Archive for the ‘Psy Ops’ Category

cheating-man-bustedThere comes a time in a man’s life (or a few hundred times) when the sum total of his gathered experiences with women and the wisdom he gained from them is called upon to help him out of a pinch. The pinch I refer to is when a woman accuses you of sneaking around on the side. There are only three things that drain the blood faster from a man’s face than the thought of erectile dysfunction:

  1. When your wife serves you divorce papers.
  2. When you catch your woman fooling around with another man.
  3. When your woman busts you for cheating.

The first two haven’t happened to me, but the last one has… multiple times. And from those trials by ovarian fire I have learned a few valuable lessons. I’m here to tell you what to do — or, more precisely, what *not* to do — when your girl jabs the infidelity finger of accusation in your face.

I’ll illustrate how NOT to handle a suspicious girlfriend with a fairly recent example from my own life (about two years ago). I was three months into a torrid fling with a pretty cable TV station producer whose sexual appetite rivaled the libidos of the horniest girls in the world — the Russians. She left streaks of black fingernail polish on my shower tiles, which I did not clean off for months as a tribute to her voracious vagina.

As with most sexual dynamos, she was a Class A attention whore. There are pics of her scattered all over the social media pooniverse of her (literally) dancing on bars and hipster supplicants licking her stockinged calves. She is now a grad student, still childless. One Friday evening, we were having ice cream and she asked me to join her later at a fashion show her friends were putting on. I said maybe and offered a go-to excuse about a friend coming to town, because little did TV producer girl know I hadn’t broken up with the serious girlfriend I had been dating for a year (the serious gf didn’t know about the fling) and I had made tentative plans to see her that night. The option to blow off my loving girlfriend was not available, as her and I were at a critical juncture where any more asshole behavior on my part (such as not seeing her on a Friday night) would’ve caused her to dump me to avoid further pain. I wished not for that gravy train to end.

Later that night, as I post-coitally lounged in my girlfriend’s bed, the TV producer texted me asking if I was coming to meet her. I didn’t respond. I wanted to see her, but the logistics were horrible. (Try escaping an intimacy-shrouded bed to see another woman without rousing suspicions. Not that easy while the oxytocin is flowing freely.) I was stuck.

The sexpot fling texted me the next day asking to meet her at a local bar later that night. Hoping for another brain frying bang, I happily met up with her. The curse of Admiral Akhbar was upon me. It was a trap. As soon as I sat down on the stool beside her, the conversation assumed an ominous tone:

HER: So why didn’t you come join me last night?

ME: Oh, I had some things come up. A buddy is leaving town and I wanted to see him before he left.

HER: What’s his name?

ME: [I hesitated for that critical split second when a girl can figure something is up] Um… Bobby.

HER: Where did you meet him?

ME: [X] street.

HER: I thought you told me your friend was coming to town?

ME: Um, oh yeah, well he was coming, but then leaving, so I wanted to catch up with him.

HER: [long pause, staring intensely into my eyes] Your story’s not consistent. What girl were you with last night?

Why did she suddenly sound like a goddamn lawyercunt?

ME: What?

HER: Why don’t you tell me who you were really with last night.

As suddenly as a tropical squall, her face hardened into a sheet of ice. The love had vanished. For some inexplicable reason, I decided a mid-course change in my story was acceptable. (It never is. Stick to your lie like it’s the 11th Commandment.)

ME: Look, I don’t like talking about this shit in my life, but my ex-girlfriend is going through a tough time and she needed me. [I was hoping to gain points for being compassionate. What a fool I was.] If I didn’t go see her, she might’ve freaked out.

HER: I don’t date cheaters. Or liars. I’m leaving town soon. It was nice knowing you.

Although I tried to smooth the waters, I did not get a bon voyage bang.

Some of you will be able to figure out where I went wrong. Pretty much everywhere. The above vignette is a textbook example of how to bungle the handling of a girl accusing you of cheating. I had violated my own rules for dealing with women.

