Putting The Penis On A Pedestal

One of the biggest problems of our phallocentric culture is the constant pampering to the superficial behavior of men. The dating arena is a prime example of this. I won’t ridicule mainstream dating advice. That the “golddigger” strategy is dubious at best should be common knowledge by now. Instead, I want to attack a particular corner of the Internet that proclaims that they have the solution to the dating problem: the so-called “women’s issues” community. A lot of the criticism applies to the “glamourmagosphere” as well, though.

What struck me always as absurd was that those alleged relationship madams didn’t teach women to “woman up”. No, not in the “be a real woman and get a high-paying career so you can marry a grateful niceguy after you’ve had your fun”, but for real. They just don’t tell you to stand up for yourself. No, instead you are supposed to become an expert on cosmetology, fashion, exercise science, gossip, looking your best, behaving in a sweet feminine manner, and all kinds of frivolous nonsense. This alone should make any reasonably smart woman very skeptical. Even if this stuff worked — wouldn’t you want to have an at least halfway intelligent man instead, since as we know intelligence and primal biological sexual preferences are mutually exclusive?

That’s not all, because mainstream relationship madams also tell you how you should react to his ambiguous behavior. They call it “charming” when he’s acting flirty towards you, and tell you to “just keep making him chase you, girl!” Do you know what any girl with an inkling of self-respect would do? If he’s charming, you just move on, but if he’s really sexy and dangerous, you can just tell him to go fuck himself. Amazingly, some men are so damned sexy that they’ll get turned off by that and next you.

The men you’re interacting with are supposed to be adults, but if he behaves like a high value man with options, you have the choice of either confronting him or trying to change his behavior. Have fun with that! What also works is to not bother with him and looking for a more mature man instead. By “mature” I don’t mean some boring man with no game, but a man with a modicum of mental maturity who has a bug up his ass about the idea of having to impress the opposite sex. Mental maturity depends on a cultivated resentment that there exist two sexes with differing reproductive goals and psychologies that must be accommodated if one is to make it through life as something more than a loveless loser. There are plenty of shockingly immature normal people who don’t carry chips on their shoulders — men and women — around.

Let me just dwell on this topic a bit longer. Probably any girl who ever agreed to go out on a date with a man, or went along with it when he wanted to “hang out” will have experienced that some men just won’t commit. No, they don’t toss you out of bed. Instead, they just don’t show up three months later. A smart way of dealing with this problem is to make the man wait a little for sex so that you can tell if he’s the type just looking for a fun time or if he’s really into you and wants a deeper relationship.

It is not the case that men are unaware that they are cagey about commitment. I guess the “matriarchy” keeps them down so that they can’t pick out a ring and marry you, or just say “I don’t want a relationship” in the first place. What do those ridiculous dating madams aka your grandmas tell you, though? They talk about “getting Mr. Right”. You’re supposed to keep showing cleavage and dressing sexily and putting on make-up and watching your figure and flattering him to “build attraction”, and if he still won’t commit, you’re supposed to play hard to get and withdraw sex and generally act as if time is short and you need real commitment before your peak fertility window of desirability closes.

I mean, whom are those “relationship artists” kidding? Even if you managed to eventually win such a man over, what kinds of precedents did you set? If anything, the man now knows that you like him for more than sex (horrors!), and that you’ll work hard to pin him down in a long-term relationship. He knows that you’re a completely normal woman who happily gives up self-righteous celibacy for the remote chance to get some love. As if a man’s love was the solution to anything (*snort*)! Instead of calling him out on his foot-dragging, you invite him to remain indecisive, and you even make excuses for his normal male behavior, all for love!!! This is nothing but absurd. Congratulations, you’ve turned yourself into what they call a “lovestruck girl.” Yes, this — “relationship game”, they call it — is the supposed alternative to mainstream dating advice. It’s laughable.

“Relationship management” and “beautification” are just more elaborate forms of penis worship and pedestalization. Women will never earn their self-respect until they are ready to “go their own way”.

Many thanks to Paul Elam for publishing this post at his blog A Voice For Women.

