Archive for the ‘Misandry’ Category

A man was in a Massachusetts park, holding a camera and taking a stroll. A woman got the vapors from this horrible sight, and called the cops to tell them there was a pedophile stalking children. SIX cops surrounded the man and questioned him for twenty minutes, before letting him go. He wrote an open letter to the fevered bitch who wanted to criminalize his existence.

Dear Neighbor,

Yesterday was a beautiful day, I think you will agree. I decided to take a short walk from my house on Hamilton Street to Dana Park, which I have been coming to almost daily since 1989, the year my son was born. As I often do, I brought my camera, sat on a bench for about 10 minutes, did one lap around the park and headed home.

I had barely gotten across the street when three police cars pulled up: I was told to stop, and swiftly surrounded by six policemen. I was “detained” there for approximately 20 minutes and questioned; another officer returned to the park to find out why you had called them.

My suspected crime, apparently, was having a camera in a public park, and allegedly taking pictures of children. As it turned out, I had taken no pictures that day. But I have been photographing in this neighborhood for 30 years, and have published a children’s book of poems and photographs, always with permission.

The policeman returned and wanted to see my “flip phone,” and then asked me if I knew how he knew I had a flip phone: I didn’t. He knew, he told me, because the woman who called the police had taken a picture of ME, sitting on the bench, and shown him the picture. They then took away my phone, scrolled through the few pictures that were on it.

They continued to hover around me asking questions. As it happened, I was standing near the house where my son now lives, and when my wife appeared, walking down the street after work, and saw me standing in front of his house with six policemen, she instantly feared something terrible had happened to our son. She was shaking, and I explained the situation. She is an English teacher at Cambridge Rindge and Latin School; I am a college professor of English. Our son spent much of the first 15 years of his life in Dana Park.

You must be new in the neighborhood. I am often in the park, on foot or on a bike, talking to friends who have children who play in the playground. I know you were standing very near to me for the entire time I was on the bench, though I could not figure out why. Now I know: you were taking my picture.

Suggestion: the next time you suspect someone is up to no good, perhaps you should say hello, speak to them first and, if still anxious, ask what they are taking pictures of. That’s what people do in a neighborhood park: talk to each other. This would save someone the humiliation and degradation of being stopped and held by the police, and might save the police from wasting their time when they could be doing something more useful, like managing the daily mayhem in Central Square.

The fact that you now have my picture in your phone is both sadly ironic and, well, creepy. Could you please delete it?

Your neighbor,

David Updike, Hamilton Street

I’m convinced Americans are currently living through a second Puritan age, and our witch burners are feminists, SJWs, antiracists, and TV talk show snarkmeisters.

Meanwhile, skulking Somalis stream into Maine and Minneapolis. Welcome to anarcho-tyranny. Jefferson wept.


Reader Tacitus James writes,

Writing a reasonable letter to a hyper-alarmist egg layer? You might as well try to talk reason to the egg itself. No, the problem we have in our culture is closer to the police on up, especially the men. We are allowing this to happen by reacting submissively to the hyper-alarmist cries of the uteruti. Women will cry, accuse, lie, and manipulate — it is their nature. The movement, our movement, will reach it’s apex when these unsubstantiated cries are met with the skepticism they deserve. The present authorities allow these injustices to happen. We allow these injustices to happen.The police, the law makers–when we finally succeed, they will be the object of our reprimands.

Don’t take women seriously. Where have we heard that sterling advice before? *prepares to preen*

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You can tell a lot about what people really value by… eureka!… listening to their conversations.

Women sometimes talk about sex — and they can be surprisingly raunchy recalling or imagining the details of intimate congress — but sex talk is hardly a major focus of their socializing amongst girl friends. Usually, one girl (the token slut) will crack a joke about the shape of the penis she inhaled and the others will collaterally cackle as part of an alliance preserving exercise. The smutcluck is dropped quickly for extended emphasis on subjects nearer and dearer to the female heart: Relationships and love.

(Slutwalk women who stick with the raunch talk for an awkwardly uncomfortable length of conversational air space tend to elicit disapproving glares and then social abandonment from their girl friends. Chicks have a limited capacity for enduring sex talk, even in their female friends.)

When women veer into R&L, as is the frequent wont of their meandering sex, their conversation assumes a VERY SERIOUS TONE.


INTERCHANGEABLE GIRL #1: “We’re back together.”

INTERCHANGEABLE GIRL #2: “Oh really! I didn’t know…”

INTERCHANGEABLE GIRL #!: “You didn’t know?”

[twenty  more minutes of delicate social maneuvering before getting to the meat of the topic]

INTERCHANGEABLE GIRL #2: “It’s just that he did this really nice thing and I really love that.”

INTERCHANGEABLE GIRL #1: “mmhmm, yeah that’s sweet.”

