Archive for the ‘Ridiculousness’ Category

I didn’t think the sniveling leftoid freaks running the circus at Twatter headquarters would go so far as to censor a presidential candidate’s tweets one month before the election, but the evidence proves they have gone ahead and done it.

Specifically, Twatter has shadowbanned (made tweets invisible to most of the reading public) and even deleted Trump’s tweets encouraging voters in battleground states like FL to register to vote before the deadline.

This to me seems illegal in the sense that Twatter is now actively interfering in a national election and thwarting the democratic process, but maybe any lawyers reading this blog can confirm if Twatter’s censorship is actionable.

By my tumescent shiv, if this news means Twatter goes the way of Gawker, I will jizz so hard the space station will need birth control (and a cigarette).

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Gaypedoface Kaine

Given that thecunt is one blackout collapse off a high curb from being flayed over and over for eternity in the ninth circle of hell, it behooves us to consider that this creature could wind up President:


Like I said, this is an existential election for the soul of heritage America. It’s a globalist war pitting Lies and Faggotry against Truth and Beauty.

Tonight, Pence helped score one for Team Truth and Beauty. Kaine will drown his disappointment in a day-long Peter Pan film festival binge.



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A minute of staring at this friendzone logo and it starts to make sense: A beta male half-heartedly burying his real feelings to receive an asexual thumb’s up from his oneitis who green-lights his blue balls.


I think the girl’s hand is supposed to translate as “up yours”, or “I rip your heart apart with my dual-edged thumbnail”.


In this photo we see the straight man on the left friendzoning the gay man on the right.

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Three cultural adventurers — an antiracist, a feminist, and a shitlord — stumble upon a treasure trove. In the loot, they discover a magic dildo. The antiracist picks up the dildo with a great effort, his wrist flopping against the weight of the object, and rubs it. A genie ejaculates.

“I AM THE GREAT CISGENDER GENIE. I will grant you three wishes, but on one condition: the wishes will only benefit your next-born child.”

All three adventurers look at each other in amazement; the shitlord with his strong high T jaw and cliffside brow carving the air in front of him; the antiracist with his doughy face and watery eyes soaked in estrogen; the scowling feminist with her blue femmestache and “Syphilis Sisterhood” fupa tattoo.

The manlet antiracist, already struggling to maintain his grip on the tumescent didlo, goes first.

“I wish for a beautiful black daughter! That will show the world how committed I am to ending White hegemony.”

The genie booms, “Your wish is granted! Go home, and you will find your wife in bed with a 12-inch buck.”

Many years later, the antiracist would have his head caved in by his half-black daughter’s fully grown 9 year old black boyfriend. He will die with a smug grin on his battered face.

The feminist, creaming herself with the patriarchy-smashing possibilities, grabs the magic dildo (effortlessly, as if she had spent a lifetime handling such objects) and makes her wish.

“I wish for a smart daughter! Her smarts will lead her to the top in corporate law, and sufficiently privilege-checked male feminists will beg for her love.”

The genie announces, “Your wish is granted! In nine months, you will birth a 150 IQ daughter with the assistance of a noted Massachusetts sperm bank.”

Many years later, the feminist’s smart daughter, 32 years old, a lawyer, and clocking in at 250 pounds with a face that could cleave ice sheets, empties the bottle of pills into her mouth, tears streaming down as she remembers the boy from law school she loved who mistook her for a man and told her he “doesn’t swing that way”.

Finally, the genie turns to the shitlord.

“Maybe YOU will choose wisely?”

The shitlord ponders, (stoically, not theatrically, as is the wont of effeminate males). He thinks this is a mischievous genie, who will grant his wish with a baleful clause attached.

“I wish to make America great again.”


Many years later, revolution shakes the country to the core. President Trumputin imposes an immigration moratorium. Unfair trade agreements are torn up, deportation cars haul illegal aliens back home by the millions, colleges have stopped offering black and women’s studies, gay marriage is repealed, SJWs and feminists are laughed out of public discourse, heteronormativity is the norm, the Middle East is abandoned to its petty inbred warlords, and America is great again. The nation is so great, in fact, that the shitlord has many sons and daughters, and all of them can buy affordable homes in high-trust White neighborhoods with good schools, and bless him with a small army of grandchildren.

