receive, so I did nothing.

The attention whore loves accumulating dating apps, so she can proudly claim she ignores them all. It would not suffice to simply not have the dating app on the iPhag. She must have it and not have it, grasshopper.

Jack, however, reached out.

“Men want me, they really want me!”

Jack – Want to get margaritas soon?
J – Sure!

So, I sent him my phone number – because anyone who wants to buy me a margarita is a friend of mine.

From its inception, CH has advised men to avoid buying drinks for women. To this day, the advice retains its merit.

It was two full days before I got a message from Jack, but he made up for his tardiness with sweeping romantic apology.
Jack – Hey, this is Jack from that bagel app

Ahh, pure poetry.

Got her attention. (Keep it short and sweet, gentlemen. The ladies love a self-possessed shitlord.)

FYI her blog is filled with those retarded pop culture gifs that women love. They acquire the habit from their gay besties.

We continued talking for a while, including a brief stint in which my friend took over my phone and sent him a long message about the superfood benefits of kale (#bless kale), when our conversation turned to the events we had planned for the weekend.

From the second I saw the ‘Yikes’ I knew something was amiss. But I was unsure what it was at first – did he frown upon the fact that I had not left all signs of neon and tutu back in college? Was he unnerved that I was not spending the weekend reading the latest political novel?

Like most straight men with a T level above 1, he’s disgusted by homosex and by the sassy platitude-spouting libchicks who latch onto the gay glorification gravy train in the hopes of tarting up their social media feeds with more colorful selfies.

All of that would have been better than his response. What do you mean you find it “off-putting”? You are aware you live in a country founded on the right to do all of those things, correct?

“Off-putting” doesn’t mean “deny the right of fag assembly”, you dumb bint.

I pressed on.

She persisted.

Ohhhhhhhh no. OH NO. I considered leaping off the nearest cliff to escape such ignorance.

She would’ve bounced back unscathed.

“inside a social construct decided by other people that doesn’t let you blah blah”…..typical poopytalk from your typical nasty woman. This is why fatties and other undesirable women glom onto social constructivist shitliberalism: the lies provide a handy rationale for explaining away, say, their lack of portion control. The CUNDT’s dating woes are never her fault; it’s always “men” or “douchebags” or “bigots” or “Trump supporters” or “society”.

She then feverishly texts Jack the Shitlord to “put him in his place”, and what she imagines as an epic BTFO of her antagonist just comes across like a butthurt fatty going well out of her way to make some stupid political point lost in the noise of her emotional incontinence.

HOLD THE FUCKING PHONE.

STOP IT RIGHT NOW.

YOU THINK PEOPLE ‘LIKE PLAYING THE VICTIM‘?

LITERALLY GET THE FUCK OUT.

Was Trayvon Martin ‘playing the victim’ when he was killed in an ethnic hate crime?

Surprise, a conformist GoodWhite plays the Saint Trayvon card! Newsflash, fatty, Trayvon pounced on Zimmerman the Hispanic hero and in the commission of his assault and battery received a load of lead in return. Tray Tray got his just desserts.

Were the 49 lives lost in the Orlando Pulse Nightclub massacre ‘playing the victim’ when their lives were unjustly ripped from them in a homophobic hate crime?

Funny, she forgot to mention that the Pulse gayclub killer was a Muslim.

Was I, or any other victim of sexual assault, PLAYING THE FUCKING VICTIM when we were raped, had our self-worth and self-confidence, not to mention ability to trust and, I don’t know, ability to sleep through the night without having a panic attack, STRIPPED FROM US BY A MAN WHO DID NOT KNOW HOW TO TAKE NO FOR AN ANSWER?

Ten to one she was never raped.
One hundred to one if she was raped, it was by a black guy.
One thousand to one her conception of “rape” is really an ego-assuaging morning after regret rape rationalization for throwing herself at yet another garbage hour loser.

I was outraged. I would have killed him right then, if my insurance covered it.

The only thing you’re killing fatty is a plate of donuts.

Instead, I put him on blast in the betchiest way I know how

Shitlib women crave putting wrongthinkers “on blast”, and announcing their declared victory in war to whomever will listen. They’re like George Costanza thinking up a comeback zinger well after the moment has passed. It’s pure humiliation gotcha fantasy, a pageantry of the ego without substance, meant in the retelling to impress a very stupid and dull coterie of equally LSMV rejects more accustomed to getting ignored by high quality men than to putting those unattainable men in their places.

– by saying I felt sorry for him, using his own words against him, and turning the tables around.

I’m sure he was utterly destroyed by your lethal psy ops campaign.

He continued to not see the error of his ways and be the literal worst.

Resentful woman unable to convince man to cater to her feelz has literal meltdown in ASCII.

I’m out. I’m done! I can’t handle it anymore. I can’t handle humans or fuckboys or ignorance or Trump or anything that’s not at least 13% ABV or laced with THC.

