Orwell, Updated

Male is female. Observation is illusion. Diversity is strength.

If there is hope, wrote Winston, it lies in the proles.

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Comment Of The Week: When It “Does Count”

Anonymous (choose a handle you lazy bum) lists the stringent copulation criteria that would need to be met for a woman (or her hamster) to admit that the sex she was having “counts”.

Unless a girl has:

1. vaginal intercourse

2. with a guy

3. multiple times

4. over multiple days

a. that are not in a row

b. but are not separated by more than a month from each other

5. in her region of residence in her home country,

6. not during spring break or another vacation

7. while sober from alcohol and drugs, including legal prescriptions

“it doesn’t count”.

General Social Survey data experts are baffled that the face-to-face questioning the GSS utilizes yields inaccurate results about women’s sexual habits.

Maxim #101: The sluttier the girl, the more noticeably pregnant she’ll need to be before she admits to having had sex that “counts”.

Corollary to Maxim #101: Even then…. “Oh, it’s the way the shirt fits.”

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What Kind Of Man Ruts With A Land Whale?

Answer:

A clue to the sorts of “””men””” who willingly date human tubas is in the photo attached to this fatso’s confessional about getting befuddled stares from people when she’s out in public with her thin boyfriend.

Hmm, where have we all seen that neotenous face?

The article is too unintentionally hilarious not to pull illuminative self-contradicting quotes from it.

I’m overweight and my boyfriend’s not. Big freaking deal.

We’ve been dating for 18 months, and wherever we go—whether we’re walking hand in hand through the mall, airport or down the street in his hometown (Glasgow, Scotland) or mine (San Jose, California)—we get confused looks that say, He can do better than her!

People are uncomfortable with monstrous aberrations.

When people say things out loud, their comments range from cruel (“Is he blind?” or “He’s only with you to get a green card”)

A reasonable suspicion.

to quips such as, “It’s great he can see past your looks”

😆

or “He’s so nice for being with you.”

😆 😆

 I usually respond, “He’s not doing me a favor—he’s my boyfriend!”

When you’re a sexual market loser, the whole world is doing you a favor by tolerating your presence instead of tossing you out on your fat keister to the icy wastelands.

Now and then, even people close to me made unkind remarks. Once, when I confided to a friend, “I can’t believe he likes me!” he answered, “Yeah, I know!”

The more repulsive you are, the harder it is for people to conceal their true feelings in your company.

I have a YouTube channel, Glowpinkstah, with more than 250,000 subscribers, and, as a comic,

She swallowed the belly laughs.

I review beauty products,

At least she understands that female beauty matters. Now all she needs to do is realize that lipstick on a pig just makes the pig look goofy.

answer fan mail,

“I love how you own your fat body! Can you give me tips on how to hide my wiping implements so guests won’t see them when they use the bathroom?”

share my edgy brand of humor

More like rounded brand of humor, amirite?

and details about my life, so they know all about Ali and me.

Does Ali sleep in the piano case with you?

While most are supportive, there are a fair number of bullies:

“She has a boyfriend? What is wrong with the world?”

Shamelessness.

“These two had sex?! Oh god, why?”

Lack of options. Mental illness.

Some have gone so far as to ask how we have sex.

Pulleys, a garage jack, industrial lubricant, and the jaws of life.

I feel like saying, “If you have to ask, clearly you missed an important class back in the fifth grade.”

Whatever that class was, it wasn’t physics! 😉

I just really liked food, and I didn’t think about consequences.

Not thinking about consequences? Sounds like a feminist fantasy world.

Also, I didn’t care that much about the way I looked

We can see.

—but other people did.

They can see.

In middle school, one guy imitated the way my thighs rubbed together when I walked.

I think I was friends with that guy.

While it upset me, I realized that it was more his problem than mine.

That’s just something the targets of cruelty say.

While I was talking about my dreams, he volunteered to decode them. “I study psychology,” he explained.

What a waste of game.

So I gave him my Instant Messenger screen name.

“Pelican Gullet”

Two-and-a-half years later, the miles and time zones between us hardly mattered. We were spending so many hours a week talking online.

A two and a half year talking relationship. For once, a closeted gay man beta dweeb didn’t mind years of blue balls.

I thought Ali was cute too, but I figured someone like him wouldn’t have feelings for me.

Gay men are like that.

I knew he was into big girls—his exes were chubby.