Now an old man, the shitlord is visited by the genie one more time.

“Why did you not ask for a beautiful daughter or a smart son? Your wish unleashed chaos for millions of Americans, and guaranteed you nothing in return.”

The shitlord smirks, knowingly (is there another kind?). “A beautiful daughter may be dumb. A smart son may be nerdy. But a great America gives all her sons and daughters a better chance.”

The genie smiles and slowly vanishes, departing with a final promise to grant one more wish.

Without hesitation, the shitlord says, “I wish to make anime real.” And like that he is compressed into a 2D cartoon and teleported into an alternate universe, large-chested wide-eyed Japanese girls giggling all around him, happy to have defied his mortality.

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Most of the Chateau readers are probably familiar with the latest Roosh controversy. If you don’t know about it, here’s a primer. Executive Summary: Roosh had to cancel a bunch of multi-city Return of Kings meet-ups with his readers because an assortment of life’s biggest losers and ghastly freaks — SJWs, feminists, neckbeards, fatties, uglies, cucks, and the governments of Britain, Canada and Australia — were offended by this exercise of free association and set about to rectify the situation with literal death threats and port of entry bans.

The degenerate freak mafia found an old, satirical (maybe we should call it satyrical) Roosh post about rape and the lost art of female personal responsibility, that they deliberately and disingenuously misinterpreted as a pro-rape statement of intent. The big lie then spread like wildfire through the leftoid Hivemind media, and the death threats flowed like John Boehner’s tears when he thinks about cradling his future mixed race grandchild. The fucking UK Parliament had a debate about the international threat known as Roosh. Clown world.

It’s clear what’s going on here. Antiracist shitlibs and feminists mentally frazzled from willfully ignoring and excusing actual rapefugees are using Roosh as an outlet to vent. It makes one recall that old axiom: Liberals love humanity (brown rapefugees) but hate humans (huwhyte Roosh). Conservatives love humans but hate humanity. Personally, I’m fond of the latter character trait. Humans are part of my daily life; humanity…. eh, not so much.

Which brings us to the title of this post. Roosh held a press conference to clear the air and his good name. Fat lot of good it did? Not so fast. Read the transcript. This was nothing less than a public raping of the corrupt shitlib media and everything they represent.

Reporter: Why do you think people think of you as a rapist?

Roosh: They need a target to get all the rage that the citizens have to put it on someone that doesn’t conflict with the agenda of your bosses and the ruling establishment. Roosh, go after him, it doesn’t matter if he gets hurt but we can’t go against our immigrant agenda. We can’t go against the feminist agenda. So we need to get the masses (the idiots who believe the stuff that you write) and put it on to something else. So you put it on me. I’m just a scapegoat. They are just using me. But, I’m going to harness this. I’m going to harness all this coverage that you guys are giving me and convert it to money and women. That’s what I’m going to do. That’s the job that I have to do. I’m getting emails from a lot of girls right now and I plan (once this drama dies down if I can survive it) I may have to get in touch with them. That’s what you given me. You have made me one of the most famous men in the world. Granted, it was a lie. It was a lie. But hey, this is where we are right now so I’m going to work with what you gave me.

Female Reporter: Do you acknowledge that any of your writing might be genuinely offensive or upsetting to some people?

Roosh: So what?

😆 Trump smirked approvingly.

I get that Roosh is first and foremost a self-promoter. No doubt he invites a fair share of his clickbait controversy. But on the basic facts of this travail, he’s right. The SJWs lied (as per usual). The media lied (as per usual). And shitlibs are raging hypocrites for looking away when Muslim migrant real rapes occur while frothing at the mouth over a blog post satirizing modren feminist hysteria about a nonexistent, totally imaginary White male “rape culture”.

It was a small press conference, only a few reporters there, but the message delivered will have an impact beyond the confines of that room. The media is slowly, inexorably, being put on notice that The People know they’re a den of zero integrity liars and hired propagandists for the open borders, pro-feminist crank, anti-White ruling class.

I know many on the alt-right aren’t fans of Roosh. This post isn’t a defense of everything Roosh has written, nor is it meant to change their minds about him. All I’d say to them is, know your true enemies. The alt-right has a lot of great writers and thinkers, but how many are standing up to leftoid reporters at conference rooms and smacking them down to their smug faces?

We in the West live under an occupation force. Alt-right allies willing to speak publicly against the Poz, to take the fight directly to them, are hard to find. When you find them, embrace their efforts on your cause’s behalf. Purity is the enemy of the good.

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Recall that Pajamaboy won the 2015 Most Punchable Shitlib Face tournament. In the comments, a reader warned that these punchable shitlibs have voices that are as insufferably effete as their plush pool boy mugs.

Just wait until you hear them speak;

Dylan Matthews: http://www.c-span.org/video/?311177-6/sequestration-labor-department-budget-cuts

Pajama Boy aka Ethan Krupp: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AuRb4YJvvmM

It’s like the faggot accent has become a standardized dialect throughout America.

Call it the “fagcent”. As in, “Did you hear that effeminate shitlib bitch about pico-aggressions? What a fagcent!”

It’s hard to encapsulate the fagcent in one word; it’s really a constellation of horribly enfeebled verbal tics. It’s sing-songy, lilting, often high-pitched (but not always), and appropriates female inflections like vocal fry and uptalk. The overall impression is of a snarky, sneering little manboy trying to sound like a passive-aggressive woman in drag.

The 1880s were the Gilded Age. The 2010s are the Gelded Age. Request to replace the stars and stripes with buttplugs and dildos.

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This is a video of Dutch women at an airport singing a song welcoming Muslim rapefugees to their homeland.

A reader helpfully noted that most of the women are middle-aged hags and depressed-looking hippie retreads who probably stink of patchouli and practice cat yoga. The one young girl in the video glances around wondering wtf is going on.

From the very beginning of this blog, there’s been a propelling theme carrying culture discussions: The sexual market in the West has changed, in many ways radically changed, over the past half century, and this has had profound impacts on how men and women relate. Technology has driven much of the change, but social patterns and government intrusion have also contributed to the reorganization of mate choice habits.

One outcome of the modern sexual market which was predicted here (although not stressed as much as it should have been, given the nature and primal urgency of current events) was the growth of the demographic of unmarried, unloved, childless, aging, bitter White spinsters who sacrificed their prime fertility years riding the cock carousel (or riding its close cousin, the social media attention whore carousel). The French author Houellebecq has also tackled this theme of a fractured, and fracturing, sexual market, most notably in his book The Elementary Particles.

When women reach a certain age, and the lustful leers of men have abandoned them for younger lure, they realize the best is not yet to be, and a nagging sorrow settles on their hearts. For aging women who don’t have the comfort of a husband or children or supportive family network, this sorrow is very near grief. Some women will respond to this insult to their femininity by turning inwardly, finding release through self-help books, gardening, or arts and crafts. Others will vent their rage at the world, despoiling the political sphere with nonsensical feminist boilerplate.

And then there are those spinsters who react to their dispossession and displacement from the sexual market – and the maternal market – by exacting revenge on their outer world (homogeneous White Europe) with a summoning of succubi from their inner world. These are the women in the video above: benumbed, loveless rejects throwing open their butthurt hearts to trashcanistan migrants, expressing through their imbecilic kumbaya chanting a dual longing for sexual and maternal satisfaction. Merkel falls into this category, but unfortunately her psychological spinster distress could mean the destruction of Germany.

Childlessness greatly exacerbates this state of despairs. A societal decline in fertility means fewer children to care for, watch after, and guide through life, either one’s own children or the children of relatives and even close friends. After an unkind dismissal from the sexual market robs women of their instinct to arouse desire in men, a kinderfrei society robs women again of their other awesome love and yearning: fulfillment of their maternal instinct.

And make no mistake, the spinster’s pain doesn’t require a woman to remain unmarried. Weak, enfeebled, sycophantic beta male husbands can trigger this crisis of femininity just as assuredly as unmarried solitude, for the resentful wife of a pathetic beta feels as isolated as the single woman with her cats.

The title of this post is half-glib. I don’t think spinsters are solely responsible for the West’s present insanity. But they are a piece of the puzzle worth putting into place. The only way stone cold patriots will defeat the evil descending on their lands is first through understanding the nature of their foes and the elements of their culture that breathe life into the evil.

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