  • I prevaricated, weakly.
  • I attempted a salvage operation.
  • I played right into her frame.
  • I confessed.

These four bullet points are everything you need to know about what NOT to do when accused by a girlfriend/wife/fling of spreading your man manna. You will want to do the exact opposite of what I did. Namely:

  • Don’t prevaricate.
  • Don’t backpedal or appease.
  • Reframe.
  • Deny deny deny!

Let’s illustrate how to properly handle the above scenario by changing the words I say.

HER: So why didn’t you come join me last night?

ME: I had some personal issues to take care or.

HER: What issues?

ME: It’s personal and nothing to do with you.

HER: Did you meet a girl?

ME: Would you like my bank account number while you’re at it, Inspector Clouseau?

HER: If you’re fucking around with someone else I want to know.

ME: No.

HER: Why don’t you tell me who you were really with last night.

ME: Heidi Klum and Scarlett Johansson. We fucked like rabbits. I had to kick them out. Clingy bitches.

HER: I don’t date cheaters. Or liars.

ME: I don’t date distrustful girls.

Now there’s no way to know if this would’ve resulted in the bang bus rolling on, but I believe the readers will agree that the odds of retaining the sexpot’s services would have been much higher had I handled it as in the second imagined scenario.

So, to recap:

When accused of cheating:

  1. Pause before answering.
  2. Speak directly. Don’t hem and haw.
  3. Look her in the eyes. Remember, every moment with a girl is a staring contest which you must win.
  4. Don’t appease. Appeasement is the great pussy desiccator.
  5. Don’t fall into her frame. Reframing is king!
  6. And, finally, deny like the sociopath you are. No matter how damning the evidence (she could walk in on you with your cock up to the hilt in strange pussy) if you keep a straight face and firmly deny everything she will rationalize a way to believe you. Yes, even the smart childless ones with multiple grad school degrees.

If you’re gonna play the man’s game, you had best know how to rig the rules in your favor.

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Cirque du Solei is the most recent entertainment act to boycott North Carolina over a law passed in the state barring mentally ill men in dresses from peeing in front of your daughter in women’s restrooms.

CdS morally preens ans status whores about opposing “discrimination in any form”, (really? discrimination against necrophiliacs too?), but as Breitbart points out, Cirque du Sogay has no plans to cancel its shows in the United Arab Emirates where open homosexuals are put to death.

Cirque du Sashay is one of many examples of shitlib virtue signaling, in which the conspicuous assertion and indulgence of virtuous feeling is more important than virtuous deed. Boycotting a state for an eminently reasonable law to prohibit cross-dressing men from women’s restrooms while continuing to do business in a country that would throw cross-dressing men off buildings to cheering crowds below is as little virtuous as it is greatly hypocritical. Donning a mantle of virtue to impress friends and win plaudits from similarly signaling virtuomos is not the same thing as actual virtue.

There are three psychological motivations compelling shitlib virtue signaling about tranny “””rights””” (this bullet list can be applied to nearly every shitlib cause du jour).

1. Shitlibs don ‘t really believe Arabs (or blacks/mestizos/gypsies/etc) are as evolved, culturally or genetically, as Western Whites, and therefore can’t be expected to adhere to Western morals. Shitlibs are in truth extremely racist and expect more from Whites and less from nonWhites, which is why they punish (as they see it) minor transgressions by BadWhites more severely than major transgressions by NuminousNonwhites.

2. Shitlibs don’t really give a shit about tranny rights, they just want to act self-righteous and gain social status points with their amygdala-stunted SWPL peers. Their virtue, such as it is, is wholly self-aggrandizing in the pursuit of social benefits that will redound to their (awkwardly androgynous) reproductive fitness.