This is the mewling of a woman who has experienced failure after failure in her search for a boyfriend. Naturally, she blames Trump.

So, fam, if you encounter an ignorant fuckboy along the lines of Jack, just remember that the best solution is to screenshot the conversation and put the entire thing in your Snapchat story and on the internet. Because, friends, it happens to the best of us.

So, fellow cundts, if you encounter a man who won’t tolerate your vapid lib bullshit and grating personality, just remember that the best solution is to publicly broadcast your private conversations with him in the hope that you’ll inspire a chorus of sympathetic losers to cheerlead your self-immolation and validate your desire to humiliate those who won’t feed your egotistical, self-absorbed, status striving herdthink.

The final word on the CUNDT and her species of post-America millennial woman:

they pair up with modern genderless shitlib males and get into those punching bag relationships where the wife is in the driver seat so both of their lives just sort of end up doing donuts, swerving into oncoming traffic, etc. if they have money they end up brunching and biking a lot and talking about global warming and refugees and rescue dogs. the woman becomes mean and haggard and a public nuisance and the man just looks at the floor a lot. looks like hell but tons of men jump right into it early and never reassess.

Good news. The Reassessing has begun. DOTR has a new meaning, and shitlib femcunt fatties will be hardest hit.

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Courtesy of tteclod (who justifiably labels this “the shiv of truth”), the 1959 Met Life “desirable weight” tables for American men and women.

If you’re a dedicated weightlifter with serious muscle, these sorts of tables won’t apply to you. You’d be better off measuring body fat % directly.

These ideal weight MetLife tables from 1959 are funny in a “oh my god what have we lost gained?!?” way, when one ponders that the average weight of an average height American White woman in 2002 was 162 pounds (sadly, a weight which has gone higher since then).

Compare that weight to what was considered the ideal weight for an average height (5′ 3″), medium frame American woman in 1959:

110 – 122 pounds.

Like I’ve said, White beta males had it good before America began her transformation into a gynarchic festival of blubber, gogrrlism, and man-hate right around 1970.

The beta male of 1959 was banging, marrying, and cherishing women a full 46 pounds lighter on average than the women available to the beta male of 2002.

That’s the sensate difference between banging a UG4 and an HB8. In erection terms, it’s the difference between sporting a half-chub that goes soft in her after two pumps versus a granite steel-tipped hard-on that jabs her cervix and impregnates her with shitlord quadruplets. In love terms, it’s the difference between a garbage hour pickup and post-jizz ghost versus a three month courtship and a sappy poem written in calligraphy which you learned in a class you took specifically to impress her. In marital terms, it’s the difference between vidja gaming and porn versus signing the line that is dotted…with exuberant flourish.

And tradcons furrow their fiveheads in puzzlement trying to understand why American men have dropped out of the marriage market.

I’ll keep my reply to them brief.

IT’S THE ECONOMY OF FEMALE, STUPID.

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This is turning out to be the week the Chateau carpet bombs the gangrenous ids of equalist freaks and fatties, with ordnance enriched by shibboleth-smashing ¡SCIENCE!. The latest evisceration: high waist-to-hip ratio fat chicks give birth to dumb kids.

Upper-body fat has negative effects and lower-body fat has positive effects on the supply of long-chain polyunsaturated fatty acids that are essential for neurodevelopment. Thus, waist-hip ratio (WHR), a useful proxy for the ratio of upper-body fat to lower-body fat, should predict cognitive ability in women and their offspring. Moreover, because teenage mothers and their children compete for these resources, their cognitive development should be compromised, but less so for mothers with lower WHRs. These predictions are supported by data from the Third National Health and Nutrition Examination Survey. Controlling for other correlates of cognitive ability, women with lower WHRs and their children have significantly higher cognitive test scores, and teenage mothers with lower WHRs and their children are protected from cognitive decrements associated with teen births. These findings support the idea that WHR reflects the availability of neurodevelopmental resources and thus offer a new explanation for men’s preference for low WHR.

The wages of fat moms are mangled kids and dumb kids. Note that this study controlled for cognitive ability, so it is the DISGUSTING MOMFAT ITSELF that’s dumbing down the newborns.

Way to go, fatties!

Like I’ve said, shaming fatties is more than sadistic fun and environmental activism. It’s a goddamned moral imperative.

SHAME A FATTY, SAVE A CHILD

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Non-black men are viscerally disgusted by fat blobby broads, and this disgust has its evolutionary logic at least partly in the fact that fat moms are more likely to birth children with congenital malformations.

