Feeds:
Posts
Comments

Archive for the ‘Love’ Category

thetingle

First, can I just say how UPLIFTING (heh) it is to look at First Lady Melania instead of Harambe Trapezius? A guy could get used to this.

Second, every man who’s lived a day in his life knows that look of a woman rocked by a silent, seismic tingle of love rushing on a current of lust. Right at the moment Herr Trumperica assumed the most powerful throne in the world, a barely-contained supernova of admiration and primal desire escaped Melania’s poise. Sex for only her man drips from her gaze in this photo.

If optics were everything in politics, Americans have the distinct pleasure of jettisoning a sooty smoggy reduced visibility for a gleaming, glorious, crystal clear vista that extends to the farthest horizon. The stars shine in all their multitude tonight.

Read Full Post »

The Neediness Scale

Love is the alibi of neediness, and neediness is the accomplice of love. The two are rarely without each others’ company, yet they are an irascible, codependent pairing of old friends that would do one another a lot of good if they were separated and communicating via time-delayed diary entries.

It’s a short hop from self-directed purpose to neediness. A dash of neediness seasons the motivational stew, but too much spoils it right quick. We all know variants on the aphorisms “the hungry wolf gets fed last”, “we want what we can’t have”, and “women love a challenge”.

All true, and it’s why one of the first instructions at CH was to implore beta males to shore up their inner game by banishing the specter of neediness.

But beta males aren’t the only victims of crippling neediness, and it’s important that those who tend to gather their life lessons from the ego chamber internet instead of from the human world

The CH Neediness Scale, from most needy to least needy:

  1. sexless men
  2. loveless women
  3. sexless women
  4. loveless men

My chart is borne out in the real world, where it is common to see (and commonly agreed upon) that sexless men (blue pilled betas and blue balled omegas) are the neediest creatures, often sabotaging any chances they get in the dating market by chasing too soon and crashing too hard when their lust-love isn’t immediately and similarly reciprocated.

But then things get interesting. The next neediest group is the loveless women. Iconic representatives include your Wall-imminent single sex and the city ladies, your BPD headcases, your lonely fatties and fuglies, and your cock accumulating slut machines. Women over the long-run value love more than sex, give or take a few breathless moments getting buried under a tingle avajanche. The woman who is a loser in love (no matter how many cocks she’s coitally collared) will get more bitter, unfeminine, and emotionally damaged as the years grind her down. See: Amanjaw Marcuntte. There’s a lot of rueing in spinster nation.

The second to least needy group is the sexless women. Unwilling sexlessness — or what we in the caulk-gine community call incel — is rare among non-obese women of non-autistic child-bearing age. If a healthy, height-weight proportionate young woman wants sex badly, she can get it. She may not like the morning-after feeling, but that’s the sort of long-term thinking about accountability and consequences which the airier sex is ill-equipped to undertake. Therefore, actual involuntary sexless women who are worth sexing are rare, but they do exist; usually though their sexlessness has at its source, not a personal failing that turns off men, but an exquisitely conjured mental image of the perfect man that prevents the sexless woman from ever conceding her cooch to any man who falls short of her fantasy by even a cat’s whisker. The sexless woman can tolerate her condition for quite a while longer than can the sexless man, which is why she’s not often prone to the sort of self-sabotaging theatrics that are the desperately horny beta male’s stock in trade.

Finally, the least needy of the neediness groups is the loveless man. A CH maxim would serve us well here:

Maxim #80: For women, sex is validation of love. For men, love is validation of sex.

Sex validates that a woman loves a man, and that a man loves her. Women give their sex because they feel in love with a man. Or they give their sex because they want a man to fall in love with them. One night stands aren’t the hard exceptions you’d think, either. The same internal bargaining exists whenever a woman presents her most valuable asset for purchase. Inversely, women are susceptible to thinking that a man who fucks them must also love them, which is true enough to sustain their delusions.

Love validates that a man desires a woman’s sex, and that a woman sexually desires him in kind. Men give their love because they have fallen in love with a woman they love fucking. Or men give their love because they want a woman to keep giving them sex. Inversely, men are susceptible to thinking that a woman who loves them must also want to fuck them, which is true enough to sustain their delusions.

The scone code truth is that men who swim in pussy can go a LONG time without love, and not feel any ill-effects from it. Love is the perfect transcendence from the banal, and every man is more a romantic than the average woman, but unlike women for whom love is notarization of their self-worth and a green light on a future together, men receive their external validation primarily from internal penetration. Any validation of a man’s sexuality is already complete by the time penis is waylaid in vagina. Love, after that, is icing on the pound cake of a cad’s leavened ego.

Still, sexually fulfilled men can become love-parched; one sometimes sees this in aging players who never settled down and have lots of war stories with which to console themselves during bouts of fleeting loneliness. And however good the pussy is, love makes it that much better. In this way love injects meaning into all the sex the womanizer enjoys, by adding an extra layer of limbic fluffing. A sexed man feels on top of women; a loved man feels on top of the world. Furthermore, the loved man gains a sense of security over his sexual destiny, knowing that his penis is craved by the woman who loves him as a nearly divine object of spiritual commingling and a meaty medium of soulful consummation.