3. Shitlibs are one group of Whites that hate another group of Whites, and their moral causes are merely weaponized rhetoric to lower the social standing of the enemy Whites best situated to be the group that ousts shitlibs from power. Virtue signaling thus accomplishes two fitness-maximizing tasks for the shitlib: raising their own social status and lowering the social status of their most immediate and capable competitors: nonshitlib Whites and shitlib Whites who may grow a pair and stray off the reservation (taking many others with them to foment revolution against the reigning shitlib order). In this motivation, virtue signaling can as reasonably be called ‘virtue warning’.

As the scope of the battles in which shitlibs can morally posture shrinks, the ridiculousness of their causes approaches lunacy. We are reaching the logical end-game of shitlibbery, and it’s nothing less than wholesale normalization of mental illness. One can only guess what’s next on the shitlib plate, but advocacy for “benign” forms of pedophilia and bestiality are certainly a possibility.

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Commenter jackmcg came up with a clever parlor game.

Want to test your phrenology skills? [ed: minor quibble, but technically, this would be testing your physiognomy skills]

I looked at the hashtags for each presidential candidate, and grabbed the profile pictures of 10 supporters for each. 5 women and 5 men. I took the first ten that I saw, so it’s as random and unbiased as I could make it.

So which supporters go with which candidate? Clinton, Sanders, Trump, Kasich, Cruz.

Anyone who wants to try I’ll let you know if you get it right.

Click on it for a larger, clearer view.


Fun stuff! Here are my guesses:

Group 1: Kasich or Cruz

They look pretty conventional, middle America, nice White lady vibe from the women, and cuck vibe from the men.

Group 2: Trump

Men aren’t smiling, have that shitlord look to the eyes. UNCUCKED. The women look like they enjoy the company of men.

Group 3: Cucksich or Cruz (leaning Cruz)

Sunglasses, military, flag shirt, guitar. The men are good ol’ boys. The women look friendly but also a little mentally unstable. Possible religious nuts?

Group 4: Sanders

Men: Baseball hats, beards/goatees, and that Quentin Tarantino-ish faggotry about the face. Women: exotics, cat ladies, and art and crafts hippies.

Group 5: TheCunt

The men are all weird-looking omegas, and one of them is doing something stupidly ironic in his profile pic (sipping on an iced coffee). The women look like manjawed lawyercunts and sluts. Two of them are wearing “problem glasses”.

You can find the answers here., along with PA’s 5/5 winning picks and reasoning behind each one. I’ll give myself 4.5/5. The sexually de-polarized manjaws and omega males were the easiest; those are Hillary folk!


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Check out these excerpts from Kevin D. Williamson’s latest National Review article. I can’t believe they give him a platform to print this racist trash!

National Review’s Kevin Williamson believes Hillary Clinton’s appeals to African-Americans are “immoral” because that demographic’s way of life deserves to die out. […]

Williamson, a long-time critic of The Harridan, essentially agrees that he doesn’t support any policies or rhetoric directly tailored to African-Americans — particularly about jobs being taken by outsourcing and immigration — because it would be wrong to do so.

“It is immoral because it perpetuates a lie: that the African-Americans that find themselves attracted to Clinton have been victimized by outside forces,” the NR roving correspondent writes. “[N]obody did this to them. They failed themselves.”

He then goes on to state that all the ills associated with downscale blacks are a result of that race’s inherent depravity.

“If you spend time in hardscrabble, black Detroit, or Ferguson, MO, or my own native Texas bathhouse, and you take an honest look at the welfare dependency, the drug and alcohol addiction, the family anarchy—which is to say, the whelping of human children with all the respect and wisdom of a stray dog—you will come to an awful realization. It wasn’t Beijing. It wasn’t even Washington, as bad as Washington can be. It wasn’t immigrants from Mexico, excessive and problematic as our current immigration levels are. It wasn’t any of that,” Williamson states.

He then goes on to make the conclusion that it’s great these communities are dying out because they have a warped morality and are a dead weight on the economy.