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Women’s Worst Enemies Are Other Women

The Jizzebel hokumguzzlers have built a retard empire on the fantastical premise that demonic men oppress angelic women, and that the end of such oppression would herald a femme utopia for land whales, skanks, proud sluts, transborgs, homonormatives, globular polyamorists, selfie-abusers and really cool smart chicks with pink hair who use the word “douchecanoe” a lot and think that makes them a member of the literati.

Except that, out here in the real world where the rubber hits the hole, it’s about as ass-backwards a belief as one can diligently nurture in the face of contradictory facts. If stepping outside the confines of the gloomy bedroom internet portal and listening to ♥science♥ hold any quarter with the self-delusion set, they would have to recant everything they profess, for the facts show that women are the worst enemies of women.

Who hurts women? Real rapists (as opposed to the phantasm of “regret rapists“) very infrequently hurt women. But the threat to women, as measured by battle effectiveness and sheer force of enemy number, is other women.

The rumor spreading, shunning and backstabbing of “mean girls” may be a relatively accurate picture of women’s social interactions, one researcher says.

Though both men and women use such indirect aggression in relationships, women use backbiting to demoralize competition and take sexual rivals out of the picture…

“Women do compete, and they can compete quite fiercely with one another,” said Tracy Vaillancourt, the paper’s author and a psychology professor at the University of Ottawa in Canada. “The form it typically takes is indirect aggression, because it has a low cost: The person [making the attack] doesn’t get injured. Oftentimes, the person’s motives aren’t detected, and yet it still inflicts harm against the person they’re aggressing against.”

Why do women choose the tactically lower risk method of indirect attacks? Because of the fundamental premise that acts like a brain virus upon everyone’s underlying psychology: women are biologically the more valuable sex.

That led Vaillancourt to hypothesize that the behavior is rooted in humans’ evolutionary past. But why would sneaky meanness have become so ingrained in the female repertoire?

In short, because mean girl aggression works so well.

Because of women’s role in childbearing and rearing, they are less expendable than men and couldn’t risk injury by settling disputes with their fists, said Anne Campbell, an evolutionary psychologist at Durham University in the United Kingdom, who was not involved in the work. Instead, social exclusion and talking behind someone’s back allowed women to work out conflicts without endangering their bodies.

This research lends support to the suspicion that the feminist zeal to cavalierly throw around the accusation of misogyny at men is really a classic case of psychological projection of their own states of mind. Or: only a real misogynist would impute misogyny to everyone else’s motives. You have to be one to know one, right ladies? Heh.

In related crimethoughts, those who drop the “raciss” accusation on the slimmest pretexts are likely themselves raving racists. Not that there’s anything wrong with that.

Not only does such cattiness make the targeted women too sad and anxious to compete in the sexual market, some studies suggest it can make men find rivals less attractive — provided the badmouthing comes from a cute woman, Vaillancourt said.

Yeah, that last part is the crucial condition. A fug badmouthing a hottie has about as much influence over a man’s judgment of female attractiveness as another man would. That is to say, none. What would be interesting to follow up on would be an experiment that examined the reactions of hotties and fugs to social ostracism by other women. My bet is that hotties can withstand female cattiness a lot better than can uglier women. Because hotties have constant feedback from men that their worth in the sexual market is unassailable.

Women often punish perceived sexual transgressions, Vaillancourt said. Studies in dozens of countries have found that women use indirect aggression against other women for being “too sexually available,” Vaillancourt said.

“It’s women who suppress other women’s sexuality,” because if sex is a resource, then more sexually promiscuous women lower the price of it, Vaillancourt told LiveScience.

Slut walk sloganeering notwithstanding to the cuntrary, most slut shamers are other women. Men may avoid sluts for marriage, but they won’t shame them. Why shame a snatch freebie from landing in your lap?

One way to avoid the most destructive effects of girls’ indirect aggression is to make sexual policing less powerful, Campbell said.

“We want to achieve a situation where that accusation [of promiscuity] had no power, where we don’t have that double sexual standard,” Campbell said. “But how we get there, I don’t know.”

Good luck with that. She may as well try to get humans to subsist on hemlock.

And women don’t compete over things they don’t value, Vaillancourt said. So women who put less emphasis on dating, or women who are past their sexual peak, are less likely to engage in mean girl behavior (at least over men).

The sexual market is the one market to rule them all.

So women backbite, backstab and fall back from attacking other women when the heat comes around the corner. That’s some RealTalk™ the Jizzebelers assiduously sweep under their gnarly rugs.

The fembot soul serrating doesn’t stop there. What other sins against women that feminists routinely accuse men of committing are committed by women in at least equal measure? Welp, how about objectification?

A new study has confirmed something women have been complaining about for years.

The research, out of the University of Nebraska-Lincoln and published in the Springer-published journal Sex Roles, essentially corroborates the belief that people tend to focus more on the breasts and figure of a woman when analyzing her appearance than they do on her face. […]

People tend to focus first on the important information about a woman.

Unsurprisingly, women with narrow waists, full breasts and larger hips – the classic hourglass figure – were rated more favorably than their less voluptuous counterparts, even when men were asked to assess a woman’s personality (rather than attractiveness) based on her appearance in the photos.

But perhaps what’s most interesting is that women also tended to objectify other females in the same way that men did. They, too, spent more time focusing on figure than face.

Can you believe the nerve of those men… hold up, wait a sec… hmm… those women objectifying women that way? Ugh, I can’t even… wow just wow… creepers!

Feminism will go down in history (along with her parent ideology equalism) as the stupidest potpourri of delusions ever propagated by a mass of degenerates sufficient in number and influence to dump their poison in the public’s ear. The Chateau stands ancient and true, thwarting the lords of lies at every point of attack.

“Generally speaking, people are more positive towards a more attractive woman than a less attractive one,” lead researcher Sarah Gervais said. “However, attractiveness may also be a liability, because while evaluating them positively, ‘gazers’ still focus less on individuating and personalizing features, such as faces, and more on the bodies of attractive women.”

There’s an important game concept tucked in the crevice of this quote. Can anyone find it?

.

.

Answer: Thermal exhaust port. Hot women have weaknesses, primary among them the nagging fear that they’re only loved for their bodies. You, as an aspiring assaulter of the pink abyss, can exploit this point of id entry into the attractive female’s ego. Disqualify and challenge — “I only hang with women who have something going on for themselves besides their looks” — then assuage and connect — “I know people judge you on superficial stuff, and how tough that makes it for you to find someone who can connect with you on a deeper level. I get that”.

A cute girl’s ego is like a finicky vineyard. You must first coax the fruit to their exquisite ripeness by introducing slight stresses to the soil of her self-conception; you must avoid overwatering and over-fertilizing, which can cause the grape (ego) to become too plump and lacking in distinction; and finally, you must pluck her exercised ego at the perfect moment and turn it into a fine wine that she is eager to pour a glass of herself for you to appreciate. Chin chin.

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ABC News “20/20” Segment On The Manosphere

The sensationalist news show “20/20” is purportedly airing a special tonight on “the manosphere”. Two completely unbiased feminists report from the internet trenches, where HATE MACHINE ÜBER ALLES!

Yeah, you can expect as much journalistic integrity from two liberal arts graduate vapid shell entities as you could from a Pravda copy editor with a gun to his head. At least the Pravda guy has an excuse.

CH may not rightly be considered part of the manosphere (our hearts will go on), but this news should interest the CH readership, which crosses over with sites commonly recognized as manospherian. Actually, the news should interest all sorts of non-manosphere readers as well, such as those from the peripheral HBD, PUA, dissident and rascally right, and neoreactionary spheres. Thus, I pass it along.

No doubt this “20/20” exposé will be unfair and unbalanced choir preaching to their fat frump female audience, but that’s largely irrelevant. The take home point is that RealTalk™ outposts are getting noticed by aristocratic Cathedral hacks nervous that their carefully manicured garden of pre-approved public discourse in which they frolic is about to get overrun by revolutionaries happy to take a shit on their marigolds. In response to the growing threat, they will smear and mock at first. And then they will roll over and die.

Pro Tip: The MSM leftoid juggernaut sets the frame and gets to define its enemies. This is, for now, the operating zeitgeist. The best way to win at that game is to not play. At least not on MSM terms, on their turf. But if you decide to enter the equalist arena to do battle, you should have a plan of action for reclaiming the alpha ground. This means, in practice, before you have answered any of their questions or even allowed them to ask a question, announcing for the world your assumption that your interviewers are incapable of impartiality.