INTERCHANGEABLE GIRL #2: “And anyhow I think he tried to say he loves me.”

INTERCHANGEABLE GIRL #1: “He dropped the L word! Wow, that’s big.”


[two more hours of hot debate about the precise wording of the boyfriend’s confession and whether it counts as a sincere exclamation of love. tack on another hour of girls #1, 3, and 4 alternately affirming girl #2’s decision to stay with her boyfriend and playing a gentle devil’s advocate for dumping the guy.]


Men, in the starkest of contrasts, rarely, if ever, have conversations about R&L. Instead, what do cool dudes talk about when the subject isn’t sports, work or hobbies?


ONE OF A KIND COOL DUDE #1: “So what happened last night? I saw you hitting on that hot blonde.”

ALSO ONE OF A KIND COOL DUDE #2: “Dude, I got her back to my place!”

VERILY, ONE OF A KIND COOL DUDE #3: “No shit! Did you tap it?”

ALSO ONE OF A KIND COOL DUDE #2: “Oh man, she was crazy. She was down on my knob, doing this thing…”

[twenty minutes of high fives and rapt attention as excruciatingly crude, detailed account is told of sex positions and composition of female squirt juice.]

NOT SO COOL DUDE #4: “Man, great stuff. Does this mean you’re gonna date her for a while?”

[sound of air being let out of balloon. full-body group cringing and disappointed looks exchanged.]

ONE OF A KIND COOL DUDE #1: “How ’bout those Dodgers?”


The examples I presented here are highly illustrative of real life among normal psychologically healthy human beings, but neither presupposes that men never concern themselves with relationships and love, nor that women are never interested in talking about sex. The key difference between the sexes is this:

Women are primarily interested in R&L, and secondarily interested in sex. Men are primarily interested in sex, and secondarily interested in R&L.

To punctuate the point, try to imagine a conversation between men that focused on R&L without any familiar, tension-alleviating digressions into sex talk.


BUTTPLAY ENTHUSIAST MANLET #1: “We’re back together. It’s been one month.”

BUTTPLAY ENTHUSIAST MANLET #2: “Aww! Tell me all about it!”

BUTTPLAY ENTHUSIAST MANLET #1: “Wellllll… she’s been really good to me lately.”

BUTTPLAY ENTHUSIAST MANLET #2: “That’s really great.”

BUTTPLAY ENTHUSIAST MANLET #1: “AAAAaaaand… I think she might’ve said she loves me.”

BUTTPLAY ENTHUSIAST MANLET #2: “Wow, that’s huge! How did that come up?”

BUTTPLAY ENTHUSIAST MANLET #1: “I’m not ENTIRELY sure she said the EXACT words ‘i love you’ but it sounded like she was trying to say them.”

BUTTPLAY ENTHUSIAST MANLET #2: “I knew there was something between you two!”


Preposterous on the face of it. No straight man has a conversation like this with his buddies, unless he’s auditioning for a part in a Broadway play called “My Colon For Old Fags” or “My Own Private Hide-A-Pole”.

Yes, yes, so many of you are shocked by this news. “Tell us something we don’t know, CH.” But we have entered a cultural dystopia when this common sense is rapidly being distorted and replaced by feminist and manlet poopytalk. Tragically, some of the SJW poopytalk is reaching the ears of impressionable naifs, and setting some of them on a course for self-destruction, especially those whose emotional stability is marginal.

There are CH readers with children. One of these naifs swallowing feminist slut cunt lies by the bucketful could one day be your daughter.

When bitterbitches ape the mannerisms and sociosexual predilections of men, their butthurt try-hardness is a transparent ruse all but the lappiest lapdogs can see through. A girl screeching about “opening her legs for every man BUT YOU” is assuming a twisted, false pride in a domain normally and healthfully reserved for men which she knows, deep inside where the armor of her lies yields to the rumbling growl of her id, is a phony front serving no purpose other than blind rage at the retreating world of a good man’s sincere love leaving her behind.

Case in point: The “dick is abundant and low value” girl I had to disembowel as a lesson for the others. With much pain and sorrow in my heart, I took the shiv to her exposed ego and performed a necessary duty. A duty that perhaps would, one day, somewhere, and in a fashion that social science studies would struggle to capture in their arid data sets, rescue an innocent young woman or young man from living by the lies of a loser in love.

For those still wondering what this is all about, a revelation. Above all, Le Chateau abides the Keats’ ode: “Beauty is truth, truth beauty.” Our glorious, gleaming civilization is getting uglier and further from the truth by the day. A mind full of lies contorts the body into misshapen ugliness. An ugly visage will infect the mind with ego-assuaging lies. Lies must be exposed at birth, or they will grow monstrous and consume everything beautiful in their path. In the wake of lies, ugliness follows like a toxic spindrift.