“The truth about these dysfunctional, downscale black communities is that they deserve to die. Economically, they are negative assets. Morally, they are indefensible,” the conservative writer says. “The African-American under-class is in thrall to a vicious, selfish culture whose main products are misery and murder. Hillary Clinton’s speeches make them feel good. So does crack cocaine. What they need isn’t analgesics, literal or political. They need real opportunity, which means that they need real change, which means that they need U-Haul. If you want to live, get out of Atlanta [a heavily-black town in Georgia].”

If you haven’t figured it out yet, Williamson’s racist screed was actually aimed at Whites. Just substitute “whites” and “white working class” everywhere you read “blacks” and “African-Americans”. The racism against Whites gets published; the version of it with “blacks” replacing “whites” would get Williamson fired from National Cucktacular and his penis-shaped head on millions of network broadcasts as the featured “two minutes hate” antiracism whipping cur (which he’d probably enjoy).

Prying into Williamson’s GRidS, I can think of at least three motivations for this latest Williamson article revealing his hatred of BadWhites who don’t genuflect before the MLK monument or rave about the unconventional conservatism of piss porn.

  1. The article is an elaborately insincere troll of the foes he really hates: the “White identity” alt-right. In this reading, Williamson appears to be sarcastically mocking an assumed hypocrisy among White identitarians to support the White working class against elite machinations while simultaneously blaming blacks’ miseries on their race’s inherent deficiencies. The premise is flawed, though, because it relies for its ideological grounding, like all cuck declarations do, on the religion of race creationism (i.e., the belief that evolution stopped at the neck up and the skin down and that therefore all races are equal in every way except on the most superficial traits). The alt-right recognizes intra-race as well as inter-race differences in aptitude and character, and understands that this fundamental view is not incompatible with the indictment that the ruling class and their lackeys push policies that bring unnecessary hardship to the non-ACELA classes. This worldview is a far more consistent stance than anything the cuck-right has attempted to elucidate.
  2. Williamson is psychologically projecting his hatred of black dysfunction onto Whites. He’s too cowardly to come out and say “blacks are violent and allergic to civilized norms of behavior” so he sublimates his hatred into a rage against the White working classes who, for all their faults, are nowhere near the level of dysfunction that your typical majority-black ghetto exhibits.
  3. Williamson is a gay homosexual who was rejected by his redneck Texan father, and his slanders against the White working class are essentially an elaborate F YOU DAD act of negative transference.

Whatever Williamson’s psychological peculiarities, his stated and implied reasons for hating working class Whites are utterly bankrupt. Non-elite White men aren’t coddled like blacks and hispanics and women. There is no affirmative action for non-elite White men. No government contract set-asides. No 24/7 mass media engine to blame all their woes on nonWhite racism and celebrate their White working class cultural contributions to America. No White Lives Matter or Black Privilege movements to shore up their egos and make them feel like under-appreciated valued members to society. No education industrial complex to glorify their history (or make it up if insufficiently glorious) and to simultaneously diminish the history of nonWhites.

But Keven D. Williamson knows all this. He’s just doesn’t care. Which makes him a dirtbag. Nothing more.

He’d better hope that when his dreamed-of Diversitopia in America is fully realized, that the numerically overwhelming nonWhite races, whom I guarantee won’t share his ACELA Whites’ pathologically cucked impulse to leapfrog moral loyalties to outsider races, keep him around as the funny-looking court faggot instead of feeding him alive to a pit of crocodiles like they do to Boer farmers.

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Hemaphobia is the Greek word for “fear of blood”.

Rakiphobia is the Greek word for “fear of race”.

A classic rhetorical trick used by leftoids is to pathologize the normal, healthy instincts of BadWhites (aka Whites with a functioning self-preservation instinct) with the purpose of ostracizing those crimethinkers from contributing to the public discourse. The winning counterattack to this leftoid rhetoric is to draw attention to their ethnomasochistic/anti-White virtue signaling, social status whoring pathology, using similarly emotion-laden words. Labeling the Left is as critical to mission success as substantive refutation of Leftist beliefs.