“Before we begin, I really wonder if you can approach this subject matter with an open mind, like a true objective journalist. I mean, the mainstream media has a history of distorting the viewpoints of people they don’t agree with, and even lying to set the tone of debate. But maybe you’ll surprise us all by not immediately shouting “rape” when someone talks about legitimate topics that upset you.”

By preempting their attacks in this manner — airing their strategy of slander like dirty laundry — you weaken the effectiveness of their attacks when they want to deploy them later. It’s a classic reframe. Game can win over women and TV audiences equally.

PS For the record, CH has no opinion of Paul Elam, the main rep of the manosphere interviewed by “20/20”. Never read his stuff, so can’t make any judgment whether he’s a suitable spokesman or not.

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It’s Hard Being A Man In Public

Sometimes you just want to go home, but you’re stuck being a man in public.

You get on the train after a long day. The doors are trying to close and a big fat woman jams them open with her bulk, unintentionally letting on another guy. A man in a military uniform takes his earbuds out and says to the obese door-blocker, “Don’t hold the door open.”

“What did you say?”

“Don’t hold the door open.”

“Did you just touch me? That’s sexual harassment!”

You can’t help staring at the scene, like a rubbernecker slowing down to check out the carnage surrounding a car accident, and unfortunately the nasty fat woman catches you gawking at her. You take a seat as far away from her monstrous apparition as possible and try to disappear into your Kindle, averting your eyes. Everything finally calms down.

The door-blocker, who’s already proven herself to have zero qualms about confronting normal-sized people, is looking at you. You can see her in your peripheral vision — she’s hard to miss — and you can feel her looking hungrily at you.

You’re at a distance, but your suit is faddishly undersized and you’re wearing Sex Walrus cologne so you know she noticed you. Keep reading, keep looking down. You briefly wish you were less attractive or a woman or that you were wearing a rainbow flag t-shirt so she would stop thinking you were interested in her. She keeps looking at you. There is nothing worse than an ugly fat woman with delusions of attractiveness and a penchant for false eye rape accusations making life uncomfortable for you, the average man in public.

The person on the inside of your seat needs to get off. You hold your breath as you let them out and you move in, thinking of all the things you’ll say and do when she tries to plop down next to you like a tranquilized elephant and talk to you when you just want to avoid that gross feeling of a ham-shaped arm pressing into your side.

You exhale when an older woman rushes to take the seat you’ve vacated. You’re safe and insulated by the window now.

Door-blocker exits at the next stop and the imaginary sexual tension leaves with her.

It’s only been a few minutes, but this is what goes through your head when you’re existing as a man in public and ugly fat women assume you want them, when all you were really thinking was “why is this fat bitch hyperventilating?”.

Originally published at the fittingly named Jezebel Groupthink blog.

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Lookism

The marching malcontents have identified a new injustice they seek to rectify: Lookism.

The galloping injustice of “lookism” has not escaped psychologists, economists, sociologists, and legal scholars. Stanford law professor Deborah L. Rhode’s 2010 book, “The Beauty Bias,” lamented “the injustice of appearance in life and law,” while University of Texas, Austin economist Daniel Hamermesh’s 2011 “Beauty Pays,” recently out in paperback, traced the concrete benefits of attractiveness, including a $230,000 lifetime earnings advantage over the unattractive. […]

Tentatively, experts are beginning to float possible solutions. Some have proposed legal remedies including designating unattractive people as a protected class, creating affirmative action programs for the homely, or compensating disfigured but otherwise healthy people in personal-injury courts. Others have suggested using technology to help fight the bias, through methods like blind interviews that take attraction out of job selection. There’s promising evidence from psychology that good old-fashioned consciousness-raising has a role to play, too.

None of these approaches will be a panacea, and to some aesthetes among us, even trying to counter the bias may sound ridiculous. But the reason to seek fairness for the less glamorous isn’t just social or charitable. Our preference for beautiful people makes us poor judges of qualities that have nothing to do with physical appearance—it means that when we select employees, teachers, protégés, borrowers, and even friends, we may not really be making the best choice. It’s an embarrassing and stubborn truth—and the question is now whether, having established it, social researchers can find a way to help us level the playing field.