Ah, the elusive fatty fucker. Good news for fat chicks: a few men appear to suffer from brain defects that make them aroused by the sight of undulating blubber. Bad news for fat chicks: For every one of these invaluable fatty fuckers, there are one hundred of you trampling over yourselves trying to get at him.

Some think it’s weird, but it’s like having a thing for blondes: It’s just a preference.

“That’s just, like, your opinion, man.”
– Stalin

Not long after, Ali—who I was now seeing exclusively—told me he loved me. We had yet to meet in person.

She had Skype sex with a turkey drumstick, while he masturbated to photoshopped nudes of Justin Bieber. No one was the wiser.

I turned around and saw him walking toward me with a huge smile on his face. He gave me a hug and kissed me on the lips. I thought to myself, He’s my boyfriend, and he’s here!

“And his kisses feel like I’m kissing my brother!”

Another ex told me, with sincerity: “Maybe if you lost weight, my parents would accept you, and we could be together again.”

Most fatty fuckers are actually loser men who piss themselves in the company of attractive women who would be elated if their fatso girlfriends slimmed down. Of course, the elation wouldn’t last long, as the newly thin girlfriends would quickly dump their loser boyfriends and cash in their sexy figures for love with better men.

I have days when I say, “Why do you like me?” He says, “Because you’re beautiful and for the person you are.”

Those are sweet words of acceptance. Let’s see if he means them.

And he’s been good for my health. I was at my heaviest when we met, and I’ve lost 40 pounds since. My goal is to lose 80 pounds total, and he’s very supportive.

Nope.

Before Ali, I never showed any skin whatsoever, but he makes me feel confident going out in a cute little dress

Aka house gown.

that doesn’t cover me head-to-toe.

More’s the pity.

I can wear a sleeveless dress, shorts

Aka canvas tent.

—things that typically people don’t want to see me wearing—and not care.

Yes, you sound like you don’t care at all.

So, with Ali’s support, I started The Beauty Adjustment, a collaborative video project in which my subscribers help me spread the word that there is no one “normal” way to look or love. Beauty and relationships come in all shapes and sides: brown, yellow, short, tall, thin, fat—and one partner doesn’t have to mirror the other.

Great, more fat acceptance. Just what America needs. An excuse to get galactically fat.

Despite her sweet-sounding entreaties for acceptaaaaaaance, let there be no mistaking her message for what it is: Vile, ugly lies. The more women who heed her comfort food words, the fewer sexy babes there will be in the world, and the unhappier everyone gets. It affects me personally when women think they can bloat up without consequence. And since I am, as a human male, representative of the way most men think, the resentment at having our shared environment stripped of its most beautiful creations is a universal feeling.

At Le Chateau, there will be no acceptance of human garbage. There will be no excuses. There will be only the white hot sting of shame, of mockery, of ostracism. And, in the end, when the losers have gone through the crucible of hell — some burning in everlasting torment, others finding cool relief in self-improvement — will the world be a more beautiful place, and hence, a more truthful place.

The good-looking beta male who takes up with the gross fat chick is a riddle to most people, but that’s because most people have a narrow vision of what constitutes the desirable man. They retreat to a simple and readily-identifiable criterion of worth, e.g., looks, not understanding that such a criterion, while useful as a measurement of women’s sexual worth, is woefully inadequate as a metric for capturing a man’s sexual worth. The good-looking beta male dating the fat chick is not betrayed by his looks; he’s betrayed by his attitude. His psychology. His lack of confidence. His cowardice. His closeted homosexuality.

Whatever those traits are that women love in men are missing in the man who fucks a flesh pierogie when he could be fucking a slender girl. He’s a loser just as much as the ugly fat man who will lay with land whales out of expedience; the differences in each man’s looks are subsumed by their similarities in psychology. It’s the psychology of the feeble, the insecure, the deranged, and the undiscriminating.

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Tiresome Hater Schooled To Discourage The Others: A Series

Apparently, the discouragement needs more voltage.

realmatt (who is likely a troll nicking another commenter’s handle) comments in response to an earnest lad asking for a little help on cold approaching girls at college:

You can fake it till you make it until the cows come home but if you’re a big fat Nothing at the end of the day, then your life will stay the same.

Au contraire. In at least one respect your life will be different: You’ll have had sex with cute girls instead of no sex with cute girls.