Read Full Post »

amishmaga

As I predicted, the Amish may have won the Presidency for Trump by voting in large enough number to be the decisive factor in swinging PA for him and thus securing his electoral victory. The Amazin’ Amish! Give them love, along with the Cubanos (aka White Euro-hispanics) who voted in droves for Trump to help him lock up FL.

Anyhow, I picked this photo because the backstory is so emblematic of what a revitalized America will look like: religious, tribal, back to nature Whites who get along with the majority White population (no vest bombs on Amish kids!) which reciprocates by volunteering to drive their Amish racial brethren (closer kin than Somalis, for sure) to the polls to do their part ushering in the Era Of Trumperica.

Hello again, America. It’s good to see you still have some life left in you.

amishvotetotals

PS There’s a great shiv buried in the Amish stumping for Trump. Once shitlibs become aware of how important the Amish vote turned out to be for Trump’s electoral win, they’ll be put in the unenvious position of having to redirect their sneering, snarky hatred towards one of the most congenial, good-natured groups in America. Can the shitlibs stomach that? Will they risk the social ostracism that comes with mocking a cherished and likable and completely inoffensive group like the Amish, all to assuage their vapid libfag egos?

I bet they will. And it will cost them.

Read Full Post »

Truth serum time. I made a post of this article mostly because I wanted to float that flavortown post title over the center field warning track. It tickles me.

I accidentally slept with a Donald Trump supporter

My name is Diana. I’m a 27 year-old bartender. I met this guy on Tinder about two months ago, a few days after I’d moved from Toronto to San Diego.

On a not-unrelated note, Texas is turning blue in our lifetimes, bank on it if these immigration patterns hold. (toronto is not much better than somalia) The only escape will be TEXIT.

We’d been chatting for all of a day, and we agreed to meet at a bar in downtown San Diego. We were just going to play Big Buck Hunter and have some drinks. It was very short notice. We didn’t even exchange phone numbers.

He showed up at the bar, and he was super handsome. Like, really tall—six-foot-four or something absurd. We were wearing matching leather jackets. His Triumph Bonneville was parked outside. This guy looked badass.

Trumpiognomy.

It turned out he was pro-choice and an atheist, which was good.

A savvy womanizer knows to avoid God and abortion conversational pitfalls that could deep-six pre-sex scheming.

But the night progressed. We went out to some other bars, had some more drinks, and he invited me back to his place. I was super excited, because I was really into this guy.

It’s always dankest before the dong.

We hooked up, and it was incredible. There was a lot face-touching and intense eye contact. He was cool as hell. I was completely smitten.

BEST SEX I EVER HAD – Canadian Maples

At some point I got up and sauntered over to his bookcase, because I wanted to see what he was into. I saw a few photos, and then a David Sedaris book that I love. I asked him about the Sedaris book and he said he hadn’t read it yet. But then, right beside it, I saw a book about Donald Trump. It wasn’t The Art of the Deal or one of his how-to-succeed-in-business books. It was In Trump We Trust, by Ann Coulter. So I asked him about it. I was like, “Ha ha, this is funny.”

How sweet it is to step out with that shitlord strut *after* splitting a slut’s moistened rut.

Meanwhile I’m a Canadian expat who just moved to America. I pointed that out and he went, “No, no. It’s different.” Why? Because I’m white and in my twenties?

Well, yes. But you still have to go back.

He started talking disparagingly about Black Lives Matter. This entire conversation happened in five minutes, while I was frantically getting dressed to leave. I wasn’t there to argue, and I felt deeply uncomfortable.

Amygdala overload.

I got a Lyft home and I thought I was done with him. The next day he messaged me on Tinder. He said, “Hope you’re still not upset over politics LOL.” I explained that it’s hard for me to remain attracted to someone whose views are so different from mine, and who believes in bigotry and xenophobia—which sucked, because the sex was amazing.

Five minutes of shitlord….

Then he said, “Not accepting other people’s beliefs is the definition of bigotry.”

*tips maga hat at her, grabs pussy* “One more to remember me by.”

So apparently it was my fault.

This is womanspeak for “It was my fault”.

He sent me a “hey” message a week later, which I never replied to.

FaceSavingThatNeverHappened.txt

I couldn’t do it again. It feels taboo to sleep with a Trump supporter.

“If this is taboo, I don’t want to be virtuous.”

But here’s the thing: I’ve slept with a lot of people in my life.

#SlutsWithHer

This guy ranked in the top five.

The other four were Putin fans.

Btw, if she’s mounted enough cock to assemble a “top five”, it’s a good bet her total cock count numbers in the hundreds. Marriage material!…….for a beta.

I thought maybe I’d try him again one night at 3 a.m., when I was drunk enough to overlook his political views. But I couldn’t bring myself to do it.

This is womanspeak for “I did it”.

I don’t want to wake up next to a guy who blames Mexicans for his woes and thinks “bigly” is a word, no matter how handsome he is.

And yet she wrote about that “uncomfortable” evening from two months ago. She can’t stop thinking about him.