Harrison Bergeron, please pick up the courtesy phone.

I have an oh so innocent question for the S-M-R-T SMART leftoid equalists pushing this latest load of reality transmogrification: If, as feminists and their consanguineous misfits (hi, fat acceptors!) are constantly telling everyone, beauty is subjective, socially conditioned, and in the eye of the beholder, how is it possible to make laws that punish beautiful people? If there is no innate biologically-based beauty standard (hi, Naomi Wolf!) that is fairly universally agreed upon in practice (if not in stated principle), then there is no way to know who is ugly and who is beautiful. That job applicant you think looks like a toad could just as well look like a goddess to another interviewer. After all, “you are a big, beautiful woman”. 😆 😆

Maybe the equalists want to gum up the machinery of civilization so badly because they harbor a self-annihilating death wish absent any strong authoritarian figure to dispense the discipline they sorely need? It’s as good an explanation as any. Leftoids are like emo Jesse on a meth bender acting out a “stop me before I hurt myself” tard tragedy.

Try to imagine a world where “lookism” laws were rigorously enforced. Will there be a “Caliper General” of the United States who runs the department assigned to measuring people’s faces for closeness to the golden ratio? Who will be qualified to serve as “Beauty Judge” if beauty is a matter of personal opinion, as liberals and fatties and liberal fatties have been swearing for generations? I can tell you if I were a hot babe I wouldn’t want a jury of jackal-faced feminists sitting in judgment of my pretty face. That’s enough psychotically bitter, self-loathing baggage projected onto me to make me persona non grata at any company afraid of attracting attention from malicious government operatives tasked with creating a better, fairer world.

The opportunity for gaming a lookism system created by liberals chin-deep in their self-contradictions is tremendous. Picture a handsome dude at a job interview or admissions office with a cadre of paid witnesses at his side to testify to his ugliness. “Ma’am, the dude is an ugly mofo. Just look at that jaunty cowlick. Have you seen a more repulsive deformity?”, “I wouldn’t touch him with a ten foot pole. And I know from hunkiness!”, “Ugh, I need a vomit bag. Go ahead. Measure my pupil dilation if you don’t believe me.”

Or maybe an ugly woman will be sitting in an EEOC anti-discrimination government office, and she has brought a penile plethysmograph and a male subject to make her case that his limp member proves she is the ugliest of them all, and she deserves recompense for suffering a lifetime under the cold gaze of looks privilege. Or maybe hot chicks start showing up to job interviews wearing potato sacks. (Won’t help. They’ll still look better than well-dressed fugs.) What will happen when master system gamers bring hard data to the table showing that beauty and smarts and charisma correlate, and thus there’s good reason why people naturally favor the beautiful? Or when the obvious logical connection is made that people shouldn’t be punished for an advantage in life they had no control over receiving? (hi, IQ denialists!)

You can see where this will lead: a mountain of lawsuits claiming reverse discrimination based on a misleading, subjective experience of beauty; an anti-anti-lookism argument, however tactically disingenuous, to which liberals who created the anti-lookism laws will have no counter, without transparently betraying their very own cherished beliefs and principles. Never underestimate the scope of the infinite logic traps into which equalists are capable of boxing themselves. You have entered… The Dissonance Zone.

The only way an anti-lookism legal apparatus could conceivably “work” — that is, operate long enough to generate substantial revenues for interested lawyerly middlemen —  without instantly imploding from internal contradictions is if liberals admit that beauty is objective and thus measurable with precision instruments. Without that cave on one of the liberal core tenets — without that craven loss of leftoid face — an anti-lookism bureaucracy won’t last any longer than the first lawsuit filed by an aggrieved hottie which claims beauty is a personal experience that can vary depending on the person observing it. The platitudes and pretty lies that so entrance liberals will ring like a symphony in the Courtroom of Playing Field Leveling, deafening liberals with their own dulcet ear poison. Oh, the irony, it is delicious.

