And an Abo New Year!
And an Abo New Year!
Mudsharks. Coal burners. Smoke jumpers. Daughters of Single Moms. Perhaps you know them as open-minded progressives. Normal people who don’t get a thrill up their legs signaling their antiracism righteousness know them as trash with daddy issues and destroyers of thousands of years of genetic legacy that produced the pinnacle in human aesthetics.
There are, by Heartistian analysis, three kinds of mudsharks.
Upwards of 80% of white women who date black men are low class, all trash fatties who couldn’t get White men and had to settle for a dindu. This is fact, and it is backed up by more than idle observation. See here, for instance.
In a way, this commingling of the dregs at the bottom of the American dating market would accrue beneficially to White society (or what’s left of it) if mudsharks had a below replacement-level fertility. Black men appear to have a much higher tolerance for riding rolls of blubber, especially if the blubber is an alabaster hue. Fat white women get their dusky dick (although they feel horrible about it afterwards, even though they will never admit to this feeling). And the White race expunges its least genetically fit members from the reproductive pool, ensuring water quality remains crystal clear and free of high mutation loads.
Fat white women, just like their slender sisters, would, of course, prefer the love of White men. But they are unwanted by White men with anything on the ball, and for some White fatties, slumming it out-of-race beats involuntary solitude. The psychology of the Fatty Mudshark is therefore a simple one: Burn the coal, or suffer alone. Later, she’ll pay the toll, but the fatty isn’t exactly known for her forward-thinking ability.
The fatty, naturally, will rationalize her mudsharking as her choice, and will couch her blatant rationalization in terms she thinks will incite the maximum discomfort in the White men she can’t get, (e.g., “I got me a STUD”, “SO good to finally get fucked by a BIG DICK”, “Once you go black you don’t go back”, etc.) but which will in fact only incite further pity and sadistic mockery from White men.
5% of mudsharks are zookeepers. The zookeeper is a thrill-seeker and a control freaker. She gets a dopamine rush from taming the menacing masculine mandingo. (His masculine menace could be real, or an exaggerated perception conditioned by relentless cultural propaganda.) I’ve seen these types of white women lead their black lovers around by the nose, sometimes barking orders like a drill sergeant, training them as if they were a dangerous dog needing domestication. The black boyfriend obeys, but always with a dissolute air of “I could cut this bitch” as he carries out her instructions.
This type of girl will go for the darkest, largest and most simian-looking of dindus, to maximize the menace he projects and the satisfaction she gets being able to transport a human violence payload around like she was piloting a B1 bomber. The Zookeeper doesn’t fit as clear-cut a pattern for her genus: she can be a thin, manjawed lawyercunt-type living large and in charge in the city, or a white trash fatty with a nasty personality, or a miscegenation true-believer neohippie who makes beaded jewelry.
Zookeepers may be born that way, but I believe many turn to the dark side after discouraging experiences dating pushover White betas whom they assumed would hold up under the pressure of their ridiculous expectations. These women are not very feminine, (even if they are bangable), so they couldn’t extract LTRs from the take-no-shit alpha White men with options they really want. The black guy then substitutes in the role of the leashed beast for the Zookeeper.
The F YOU DAD Brat
You can sum up the psychology of this category of mudshark with two sentences:
“My daddy was never around.”
“Show me on the doll where your stepdad touched you.”
The F YOU DAD Brat is about 15% of the total mudshark population, yet their existence compels an out-sized apprehension in SWPL culture, because it is this mudshark species who swims among the White limp-wrist hipster betas struggling to get laid without resorting to the waifu fallback. She is almost always a petite, cute, tatted-up skank with odd piercings and colored hair. She is usually thin, sometimes chubby, never too fat or homely to write off as dead weight loss to the White race. Therefore, her race cuck transgression hits White hipster dudes a lot harder than would the same from a trailer park fatty or a grating, six foot tall lawyercunt.
Adding to the SWPL hipster dude angst is the fact that in a lot of cases, the kind of black guy the F YOU DAD Brat dates is the complete opposite of them: loping orcs with under-70 IQs belched from the deepest pit of the ghetto. The SWPL hipster dude with the weak shitlib jawline and watery bambi eyes experiences a powerful blow to his self-confidence when he sees the cute hipsterettes he feels are his birthright getting into the mud with monsters who populate his worst nightmares.
Maybe even worse for the SWPL man’s sense of self-worth are the mudsharking pixies who date blacks closer to the fey president butt naked mold than to the Anferqueevius Heagoodboi mold. When he sees a couple like that, he thinks to himself, “she wants a guy just like me in personality and social assimilation, but with the SWPL cred that comes with dating a black guy.” The waifu option starts to look better and better.