Results A total of 43 550 (3.5%) offspring had any major congenital malformation, and the most common subgroup was for congenital heart defects (n=20 074; 1.6%). Compared with offspring of normal weight mothers (risk of malformations 3.4%), the proportions and adjusted risk ratios of any major congenital malformation among the offspring of mothers with higher BMI were: overweight, 3.5% and 1.05 (95% confidence interval 1.02 to 1.07); obesity class I, 3.8% and 1.12 (1.08 to 1.15), obesity class II, 4.2% and 1.23 (1.17 to 1.30), and obesity class III, 4.7% and 1.37 (1.26 to 1.49). The risks of congenital heart defects, malformations of the nervous system, and limb defects also progressively increased with BMI from overweight to obesity class III. The largest organ specific relative risks related to maternal overweight and increasing obesity were observed for malformations of the nervous system. Malformations of the genital and digestive systems were also increased in offspring of obese mothers.

Conclusions Risks of any major congenital malformation and several subgroups of organ specific malformations progressively increased with maternal overweight and increasing severity of obesity. For women who are planning pregnancy, efforts should be encouraged to reduce adiposity in those with a BMI above the normal range.

Lay with a land whale, unprotected, and you raise the risk of bringing into the world a child with severe organ malformations and limb disfigurement.

I wonder what the fat acceptance and fat encouragement crowds think about the horrifying deformities that fat moms visit upon their newborns? Rhetorical. They don’t think about it at all. They stuff their giant bloated heads in the sand and wait for the bad feels to pass, like an impacted carboturd.

Fat Acceptors = Child Manglers. It’s more than just sadistic fun to shiv the blubbery hides of fat apologists; it’s a fucking moral imperative.

SHAME A FATTY, SAVE A CHILD

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A fat chick was fat-shamed on the internet, but a national scandal was avoided when her boyfriend defended her honor and in return thousands of social media Likes fell upon the lovebirds like high glycemic index manna from heaven.

Boyfriend Restores Faith In Humanity With His Response To Someone Calling His Girlfriend “Fat”

HIS RESPONSE RESTORED FAITH IN HUMANITY
HIS RESPONSE REVIVED HUMAN BEASTS
HIS RESPONSE REVVED MANATEE TITTIES
HIS RESPONSE RUBBED HOS WITH CLIT-WILLIES
HIS NARCOTIC WORD ROD TROD HALF-WIT BLOBS WITH BROKEN HEARTS

Whenever you read a formulation of “just wait until you read his response”, slip into your biohazard suit because you’re about to be splooged by toxic shitlibbery.

The Fat Girl:

And here comes the PUNCHline….the chivalrous boyfriend:

The funniest outtake from this happy pill sap story leaking out of femmeland was this:

Following this, Tre also became the victim of online hate when he was asked if he had “lost a bet”.

😆 Ok, no but really this was the funniest part:

I believe this young black man is sincere.

The cathartic release all those reality-escaping libfruits have been waiting for:

People from all over the world decided to share their views on the controversial goings on, including Bill Clinton’s daughter, Chelsea Clinton. Madison’s tweet was retweeted more than 43,000 times and liked more than 224,000 times.

Tre’s love and support for his girlfriend was retweeted more than 33,000 times and gained more than 64,000 likes.

The couple even went on to feature in People magazine, where their story was published in newspapers and magazines in England, France, Italy, and all the way in Australia – not forgetting the coverage they received in the U.S.

Ahhhhhh, now doesn’t that feel better, losers? A troll cracked the fuggernaut fantasy facade for a brief shining moment when she reminded the corpulence collective that fat chicks are gross and doomed to rake the mud pits of the sexual market to relieve their existential loneliness, and the glimpse of reality sent the fat acceptance fupa frottage crowd into a rage denial spiral so combustible they shared a mass catharsis over an ungrammatical shit-tier tweet brimming with the moloko plus of empty bromides.

“Your not fat baby. Your perfect. PS GO AWAY I’M BATIN'”

Unsurprisingly, bugwoman nothingburger Chelsea Hubble retweeted Tre’s panegyric to his pachyderm. This horse-choppered spawn of thecunt is headed for great things, I tell ya.

PS What we are witnessing is the rapid evolutionary split of White America into two racial classes, the El-Aloi (pure White and jewish-hybrid globorace) and the Mudlocks (LSMV fat White chicks slapping a saggital-headed horde of mystery meatballs from the comfort of their Walmart cruisers). Some argue this is best for the White race, because a culling of the dregs further purifies and focuses the minds of the milky cream at the top. I disagree. Allowing and even celebrating the racial jettisoning of our worst kin instead of resisting the broken society that encourages their defiant retreat into depravity will have upstream effects that will reverberate for generations, infecting every member of the race from bottom to top.

The best solution is ending the female obesity epidemic so that a vast blight-wing enstupidation doesn’t take hold in our homeland and despoil the natural beauty. Maybe the day will come when we have no choice but to sever ties with our unlucky kin and kith, but for now there’s still time left to ennoble our worst to aspire to something better. But it won’t happen if our currently operative noblesse malice isn’t replaced soon by a return to noblesse oblige.

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