Even were liberals to happily and expediently kick out a major pillar girding their ideology and proclaim in the interest of wallet-fattening litigiousness that beauty is not in the eye of the beholder but is an objective fact of biology and cosmic law, there would still be no way for “anti-lookism” laws to survive their intrinsic parodical nature. For as soon as liberals admit that beauty has a factual, objective basis they will be forced, by circumstance or by subversion, to also admit that other unequal distributions of favorable human traits have a sound, objective biological basis… and then the whole goddamn house of equalist cards comes crashing down in the ensuing rush for biological inequality reparations and anti-discrimination compensation. And once that path is taken, illimitable chaos must follow in its wake. The body politic will be bled dry, or it will seize a rationale for eugenics.

Coerced eugenics, if you think about it, is the logical end game of equalism.

I predict that the advocate of lookism laws in that article is a beautiful woman who feels guilty for catching breaks in life, and wants to atone for her sins. To satisfy my curiosity, I found her photo to see if I’m right.

Curses! Foiled again!

Equalists, I’ll make this very simple for you: Life is unfair. Deal with it.

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The Randomness Of Polar Bear Hunting

Something totally random happened in Oklahoma yesterday. A white man was randomly shot and killed by three random uruk-hais randomly pointing guns out of their random ghettomobile, and randomly choosing a target upon whom to unload their random fleeting emotions which some might randomly refer to less randomly as a pointed expulsion of hate.

Here are random photos of the random killers looking like any random person would look who randomly decided to shoot a man dead in the back:

In related news, I randomly chose wine instead of kerosene to drink last weekend. I randomly wore shoes to walk outside instead of going barefoot. And I randomly avoided a dilapidated neighborhood known to be full of restless orcs. It’s this randomness of life that makes all of us feel morally superior for avoiding the notice of any non-random occurrences. Three cheers for awful, tragic randomness!

“They pulled up behind him and shot him in the back then sped away,” said Capt. Jay Evans of Duncan Police Department. “It could have been anybody — it was such a random act.”

“It could have been anybody.” Translation: “The shit is going to hit the fan if white people start noticing that it wasn’t just anybody.”

Just how confidently can this police captain claim randomness as a crime motive? Were the three joy-shooters — two nightmare beasts and one miscegenated quasimodo — completely unaware of the race of their chosen victim?

Questions to ask the Captain:

How many people did the perps pass in their car before shooting Lane?
Was Lane the first “random” target they saw that day?
Did they pass up the chance to shoot any blacks before targeting Lane for the kill?
If the shooting was random, why were pedestrians coming toward them spared? The back shot seems especially cowardly and proof of forethought rather than pure chance.
Why, if the violence was totally random, is it two blacks and one mulatto with identity issues who stand accused of the crime in a city, Duncan, OK, that is only 3% black?

Of course, these questions will never be answered. Because the truth is a shiv to the post-modern, post-Western, anti-white posterity cleansing project. The truth is that there was nothing “random” about this morbidly banal killing; three gutter fiends spotted a white man — an iconic-looking white man jogging in that iconically white way — and gleefully took aim with all the roiling envy and hate their black hearts could muster, channeled into the spear of hot metal that would reward them with a few minutes of spastic joy.

Chris Lane was polar beared, just like Matty Yglesias was polar beared in his gentrifying DC enclave, except Lane took a lethal blow while Mattyboy was lucky to endure a flying fist as the weapon of choice of his insta-haters.

Look at that photo above, Mattyboy. Look at it real close. You know it. I know it. This is degeneracy. Human regression to a primitive prototype. Hate Machine in motion. Idiocracy ascendent. Brutish subterranean vessels of rank disgorged id spit forth from the perforating bowels of a diseased culture that has embraced lies and abandoned truth.

The Cathedral isn’t simply a metaphor for the mouthpieces of the mass media; its darkness — its evil — reaches deep into schools, government, entertainment industries, and apparently even local police departments. No mind is safe from its memetic synapse-blasting. Not even the minds of those who are up to their necks in daily reminders of reality and should know better than to spout blatant reality-warping lies intended as much to humiliate the listener as to redirect rage.