Your true self will always shine through

Faking it actually creates an improved personality in time. This has been proven by scientific study, not to mention by millions of personal testimonials.

and I suspect that is why many of these famous, set-loving “PUAs” lose their girlfriends.

You’ve got the causality backwards. Most cads “lose” their girlfriends because they want them lost. There’s a certain breed of man who loves variety and the thrill of the chase.

There’s no doubt in my mind Mystery stands there going through all his rules in his head.

Maybe, but it appears to have worked for him. He’s got a kid now with a hotnsexy chick.

The mistake so many people are making is they see the woman as the ultimate prize.

From your gene’s pov, sex *is* the ultimate prize. If you can’t attract women, you’re the equivalent of DNA dead weight. Human dross fashioned in His likeness. Heh heh heh.

You should be trying to dominate in every aspect of your life.

Why herd the cows when you can squeeze the milk for free?

A woman is just an accessory.

Some accessories are more equal than others.

A trophy is just a reminder.

Have you ever been in love?

You have to make a choice.

Sez who? Seduction and careerism aren’t mutually incompatible.

Do you want to be a MAN or some feminized snarky bitch who can insult a woman into bed?

I always suspect the kinds of guys who write stuff like this are guys who envy the snarksters for their ability to score.

Does anyone here listen to these PUAs in their videos and think “God I wish I could be him..”?

Do you wish you could be Barack Obama, President of the United States of America?

Who the hell would want to behave like the PUA Tyler Durden???

TD’s way is not the only way.

he’s annoying as fuck.

Chicks dig men who impose.

Those guys are nothing but gay men who like to fuck women.

Gay men don’t like to fuck women.

They’re worthless beyond that.

Keep telling yourself that.

Leading her to believe you’re worth the effort and actually being someone who is worth the effort are 2 very different things and the truth always finds it’s way out.

So you believe men should work hard to appease women and fulfill their demands for a worthwhile man?

It’s getting to the point where the haters have become so apoplectic and incoherent that arguing with them logically is a fool’s errand. They’ll take repeated hammer blows to the ego, and come back sputtering the same nonsense ad nauseam. So instead, I’ll give them a taste of what they most loathe and fear: A little of the ol’ ultrasnark, delivered sideways gamesta style. It won’t win over the haters, who are un-convincable at any rate, but it’ll sure entertain the crowd, and it’s more fun for me. Poolside life bar: 100%.

UPDATE

A commenter writes,

God I hate this expression:

“Faking it” or “Fake it until you make it”

Why not just call it what it is, PRACTICE

PRACTICE MAKES PERFECT

Branding is half the battle. If the haters started calling game what it is — practice —  they would then tacitly admit that game is just like any self-improvement endeavor with a learning curve. Then they’d have nothing left to foam about.

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Another Tiresome Hater Schooled To Discourage The Others

Drive-by hater “k8” whiningly demurs:

Has it ever occurred to you, that this “game theory” stuff is just another way of appeasing women?

Has it ever occurred to you that make-up is just another way women appease men? Has it ever occurred to you that men must make more conspicuous up-front effort to attract women than women must make to attract men because of the inherent differences in the nature of the sexes?

It’s the same as the men who claim to be feminists; both are changing their behaviour (or rather putting on a ridiculous act) to please some chick.

The difference is that men who claim to be feminists to win pussy are pursuing a flawed strategy, unless the pussy they want to win is fat, ugly and unfeminine.

I think the real alpha thing to do would be to stick to who you are, and if the woman doesn’t like it, move on.

“Just be yourself.”

I’m aware that attractive women do gravitate towards certain kinds of personality, isn’t it far more important to be honest with yourself than to have sex with attractive women?

Good salesmanship is not dishonesty. And that’s what the sexual market requires of men: an ability to sell themselves to women.

We here at CH have noticed an uptick lately in game and sexual market denialist hate. The shrillness of the hater crowd has reached fever pitch, and that’s a strong tell that they know their carefully cultivated worldview is coming under attack. Good. There’s nothing like the smell of desperation in the morning.

Here’s a suggestion for the perspiring haters who find themselves scampering into this happy hating ground: First, know that you are up against an enemy the likes of which you have never encountered before. Second, learn to distinguish between is and ought. The Chateau revels in the fun of laying bare the clanking gears of reality and observing the result as the crisis of a thousand consciences unfolds, but that doesn’t necessarily mean we like the world this way, or would want the world, if we had our druthers, to be this way. CH simply gives you the Word; what you do with the Word is your prerogative.