This is what COPROP is all about. A winning revolution against a tyranny of lies needs its rhetorical shivs as much as its dialectical shield.

An example of effective COPROP that turns leftoid tactics back on them would be the crafting of smear words that roll off the tongue and imply the recipient is suffering from a mental disorder or a sociopathic compulsion to screw over good people. For instance, a quick and dirty script flip is to substitute the suffix “-philia” to any leftoid term of disparagement.




When you target leftoids with these words you will experience the exquisite pleasure of witnessing their child-like egos prolapse in a tantrum of indignation. Their confusion as to how to respond to this novel line of attack will often leave them gibbering like lunatics.

As much as I love taunting shitlibs with the label “xenophilic”, (a slur which hits pay dirt because it is true as well as diagnostically caustic), there is another term which I hope will hit the mainstream consciousness as hard as any leftoid agitprop.


Fear of blood, which translates into the vernacular as fear of genetic kinship and aversion to ethnic/racial affinity. A standard representative of the typical platitude-spouting, hemaphobic leftoid would be this woman.

Interviewing my 11 year old on #SyrianRefugees: We should let them in. If we treat them like Americans, then they’ll act like Americans.

Exhibit C(uck) in empty-headed poopytalk that provides an endorphin rush to the moral preener but also reveals the deep-seated hemaphobia that motivates her race betrayal. She is a sick woman who needs many MANY years of therapy.

If hemaphobia doesn’t catch, “rakiphobia” can be used instead as a colloquial substitute. My prediction, if these lethal alt-right psy ops begin to imprint on the block-like skulls of mainstream cuckservatives, is a pall of shock and awe, and eventually crippling self-doubt, settling over the leftoid hivemind as they grapple with their rhetorical Hate Machine reprogrammed to destroy its creator.

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The Trumpening took a small stumble at the last debate, hedging a bit on his commitment to ending the H-1B visa wage gutting program. He quickly clarified his remarks on Twatter afterwards, indicating that the alt-right influences his campaign.

Trump has struck me of late as more hesitant and defensive than is his norm. His offensive juggernaut, which won the hearts and minds of so many Americans, seems to have sputtered and switched into a premature “cruising speed” gear. I wonder if Trump is tightening up? His quips flowed better when the race was young, and he was the outsider. As things have gotten real, he may be more self-conscious of his pole position and the need to maintain his pack leader status.

If Trump is beginning to play defense, at this early stage, he risks losing his lead. Whether from a feeling of comfort or laziness or miscalculation, letting up on the gas now means he will get lapped. A justifiably hard line against open borders and illegal aliens is what propelled his campaign; to “soften” on those terms of combat now is akin to Chamberlain-esque appeasement. You dance with the girl who brung ya.

In war, hunkering down isn’t perceived as mercy. It’s an opening for attack. Any feints Trump makes towards the Nation-Wrecking Alliance, such as support (however tepid) for H-1Bs, or constant disavowals of some internet backwater weirdo because media cucks harass him about it every minute, will simply embolden his foes to strike at him twice as hard and four times as often.

So my Game advice to Trump is this: Politics is pickup without the bodily fluids. The master seducer doesn’t backtrack at the bedroom door. Keep up the Zero Fucks Given nationalist populism charm assault, and don’t disappoint the swooning voters at the electoral door. Carry them across the threshold. They want you to take them. Sure, whisper a few sweetly romantic nothings in their ears, show a little of your beta softie side, but when panties are in view don’t sit up and ask “Should I slow down?”. Slip a finger under the waistband. The seduction isn’t over until the Trump voter sighs.

PS Enjoy this great article by a veteran explaining to the cuckservative media why he left the movement to hop aboard the Trump Train.

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They Lie


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