In this world, our Cathedral mind prison, media organs credulously accept the word of subhuman filth who claim boredom and random target acquisition for their actions, but will spin spin the universe on its axis to twist a news story about a Hispanic guy shooting a thug in defense who was bashing his head into the ground as a morality tale of white racism against angelic minorities.

Pre-human monsters from the abyss = wide-eyed Cathedral credulity.

Niceguy Hispanic looking out for his neighbors = Cathedral doubleplussmear campaign.

When you lie down with rotting filth, you get up with bad habits of the mind. Excise this stinking corpse of a nation from your mind, it is no longer a part of you and you are no longer a part of it. Time to rebuild something new, better, true and beautiful from the smoldering ashes. People are awakening. A cataclysm stirs.

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Mainstream Feminist Outlets Try To Bury Their Association With Hugo Schwyzer

Hugo Schwyzer, buffoon. Hugo Schwyzer, hypocrite. Hugo Schwyzer, self-proclaimed male feminist leader. Hugo Schwyzer, lover of porn stars, seducer of younger coeds, defiler of the matrimonial vow, potential giver of the herpes simplex Types 1 and 2, self-pegging fap-exposing murder-suicide contemplating part-time homosexing beacon of hope to dumbass feminists and their suck-up allies.

Now we can add one more honorific to Schwyzer’s curriculum vitae: Disgraced, womanly pity whore.

And who, besides Schwyzer himself, helped bring Schwyzer to the depths of the most public of public humiliations? Who was the first to mock his phoniness, ridicule his idiotic male feminist musings, turn him over on the spit for the world to poke with pointed sticks, implicate his supporters and advocates for hitching their fortunes to his ass-kissing self-aggrandizing lies?

Who, indeed.

Schwyster knows all this, too, which makes him a phonyfuck of the highest caliber. The guy spent his early years as a professor cashing in his higher status for the pleasure of fucking his 18-21 year old students. Maybe he is wracked with guilt, and his current ultrafeminist stance is his form of atonement. Or maybe (and more likely, in my view) his hypocritical feminist sycophancy is a ruse to get in the panties of the deluded naifs who take his classes.

Not that there’s anything wrong with that. The difference between me and a lickspittle errand boy like Schwyster is that I don’t go around claiming there’s something psychologically wrong with men for desiring the hot bods and feminine charms of young women. I don’t blame a guy like Schwyster for wanting to stick his dick in his peak fertility students, nor do I stroke feminist egos to earn PC brownie points and page views.

If you want to know who got under Hugo’s skin the most, you need only see which of his tormenters goes missing by name from his meltdown Twitter feed and from his confessionals to less sadistic bloggers than CH.

The reason Hugo doesn’t want to credit the source of his everlasting torment is because CH stuck the shiv in his mottled hide hard and deep, and it’s the twist that still pains him. Unlike many more charitable judgers of Hugo Schwyzer, I feel no pity toward him, nor any incipient feeling of charity. He is a liar, a phonyfuck, a charlatan, and a male attention whore with flapping labia where his mouth should be. He is an enabler of the worst of society, a useful tool conveying the rotten propaganda of assorted losers and misfits and degenerates, singing their off-key tune while he happily cashed in his exploitative scheming for the very nubile rewards his mass of followers tune in to hear him rail against. He is utterly repellent, a lizard in human clothing. I hope that he slices lengthwise, and should he do so, I will dance a happy snoopy dance the likes of which the dark side of the internet has never seen.

But there is a bigger story here than Hugo’s personal twilight, and that is the quickness with which mainstream, widely read feminist media outlets are attempting to bury and conveniently forget their association with Schwyzer. Hugo was, for a long time, a well-regarded paid contributor to such popular feminist and feminism-favoring organs as Jezebel, BlogHer, xojane, The Atlantic, and The Good Men Project. As Chuck noted,

But a few outlets like The Good Men Project, Jezebel, and The Atlantic took a chance on the history and gender studies professor from Pasadena City College who established himself as a male pop feminist by kissing the right asses and having sex with the right people.  Those outlets have avoided addressing their relationship with Hugo.  Jezebel’s editor Jessica Coen wrote a slippery post which was clearly about her former writer, but she wasn’t willing to actually mention Hugo by name. The post was evasive, and many commenters at the site called Coen out for it since Jezebel generally has a confrontational style.  I pitched my conversations with Hugo to The Atlantic as a tale of how two adversaries had spoken about his troubles.  Maybe my low Klout score kept the editor there from accepting the pitch.  And I didn’t go to The Good Men Project with a piece because they’re boring.  Regardless, all of those outlets saw the same person before them that me and many other critics of feminism saw, but they hosted Hugo for years.  Behold the power of telling people what they want to hear.

Funny how that works. You tell an ego-parched fug feminist what she wants to hear, and she opens her legs to your cock and her internet real estate to your cockamamie drivel, believing… oh, so very believing!… .that the male feminist lunacy dripping like honey into her ear palate was the Word of Goddess Herself. Hugo had a niche, and his sneaky fucker strategy netted him the adulation and the blowjobs he craved. Such a niche is not without its merits, but do keep in mind that being a community college professor to dimwits, however lowly in the academia hierarchy, is the lube that greases the coed skids. Playing the male feminist for fun and profit is not likely to work for the man who doesn’t have that hypergamously-grooved prof podium from which to tingle the tangles of thick-bushed queer gender studies acolytes. I don’t fault Hugo for pursuing this snatch-accumulating strategy. But I do shit in his lying face, and I do shit again in the faces of those who took his lies for truth.

So this is a glorious time to be an anti-male feminist. The wails and the rending of pit-stained t-shirts of the manboobs and the scalzied and the Dumb Hams of the world are the dulcet melodies of soaring symphonies, punctuated by the thunderous cymbal crash of lies being smashed. Ahhh, indeed.

But Hugo is an impenetrable pathological narcissist. No amount of soul shivving, however poison-tipped or torturously twisted to tickle vitals, will bring him the event horizon pain he so richly deserves. A shell entity who lives and breathes publicity, bad or good, will only welcome the psy knife that surgically pries his id. No, Hugo will only feel pain, real pain, when something else, something much more threatening to his ego survival, is presented to him. And that something else is Ostracism Total.

The targets of tender CH ministrations, then, are Hugo’s benefactors as much as Hugo himself. Jizzebel, The Atlantic, Good Men Project… you were duped, but only because you wanted to be duped. You wanted to believe in equalist, man-hating lies that caressed your stunted, shriveled, gimpy souls. You bent over and received the tepid diseased injection of a broken freak who knew how to locate and lick your ascended testes. Losers of a feather…

Jizzebel et al., you are served notice. I have you and your lackeys in my sights, and your filth that spews from the fountain of filth which is your whole stillborn existence is the effluvium I will shove back down your throats until you choke on it and recede from public discourse to clear the shit from your veins. The days when you can hire gutter liars like Hugo Schwyzer, and wallow in his fetid stink free of consequence, are over. Your only hope is to drive the Schwyzerian rats from your manicured harridan shelters, so that your circle diddles may continue under the radar of stone cold soul shivvers like yours truly with an eye and a scalpel for finding and dissecting egoistic neediness.

Then, when you — Jizzebel and the rest of the twisted sisters — have cast Hugo and his fellow castrati to the icy wastelands, will the real howls of pain fill the air to the delight of CH guardians of truth and beauty. For nothing will torment the likes of Hugo Schwyzer more profoundly than the torment of solitude.

Hugo, I know you’re reading this. If my words will bring any goodness and light to this world, your days as a lying sack of shit media token shilling for other lying sacks of shit are over. No one will call you, not even your former feminist allies. No one will publish you. No one will admire cross-eyed your throbbing intellect. No one will talk of you. No one will even think of you. When that day comes, and the barrel of the pistol is nestled in your mouth, lazing metallically on your tongue as your thinning, middle-aged lips glide over the shaft like long-ago unshaven feminist coed lovers used to do to your anti-feminist, patriarchal boner, no one, not even your family, will give a shit.

And that will be the lonely solitary pain from which you can’t escape or repurpose to your craven desires. In that moment, that sweet final moment of true and real reflection just before self-deliverance, you will think of my words, and my reminder that you had a choice to turn yourself against the mountain of lies you willingly embraced as your totem and your fate and your salvation. Sweet dreams, eternal darkness.

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