If you can manage that simple distinction without experiencing a mental breakdown like a hysterical woman-child, then you may discover the vitriol in your cragged keyboard fingers dissipating as illumination swarms over you and the lightness of the Chateau’s love makes your heart grow three sizes today.

Ps On the subject of schooling game and sexual market denialist haters, see commenter Steve Johnson (scroll toward the end) in this Steve Sailer thread. The stevedore Steves of hatecargo full of truth.

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Aging Hamster Hops On The Wheel For One Last Spin

In a mainstream media aka Cathedral loser-whistle article (h/t “garter snake”) about older women “””dating””” younger men, one of the interviewed aging beauties had this to say,

Felicia Brings was 31 and dating a 25-year-old man in the 1970s and so feared losing her job over it that she kept the relationship a secret. “I was so ashamed,” recalled Brings, now 65 and living in Fort Lauderdale, Fla. “At that time, if the guy was younger, you were considered a pervert.”

Brings now gravitates toward younger men — the largest disparity was when she was 50 and dating a 25-year-old — because she finds she connects with them better and, frankly, men her own age aren’t as interested in her.

“When I was in my 40s, I realized I had become invisible to men of my own generation,” said Brings, co-author of “Older Women, Younger Men: New Options for Love and Romance” (New Horizon Press). She noticed younger men, often raised by feminist women, were intrigued by and admiring of her success and experience, whereas older men seemed threatened and expected women to play traditional roles.

Language is supposed to convey meaning, but when a hamster has swallowed it, digested it, and shat it out, we are compelled to sift through the pellets to find the embedded fiber of meaning.

Translated from the Hamsterese, abridged version:

Women are like dog shit. The older they get, the easier they are to pick up.

Translated from the Hamsterese, full version:

Felicia Brings was 31 and banging a 25-year-old boring mediocrity in the 1970s and so feared losing her mind over it that she kept the twice yearly sex sessions a secret. “I was so ashamed,” recalled Brings, now 65 and living in Fort Lauderdale, Fla. “At that time, if the guy was younger, you considered yourself a romantic failure.”

Brings now gravitates toward younger beta males of EatPrayLove ethnicity who are desperately horny and unable to command attention from non-morbidly obese women their own age — the largest disparity was when she was 50 and dating a 25-year-old abject loser — because she finds she genitally connects with the paid gigolos better and, frankly, men her own age aren’t as interested in her when younger, hotter, tighter women are available to them.

“When I was in my wall impact 40s, I realized I had become invisible to men of every generation who had options,” said Brings, co-author of “Older Women, Younger Effete Manboobs: New Ways to Temporarily Sedate the Pain of Being Sexually Worthless to the Men You Really Want” (New Whorizon Press). She noticed younger closet cases, often raised by feminist women, were pretending to be intrigued by and admiring of her success and caustic careergrrl personality, whereas older men who weren’t piss-stained street bums seemed viscerally disgusted by the thought of sex with her flabby carcass and expected women to be minimally attractive to coax a semi.

Hamster status: nuked and raining tufts of blood spattered fur.

This has got to be a Hamster of the Month contender. The alacrity with which aging starlets resort to the “men who don’t want me are threatened by my career success and life experiences” shibboleth should be included in the DSM-IV as a diagnosable psychological disorder.

< Bizarro Obama > Let me be clear, feminist platitude pushers. < /bizarro obama > Men are “threatened” by the accumulated career success and loudly exhorted independence of aging sirens like they’re threatened by a mound of warm, steaming shit: they think it’s disgusting and don’t want to touch it or smell it, let alone stick their dicks in it.

HTH.

I don’t doubt that there are aging divas getting their overworked holes mechanically serviced by dorky desperadoes bursting with the dull pain of years of unexpelled cum. Nor do I doubt that some of those aging Isn’t Girls manage the miracle of convincing a lonely, thoroughly gelded pudgeball with swaying bitch tits and the hormonal profile of a soybean to stick around for more than a few nights of lusterless dispassion.

But, like Mrs. Robinson’s escape from reality, their younger lovers plungers usually fly the coop as soon as a cute girl half the age of the younger men’s groundbreaking intercourse aging mentors bats a dewy eyelash at them. That’s why so many of these loud and empowered aging dames reel off a laundry list of younger “lovers”; apparently not a one of these sensitive and intrigued lovers was interested in putting a ring on it, or even hanging around beyond the proximity of the industrial-sized bottle of lube. And when you ask the aging maiden about her current relationship status, she’s always “gravitating” toward this or that great type of guy.

If this post wasn’t enough of an ego MOAB for you, allow me to bullet-point the relevant shivs:

1. Older women are not fucking younger men in any appreciable numbers, and certainly not anywhere near the numbers of older man-younger woman couples. The whole notion is a wishful concoction of the feminism-drenched fluff media industry.

2. Every rule has its exceedingly rare exceptions. Older woman-younger man arrangements do exist, however their existence is not proof of a noteworthy reality that can impact the otherwise normal functioning of the sexual market.

3. Within the small subset of older woman-younger man pairings, the romantic dynamic is mostly energized, such as it is, by the easy path to sex provided to the younger man who would otherwise have trouble getting laid. Very few older woman-younger man bedroom jaunts grow into committed relationships. Most end unceremoniously within a matter of months.

4. Within that tiny sub-subset of romantically committed older woman-younger man pairings, the younger man is typically a low value omega male who couldn’t get laid in a libertardian-run brothel with a fistful of bitcoins.

5. A non-trivial number of older woman-younger man sex romps are between aging fat women and younger black men who seem to possess, contrary to what is observed in most other races, a complete and utter lack of discriminating taste in short-term sexual partners. The women in these squalid arrangements resemble, in size, shape, color and texture, don’t forget texture, the great resource-aggregating herbivores of the African veldt.

6. The rare, outwardly loving and seemingly stable older woman-younger man couple that one might occasionally glimpse in SWPL enclaves are often the tired detritus of a relationship that began with passionate keenness when the man was, say, in his early 20s and the woman was in her late 20s, and in the fullness of time and familiarity managed to avoid rupture by sheer force of risk-averse beta male inertia.

Some of you wonder why I drop the hammer of candor on liars and deluded freaks with such Thorian dispatch. What’s the upside?

The upside is that a world with fewer reality-denying propagandists is a world that is capable of turning away from the elevation of ugly and toward the exaltation of beauty. That’s the kind of world I want to live in; a world easier on the eyes and happier in the heart.

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Single Mom Wants Alpha Male, Won’t Get Him

In that great, dispiriting void between unattainable wish and attainable reality squats the single mom in daydreamy repose. Menstruating a rambling, poorly spelled, grammatically sloppy HuffPo missive on the appeal of the dominant alpha male, a single mom falls into old person sex on the first date with a beefy, motorcycle riding man who, apparently, doesn’t fit any of her criteria for the ideal boyfriend.

We’ve all heard this story before: Alpha male provides night (or two) of intimate pleasure to aging single mom, then disappears, slowly or abruptly, from her life. She is confused and saddened, so she back-rationalizes the experience as one of her making, a supposed choice to regard the alpha male as a “short term fling” with whom she never wanted anything more than a sweaty pump and dump.

Similarly, said single mom who deeply and profoundly yearns for a man in her life to lighten her snot-faced load, may preemptively rationalize her alpha male lover as a “fun time”, so that his inevitable departing for better fun with unattached women can be safely dismissed by her primed ego as a consequence that she desired.

In the Battle Hamster Cage Fight, it’s hard to pick a winner between the fat chick’s and the single mom’s rodent. Both are energized by steroidal self-preservation. Both will stop at nothing to deny their limited sexual market options or the suffocating reality of their bleak romantic prospects. Both are driven to insane mutterings when confronted by dark truths.

It’s all bullshit. Finely embroidered, exquisitely tailored bullshit, but bullshit nonetheless. The ideal dating scenario for women is an alpha male lover, in bed and beyond. Even science has shown this female craving for the alpha male who is both lover and boyfriend is the underlying need and want of women.

Their words in Cathedral rags targeted at an adoring choir may sound chirpy and upbeat, but no amount of exuberant turd polishing will change the trajectory of their afflicted lives: The single mom, like the fat chick, may occasionally get her one night of passion with an exciting man, but she’ll be forced by circumstance to settle for the boring beta male willing to stick around for lack of better options. And that’s if she’s lucky. Some won’t even find their beta male plan B. Their fate is a lonely catscape echoing the mournful mews of alpha male animal simulacra.

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