Everything she wrote is typical female hamster rationalization for loving a charming Trumpboy. She wearily and half-heartedly hunts for his flaws to absolve herself of personal responsibility while simultaneously craving the invading force of his Trumpenrod. Betabitch BernieBros and mangina Hill shills wept.

This man’s MAGA Game is tight. He wins a green Pepe condom. Feels good man.

Read Full Post »

Amish Amass!

If the Democreeps can flagrantly rally illegal aliens, recently and suspiciously pardoned convicts, and the mentally ill to the voting booths, then the GOP can do the same for their die-hard constituencies. What’s keeping Trump operatives from busing THE AMAZIN AMISH to the polls? A sense of fair play?

HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!!!

Fair play is dead, friendo. We duke it out in Diversitopia now.

Corvo gives good info for Trumpentroopers to FIND, MEET, ATTRACT, and BUS the Amish en masse to the polls.

OK so it appears that the game-plan is pretty simple. AFTER you vote yourself (and get out all the votes you personally can), if you are going to join this effort to GOTV and drive the Amish, head here:

Continental Inn
2285 Lincoln Highway East
Lancaster, PA 17602

God bless. Any Chateau readers who happen to reside in or near PA, you have your marching orders. Just think….as I foretold, the Amish (!), if they can swing PA for Trump, may very well be the saviors of America and of Western Civilization.

Read Full Post »

Yesterday, someone took a pick-ax to Trump’s Hollywood Walk of Fame star and destroyed it. The perp was later identified as Jamie Otis, a (surprise!) white knight betaboy rich limousine libfag (a “hillbully” as Scott Adams coins it):

limolibfag

This sideways merlot-drinking goober looks like he was sexual assaulted by a buttplug.

The story has developed with a twist. Reader Corvo explains,

The star was repaired, and now a homeless American black woman is sitting there guarding it, holding up a sign asking why we are letting 20 million illegal immigrants stay here when Americans are sleeping in the streets.

trumpstarhomeless

GBFM — I know you’re working for the Trump campaign. Tell him to fly out there and give this woman a hug; give her a job; tell her he’s “With Her” and fighting for her, and that it’s time America take care of its own citizens first. This is an election-winning moment.

Corvo is right. This is a golden opportunity for the Golden Don to not only squeeze out some good press from fence-sitting virtue signaling Book of Cucking apostles, but to maximally depress black turnout for thecunt and improve his own black vote by a margin no GOP presidential candidate has won in generations.

Trump, are you listening? Fly out to Pedophileland…excuse me Hollywood…give this woman a hug and a free night at your new Washington DC hotel, say you’re with her (heh), and that you’re fighting for Americans and not for globalist whores who want to line their own pockets, and then put your chair into the reclining position as your poll numbers soar.

***

Trump: “A moment of reckoning”

In the last month, Trump has been landing hammer blows on the globohomobezos alliance against heritage America. Whatever happens Nov 8……everything’s changed.

Read Full Post »

Get ready for a visual gut punch:

wfuture1

Via Shrill, who writes,

This is the best political ad I’ve seen in a long time. Absolutely implicit.

A mother carrying a child is a rich image, one that’s imprinted not when motherhood starts but when girlhood starts; very little girls want to hold babies, almost as soon as they stop being babies themselves, and when they’re trusted to do so unsupervised (without the fear that they’ll drop the kid (“let them down”)) it’s a big deal. It’s a huge self-identity thing for females in general and mothers in particular (because of the emotional bond between mother and child).*

She’s wearing a windbreaker, which is a very white item of clothing. There’s nothing about it to make it stylish, but it also lacks the kind of branding or logos that would make it look prole. She and the kid are blondes, with blonde hair being a sort of lightning rod both for whites and for people who hate us. the red white and blue partition evokes patriotism, privacy (your ballot is secret), and tradition (these are currently only used in small towns, modern polling locations create privacy by spreading people out, rather than covering them up, which is a tangent rich in metaphor but let’s not).

*This is another illustration of the fatuity of transsexual men’s claims that they “feel like girls on the inside.” They don’t have the maternal instinct, they have the fashion instinct, which, of the two, is done somewhat more for their benefit. They’re saying to real women “the vision of you and your kind that I’ve created to inflame my lusts is the totality of your existence, independent of what you’ve actually felt in your life.”

I’ll add that the image is potent for another reason: it evokes primal race consciousness simultaneously through the emotional pathways of perceived threat and future promise. The child looks behind, her face a mix of perplexity and fear, at the dusky horde invasion and corrupt rulers; is she holding the curtain open for the viewer to peer at the gathering danger with her, or closing it in an act of defiance against the approaching darkness?

The mother is a guardian not only of her child, but of what her child represents: a lineage. We see only the mother’s shielding arm, her face hidden and focused on a momentous decision. She is the promise of a future. For her child. For her family. For her race. For her nation. The ad implores her, and all mothers like her: don’t let them down. You, White woman, aren’t voting for yourself. You’re voting for your children. Powerful. Provocative. And proof that the passion and the beauty and the art and the timeless truths are with the Trump revolution.

Read Full Post »

Older Posts »

%d bloggers like this: