Update: SCROTUS has ruled in favor of fantasy America.
A bevy of armchair psychologists (including yours truly) have attempted to explain Rachel Dolezal’s motivation for renouncing her white race to pass as a high yella black woman. Among the theories: She’s an average-looking white woman but a striking black woman, and she wanted to look sexier by whatever means available; she was gaming the System for affirmative action college and career freebies; she was an acute sufferer of a culture-wide manifestation of Stockholm Syndrome; she has a legitimate mental illness which, for obvious reasons, Narrative-subsumed psychologists are loath to classify or investigate; she loved the outpouring of sympathy and deference she got as a black woman; she was exacting a perverse vengeance on a white ex-boyfriend she never got over.
But, I think reader Laguna Beach Fogey gets closest to the prime impetus for Dolezal’s twisted Sybil self-erasement,
Observing her Christian missionary parents doting on their black babies and converting the noble savages in Africa, eventually young Rachel came to equate being black with being loved.
What a fucked up family. Could you imagine this poor girl, who in her girlish youth could have yodeled from atop a Swiss Alp, having to compete for her parents’ affection with a swarm of third world megafauna? I suppose the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree, but the tree can provide a lot of cover for the fallen apple to rot unmolested on the ground.
If the data and personal observation are accurate and America is filling up with sociopaths and psychopaths, then the best advice a person could get is how to spot psychopaths and either avoid them or defend oneself against their charming predations.
As a recipient of the wicked love of one or two suprasexy sociopath chicks, I can tell you that unless your state control is rock-ribbed and your sexual market options plentiful, you’ll get shredded to ribbons under the stiletto shiv of a femme fatale.
And having had the distinct displeasure to work and socialize alongside one or two male psychopaths, the danger to your well-being is a hundredfold worse.
You could say, “It takes one to know one, right CH?” Eh, maybe. Or maybe my keenness is a gift from the forces of Light, and the wisdom gathered from my experiences meant for bestowal upon the benighted as part of a pay it forward karmic redemption. Yeah, I’ll go with that.
Good news for people with functioning empathy centers of the brain: Psychopaths (and their lesser cousins, sociopaths) have tells, just like sluts have tells. If spaths (socio- + psychopath) unintentionally announce their evil disorder before they get their hooks in you, avoidance is possible.
Here’s a “psychopathy checklist” of twenty traits that are common in psychopaths. The biggest spath tells are lying, charm, and self-entitlement.
In essence, psychopathic predators can come across as socially adept, likable – at least at first – and the life of the party. Even after getting to know them, normal people often have the sense that something is wrong, but they don’t know what, because they aren’t use to thinking in terms of predatory behavior that will never change. Psychopaths, 99% of the time, are not reformable, and normal people who get in their way often spend considerable effort and energy into reforming them, which makes the normal person all the more vulnerable. […]
Glibly charming people who lie pathologically or who have been caught stealing should be like a flashing red warning light.
Perusing that psychopath trait list, I can’t help but notice at least a few of those traits are distinctive of successful, and psychologically healthy, womanizers who simply love the romantic company of (a variety) women. There’s a fair amount of overlap between psychopathy and tight Game. For instance:
glib and superficial charm
grandiose (exaggeratedly high) estimation of self
need for stimulation
As any good player knows, chicks dig overconfident, charming men with exciting lives.
cunning and manipulativeness
Players can be manipulative, but so can women in their own ways. It’s fair to say a little bit of manipulation is normal and healthy in seduction. Legit psychopaths take that talent for manipulation to levels that would dismay even lifelong womanizers.
A spath red flag I’ve encountered is when a person (usually a man) puts his hand on your shoulder anytime he punctuates a joke he told or an opinion he delivered unsolicited. This is a domination move that forces a fast-tracked intimacy, a classic psycho charm+power offensive. If anyone pulls this on you, physically remove their hand while keeping eye contact. They won’t do it again.
Another red flag that will help you distinguish spaths from regular guy charmers: A charming, normal man will piecemeal his charm during a conversation, delivering doses of his charisma at opportune moments. A spath will come right at you with both charm guns a-blazing, even before he’s shaken your hand and gotten to know your name. The quick draw spath is employing one of his domination moves, attempting to lead and monopolize the sympathies of the social group. If you suspect you’ve got one of these psychos in your mixed company, (and you recognize the threat that he’ll captivate the women in your group), the best defense is a good offense. Treat the spath like an AMOG and tease him for his try-hard efforts to win everyone over.
“Beta bait” — and insidious and often unwitting conversational detour taken by women as a means of smoking out beta males or the manifestation of creeping beta maleness in a formerly alpha male — comes in many forms. CH discussed the three most common types of beta bait a learned man of the field is likely to encounter:
These three are the big ones, but there are other common types of beta bait. Readers PA and mendozatorres described a couple of beta bait tactics that catch inexperienced, sexually undernourished men off guard.
An example of beta bait / cougar batting beta [male] mice around for her amusement, which I see on FB:
– Formerly hot cougar posts a non-sequitur
– Beta mouse posts “?” or worse yet, a request for clarification.
– Cougar ignores beta’s question.
Yes, this type of beta bait falls under the category “Non sequitur lure”. Beware the woman bearing gifts of random musings to the world of men; she wants to see how fast and how eagerly you’ll legitimize her empty brain farts. Don’t even tickle that stinky lure with a curt “?”. Let it float downstream, away from you to a stagnant pool of hungry omegas whose rabid nibbling will ultimately make the crafty cougar feel worse than she did before she whored for attention.
If you receive a non sequitur from a woman, the best reply is a. ignore it and introduce your preferred topic of discussion, or b. make fun of it. “Non sequitur lures” are dangerous to naive men but can be quite skillfully and productively turned against their owner by a man with knowledge of the crimson arts. Since NSLs are usually so open-ended, the possiblities for gaming them into a personal DHV are endless.
The classic one is the sad face and nothing else. Beta bait!
While technically this is also an NSL, it deserves its own classification: The Sad Face Sympathy Emoti-Con.
When a girl shoots a “:(” over the wires, apropos of nothing and solicited by no one, she expects four kinds of responses from men:
– Some will ignore her. (A small minority of sexually sated men if she’s attractive.)
– Some will ask what’s wrong. (A large majority of beta males if she’s attractive.)
– Some will buck her up. (More horrible beta male anti-game.)
– Some will fuck with her and send a “8===D~~” in return. (A small minority of alpha males who know the rules of the game.)
You want to leave this esteemed Chateau as that last kind of man, the one all the ladies love.
A good troll should leave the target of its trollery wondering about its sincerity. Given the ambiguous nature of advanced trolling operations, many victims get tripped up by them. CH has, nevertheless, gained expertise in spotting all forms of troll, in part from experience dealing with them and in part from innate aptitude at sniffing out fake phony frauds. Here’s an “anonymous” reader who pinged the CH trollometer.
CH question of the week:
Can a 50 something guy consistently and successfully game hot girls in their mid 20’s?
I can’t wait to see the answers.
The use of the artlessly derogating term “guy” in this instance is sort of a giveaway that this questioner is a female troll, probably badly aged, but I’ll take its question at face value because my answer is useful for men reading here.
The answer is: Depends. What does he have going for him? How charismatic is he? What do you mean by consistently? Does he have a huge gut? Is he self-confident? Does he mingle with younger women from a position of high social status?
But really the most important truth for older men reading is this:
The typical 50-something man will have more success gaming hot girls in their mid-20s than the typical 50-something woman will have getting the romantic attention of men of ANY age.
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.”
INTERCHANGEABLE GIRL #2: “Yeah, I know!”
[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?
This scorched-id ashvomit from a bitter, unattractive androgyne is representative of a lot of spoiled word salad written by emotionally shattered Millennials. It’s featured on the hallowed screen of the Chateau because it encapsulates just about every psychological disorder afflicting the inhabitants of the currently operative mating market.
See if you can spot the try-hard misappropriation of Heartistian ideas in her snarkbark.
My Tinder match decisions had grown more rapid and decisive. Handsome but no bio and all shirtless gym selfies? Dick is abundant and low value. Lists only an Instagram as a bio? Dick is abundant and low value. Quotes Jack Kerouac’s “The only ones for me are the mad ones…” Dick is abundant and low value. Went to Burning Man…twice? Dick is abundant and low value. Member of an improv troop? Dick is abundant and low value.
Technically, she’s right. Dick is abundant (aka sperm is cheap) and, therefore, low value. But if she were to finish her thought — she wouldn’t dare — she’d have to admit that high value dick is scarce, in fact scarcer than is high value pussy, and that her real problem is getting too much attention from loser men and not enough attention from the winner men she wants who aren’t desperate enough to momentarily flatter her self-conception as part of a low investment strategy for an easy lay with a rancid skank.
Dick is abundant and low value. I had gotten my new motto amidst the worst break-up of my life.
Break-ups are especially hard on women when they are the ones getting dumped. Women in their sexual prime are rarely cast off outright. Usually, when a man tires of his girlfriend, he strings her along and starts to check out while keeping his eye open for new possibilities. A man would have to be completely fed up with his girl to dump her cold before having another plate in his cabinet.
Shaken to my core by the degrading insults my ex had hurled at me but also mourning the permanent departure of some poetically good dick,
A frequent semantic ploy of Millennial chicks is their straining to ape the sexual prerogatives inherent to men, or their claiming to do so to an audience of like-minded bitterbitches cheering them on. The urban warrioress wants the world to know she has the sexual appetite of the most promiscuous men, because it infuses her with a false sense of power in the face of personal crisis.
I was spending a day mindlessly refreshing Twitter and reading up on how to spot sociopaths.
Dead giveaway she loves her some sociopath schwing.
Send an unsolicited photo of your lower body in your laundry-day underwear with your hand suggestively but not sexily placed over your semi and not even bothering to crop out your poor cat? Dick is abundant and low value.
If you look weird and have an unfeminine personality, it shouldn’t come as a surprise that the kinds of men contacting you are also weirdos with a poor grasp of of the concept of selling themselves.
Some will read my gleeful rejections on the many faces I encounter on Tinder as evidence of a disturbing uptick in malevolent, anti-male sentiments among single straight women. It is not. It is evidence of us arriving nearer to gender equilibrium where men can no longer happily judge the clear and abundant photos and carefully crafted profiles of women but become incensed when they take the opportunity to do the same.
This paragraph doesn’t make any sense. How does she reject on Tinder faces? With a vigorous clit flick? And how can men no longer judge the clear and abundant online dating photos of women? Are men blind, or just the men who contact her?
It was not always thus.
Painfully bad writing. If it weren’t for the internet, what would all these feminist Austen-wannabes do with their time?
I hoped that the obvious would become clear and that he’d do what I would do when faced with rejection: slink away to a remote cave and hope to find a sudden and merciful death. Instead, he flooded both my email and Facebook page with accusations of egregious superficiality and a sudden change of heart regarding my own attractiveness.
Note the subtle attractiveness-affirming humblebrag. Typical self-contradicting feminist. “I reject your patriarchal beauty standards, forthwith and egregiously. But not before I mention this one guy I rejected who acted like I wasn’t cute when it was so clear to both of us that he did think I was cute when he thought he had a chance.”
And, for all its faults, I still find Tinder delightful. […] No one can address me without my consent, which I can withdraw with an unceremonious “Unmatch” at any time. […] It is a special joy to left-swipe such profiles back into the bowels of Hades from whence they came.
Woman with low SMV imagines that a technology particularly suited to the insta-courtship, low investment preference of fly-by-night men is somehow a blow for female sexual empowerment.
When Tinder matches occurred, these men stormed into our messages with all the social grace of Steve fucking Urkel but none of his endearing sincerity with appeals like, “Sexy dress. Hook up?”
Men give women what they think women deserve. If you look like a good-to-go slut and you have a Tinder profile, most men will think you deserve little more than a dick pic.
They wore jerseys for teams that suck.
She’s got to pare down her 463-bullet point checklist by at least 462 bullet points.
And almost every last goddamn one of them found their whiskey habit absolutely fascinating.
Fascinating enough that she remembered them and wrote about them.
When these tactics repeatedly failed them,
Did the tactics fail them? This chick seems to have no comprehension of the appeal to men of the low investment, mass mailing seduction strategy. If 1 out of 100 drive-by “hey baby” Tinder come-ons work, that’s a roaring success considering the few seconds of effort it requires to put the plan in motion.
It would be sad that they inadvertently admitted that they actually just have no game if there wasn’t such a spiteful sense of entitlement in such sentiments.
Bless their blue-balled little hearts.
Alert: Unloved harridan enjoys visualizing herself in the role of temptress heartbreaker.
Meanwhile, a substantial number of other men guessed that women using Tinder might enjoy wild romantic gestures like using punctuation in sentences instead of winky faces, or asking which trains we lived off of to pick mutually convenient meeting places, or bringing their own condoms because safety is everyone’s responsibility. These men who care more about women’s realities than their own fantasies are the ones who still actually get laid on Tinder.
She’s yet to form a lasting bond with this kind of man. Mysteries of the universe.
While some women only use Tinder to seek long-term relationships, the
assertiontruth is that many of us are actively trying to find no-strings attached sex and even more are at least open to the possibility of it on an initial meeting.
Slut wants NSA sex, shocked to discover men who want same thing aren’t Prince Charming.
It is understandably non-negotiable for many women that this meeting take place in public because the law does not look kindly on us if we are assaulted after showing up at a new man’s home nor is it any kinder to women who welcome new men into theirs.
I am one of many women who has upgraded these initial encounters into sex and have grow increasingly skilled at selecting for only the most exceptional sex with every swipe.
David Fatrelle smiled knowingly.
One guy was 20 minutes late to our museum date and it turned out it was actually closed so we went to Ikea for our date instead. Ikea where love goes to die! Ikea. I carried his clunky-ass light fixtures across an industrial part of town in August heat wearing skinny jeans and still let him see me naked that day.
Well, that’s the kind of thing desperate LSMV women who love entitled jerks do.
I halfway had sex with an investment banker who insisted on bringing his shitty little dog into my pristine cat’s lair.
What you are witnessing is the raw, uncensored id of a loveless and unloveable shrike having a mental breakdown online as she recollects with exquisite detail and simmering rage all the badboys who dumped her after they squared away a few jackhammer sessions with her shredded snatch before moving on to less crazy pastures.
The truth is,
Autonomic female verbal tic meaning “the truth is not”.
sluts like me are everywhere on Tinder but we aren’t impressed by men who are positively beleaguered by the prospect of having to put effort into getting laid,
Funny, if you aren’t impressed by these men, why did you fuck so many of them that you were able to recall and write up a compendium of them as part of your mental health rehabilitation?
nor do we like it when they mock the boundaries of our girlfriends who want to use Tinder only for traditional dating.
Strange non sequitur. I’ll leave it as a challenge for the readers to parse its hidden meaning. My guess: She’s been used a few too many times by men as a pivot to score with her hotter girl friends.
But I’ve found enough value on Tinder to keep going, swiping and unmatching bad profiles out of my life at the first sign of unreasonable expectations.
Power Swiper. With any luck, Tinder will still be around when she’s really old (and not just old-looking), and she can assuage her butthurt spinsterhood by swiping away randos who love her as much as they love the other 100,000 Tinder ladies they’ve gallantly wooed.
Their corner of Tinder is a dark place, dense with hapless souls who didn’t realize that the centuries-long period of dick overvaluation is over.
Yet there she is, in the dark place with these hapless souls. So that makes her…?
The writer — and I use the term loosely — of this soul-scarred confessional is Alana Massey. You can follow her on Twatter here.
Esteemed winner of the CH Attention Whore of the Month award:
29-year old Millennial, or 50-year-old meth addict? If she’s the slut she says she is, she’s a great PSA for women to lay off the cock carousel.
(My shiv needs sharpening after this carving.)