Therefore, the CH Excalibur… the Holy Heartistian Shiv… drives through the bullshit until the gore stains the hilt, so that beauty and truth may once again assert their rightful place as earthly host to humanity, and the loveless lampreys, despite their worst fears, find to their surprise a new hope for a better life…… or slink away to the icy outback where their limbic disease is quarantined to their own souls.


❤️SCIENCE❤️ presents her rump and accepts a meaty intrusion from yours truly before looking over her shoulder with love in her eyes.

Findings reveal that while communication patterns tend to be supportive and relationship-focused in women’s bathrooms, the graffiti in men’s bathroom walls are replete with sexual content and insults, in the course of the construction of hegemonic masculinity.

H/t commenter Strahlemann. The sex-based difference in predilection for R&L or sex talk is evident even in anonymous bathroom stalls. Chicks scrawl odes to LTRs. Men scratch sonnets to sexual slang.

If you play on Team CH, you bat 1.000. How can you not like those odds?

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Sweden is the experimental lab of the deranged feminist and equalist revolutions. Manjaw and manlet Mengeles perform a gruesome vivisection of Swedish society, reattaching parts until a bolt of lightning gives life to the ünterandrogyne as zie menacingly rises from the operating table.

The “Together” project is another weapon against Racism.

Motala Municipality’s summer home is the scene of a project that’ll see young Swedes and refugees from Somalia and Afghanistan build bridges together.

here comes the cuck shot…

Camp organizer Kajsa Nilsson was asked why the camp only allows Swedish girls, but allows foreign man and girls, who are sometimes much older than the Swedish participants. “In the countries that many of these young men come from, they are used to dating girls younger than themselves, so we see [this] as a cultural compromise.”

“I mean, what a welcome to Sweden, right, when you meet a friendly young lady?” he added.

the very best of welcomes.

The camp is held at Motala summer home in the hope the Swedish girls may create “interfaces” with strangers.

The different activities to bring the two groups together include draktillverkning,

swedish for “rape play”.

This post was a delayed April Fool’s prank. But you believed it, because it was, sadly, believable. Ten years ago, you’d chortle skeptically. Today, you assume Swedish self-cucking is par for the course.

And your assumption would be more right than wrong. A Swedish “multicultural center expert” converted to Islam and joined ISIS. That story is true.

I’ll leave this post on a hopeful note. There are nationalists — aka sane people — in Sweden. One lovely Swedish nationalist lass did her own compare & contrast experiment.

It’s funny cuz it’s self-evidently true.

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Census Bureau data show that 70% of men aged 20-34 are unmarried. The trend is unmistakable, and predates the current recessionary unpleasantness: More men are dropping out of the marriage market, and this gradually escalating abandonment has been going on since the 1960s.

CH has discussed ad infinitum the various causes for the marriage strike (hint: it’s not just men avoiding the altar). Sometimes, theory isn’t enough to wake people up. You need to hear the pained words echoing from the charnel house known as the modern secular mating market. A commenter to that linked article, Tom Watson, writes,

This isn’t an article about maturity, its about conformity. Society is upset that men aren’t conforming to some crazy imaginary standard being set for them. This isn’t the the 1950’s, the economy has entered permanent contraction, so it’s pretty simple, we can’t afford to marry princess and give her the castle she wants. I don’t want want to be a cog in the machine, I want to see the machine grind to a stop.

What was it? 80% of women list shopping as their number one hobby? But you want to attack men for playing video games? Pretty selective. I want to live a life of minimalism, where I have enough money to cover the basics, I don’t need a 2000 square foot McMansion in burbs to get by, I don’t want to commute to a soul crushing job and end up like the age 50+ man drones I see drowning themselves in alcohol, fast food and TV just to numb their existential pain.

Modern culture to me is spiritually dead, I don’t feel like using my one shot at life running on the never ending treadmill of materialism just because cupcake wants me to, what kind of man would I be then? Definitely not my own. F#CK THAT!!

Yes, the trope about vidgya gaming and porning men as the cause of marriage dissolution conveniently neglects to include materialistic, shopping and social media whoring women. I do think technology has contributed to divorce, but technology cuts both ways; it’s enabled the worst instincts of both men and women.

One other point which Tom didn’t mention, (but which was strongly implied): Fat, classless, slutty women aren’t high grade investment properties. No man wants to slave away to buy a 2,000sq ft mcmansion for a blob. As I keep reminding tradcons like Douthat and Murray, the obesity epidemic is as much a cause, perhaps a bigger cause, for the retreat of men from marriage as any economic factor.

Tom is also a victim of SCALE. When he says, “Modern culture to me is spiritually dead”, what he’s really saying is, “The nation is too big, diversity too overbearing, community too shattered, women too morally base, for me to feel any sort of connection or duty toward it.”

Tom, you can be your own man by learning how to charm women, falling in love, and making them a part of your life…. outside the realm of the state. Feed your heart, starve the beast.

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Reader Mel Gibson remarks on one of those subtle changes in white homelands that herald the inglorious end,

I recently spent some time in the waiting area of the state clerk of court. Hung on the walls were 10 pictures of the classes of the local bar association, dating back to 1900. Each class member had his own picture – essentially in mugshot format with a name caption.

The photo of the 1900 class was obviously all white males, many of whom had well-kept beards and healthy, thin faces. I saw one fat guy out of the ~100. Each had a determined look on his face, looking off into the distance. [ed: APLHA] There wasn’t a single smile. [SUPERALPHA]

The first woman showed up in the 1920-ish class. Two more appeared in the 40s and 50s. Most of the men kept the distracted look, while some looked directly into the camera. I saw a few smirks and upward-curled lips, but no teeth-bearing grins.

I didn’t see classes from the 60s or 70s, but by the 1980s picture I noticed some major changes. There were more women and some blacks. (Aside: Look, if these women and blacks earned their way into their profession and this association, then props to them.). The larger trend I noticed was that the white males were losing their beards, losing their hair, getting fatter, and not only smiling more, but larger like chimps who just earned a banana from the zookeeper. By the class of 2000, well, you know where this is going… all of the above-mentioned traits, and they were looking directly into the camera. I shudder to think what the class of 2015 looks like.

Basically, in 10 pictures over 100 years, I saw the decline of the white male.

Ugliness in all forms is ascendent in America and the broader West. Beauty will return, though. Her restorative fire can’t be snuffed for long.

In the meantime, the class of 2015 photo will be a phalanx of ugly bulldykes and mystery meats glaring triumphantly, BradyBunchily, over the literal mugshots of one physically amorphic white manboob quisling crouched into the defensive pose, head buried in chest, smiling like an idiot through three pube-pocked chins, and one shell-shocked semi-discernable white man gritting his teeth, amicably trying at once to fit in with the wretched Shrikegeist and to project a tiny bit of whatever shred of pride he has left fermenting in his nads.

(You thought the title of this post would refer to some other social phenomenon related to courtrooms, didn’t you? Give yourself a ‘heh’.)

PS If you’re ever having your photo taken for a group picture, and especially if you’re a white man in this acrid culture, think of the illustrative CH Jumbotron Test. This test applies equally to the ebbs of courtship as well as the legacies left behind in courtrooms. Just ask yourself, before the picture is taken or the text is sent, “How will my pose or my words be perceived by women, by men I admire, and by future generations, including possibly my children and grandchildren?” If you can ask yourself this honestly, and you still pose like a beta chimp grinning for approval from your trashworld masters, you are a lost cause and best left in the remainder bin of discarded genes.


Commenter lllooooolllzzzzzllloooolll writes,

Hipster faggots are often seen imitating old photographs, even the “looking in the distance” pose. This is ironic faggotry, along with their faggot beards they use to store cum from their boyfriends,  for a mid morning snack.

Irony is the modern SWPL white man’s plausibly deniable safe space to play around with racial self-pride. It’s nauseating, yes, but also a sign of progress. Complete prostration is giving way to ironic detachment, and finally, if the CH oracles are right, the irony will become that most feared and fearsome white man state of mind…

Sincerity of self-belief.

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Attention Whore of the Month, Emma Sulkowicz (Asian-Eskimo), once accused a man of rape. She whored for femcunt fame by carrying a mattress around campus as if she was doing the Stations of the Mattress.

Her victim story, predictably, did not hold up, not even in the Columbia University kangaroo court. Her cry of rape is a lie. A fabrication. A delusion. Feminists wept, but soldier on in the belief that there’s a “larger theme” to tell. Just #LikeAGirl.

A Regret Rape is a rape that didn’t happen. Let’s cut to the chase: 99% of false rape accusations are made by plain janes who shot the alpha male boyfriend moon and missed, and were bitter about it.

They didn’t get the relationship and alpha boyfriend status feels they imagined should automatically result from sex, so naturally they respond by marching around with a mattress on their backs and marching into Orwellian university anti-sex league offices to falsely charge innocent men of a vile crime. Dat 60/40 female/male campus sex ratio is really starting to fuck with the heads of marginally bangable girls.

OH WELL. I figure feminist hearts and minds will change once greedy lawyers with brass balls throw a few of these FRA cunts into prison and sue a few Ivies into premature endowment withdrawal.

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Public sector jobs and government stimulus are essentially a wealth confiscation and transfer from men to women:

The fantasy: War On Women.

The reality: War On Men.

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