Most F YOU DAD Brats will grow out of their neurotic compulsion to get back at their emotionally absent or psychologically weak white beta fathers through the weaponized psy ops of black boyfriends, but some will stick it out to the mudshark monocle end. The white girls who leave that mudshark life behind should know that they are forever tainted by their past indiscretions, and any White beta male who feels impotent enough to settle for her after she has passed her prime nubility years will secretly resent any black dick that soiled her, and this private spite will manifest in various behaviors that gnaw at and sour the relationship.
There is one other class of white women who date blacks, but they are so few in number that it’s fine to dismiss them as anything but a curio. These are the hottie white women who date truly accomplished, wealthy, or famous blacks (as you know, this is an extremely niche market with low supplies). They are more interesting as real world evidence of what kind of women black men with nearly unlimited sexual market options choose for long-term partners.
Most mudshark relationships have very limited shelf lives, pursued as they are by white women for Freudian ego assuaging reasons that fall apart once the reality of mudsharking hits them… square in the eye. But it should be noted that a tiny percentage are legitimately loving and stable relationships; these odds-defying exceptions are invariably pairings between chubby, shy white women and mulattoes with decent jobs, academic credentials, and temperaments more aligned with White behavioral norms than with black behavioral norms.
An important coda to this post: Readers will doubtless ask, “Is mudsharking on the rise?”
Factually, I don’t know. (Census Bureau data show that mixed-race couple have increased in number 28% over the past decade.) Anecdotally, it’s definitely my impression than in the past few years I’ve seen more white woman-black man couples, and this isn’t simply a result of an increased awareness on my part of the social phenomenon. So apparently, runaway Diversity™ and the media miscegenation propaganda that goes along with it are having an effect on the delicate psyches of White women.
However, mudsharking, in absolute terms, is still a small percentage of total romantic couplings, and there is strongly suggestive evidence that it will remain so for the foreseeable future. The vast majority of White women continue to have a powerful romantic preference for White men, so it’s still safe to say that mudsharks are not the norm and are accurately assessed as damaged goods with mental and emotional stability issues.
PS I’m also noticing more WM-BF couples (though not as many as there are WF-BM couples), so maybe the race mixing propaganda really is starting to stick in the heads of more impressionable whites, or of whites more susceptible to the ego rewards from status whoring for multikult shitlib points. Or maybe the American sexual market is experiencing a paradigm shift that is creating more opportunities, or need, for mudsharking and oil drilling.
CH’s resident shambassador from Daily Kos, The Spirit Within, is not a Trump fan.
FYI Last week McClatchey/Marist polls re: general election show the Democrat nominee beating the Republican nominee in every conceivable permutation of candidates…
…except one. Carson v Sanders. And the margin was only 2.
Trump is not the savior. In the projections, he lost the general to Sanders by 12 and to Clinton by 15. As his lack of expertise is revealed and as he makes more endless goofy speeches — he’s veering closer to Castro/Chavez/Camacho banana republic style politics — that gap will widen.
Keep pushing that charlatan on your readership, Heartiste. I’m sure you have your perverse reasons.
I’ll save your comment in the data bank for later retrieval, TSW, because I want to enjoy your meltdown squeals when the Trumpening heralds a new age and your words come back to bite you.
Confession: I have a soft spot for The Shitlib Within. Yes, he’s disingenuous and a shitlib (but I repeat myself), and he deploys just about every hackneyed, evasive leftoid rhetorical device in the Alinsky rules for race creationists when cornered by realtalk macroaggressions, but he/she/eskimo has a hokey earnestness which wrests a morsel of mercy from the dark lord. Plus, how can you not root a little bit for a guy who throws himself to the CH wolves here with such oblivious disregard for his dignity?
PS The McClatchy-Marist poll is the most liberal-biased of the polls that have attempted a hypothetical general election match-up. Most polls show a much closer race between Hillary/Sanders and Trump.
PPS I aggravated a nagging injury, which means I won’t be able to lift as hard for a stint, which means my T levels will dip below one million liters, which means I will start writing about the pompitous of love, the hidden beauty waiting to be discovered under gnarly vagina folds, fat acceptance, flavortown, the possibility of good lighting turning around Amanda Marcotte’s dating life, and the endearing hokey earnestness of The Sophist Within for a while. Hope you all can handle this whimsical ride on the feminine side.
Occasionally, and getting less frequent all the time, I consult the radio/TV/print Hivemind media organs for the disinformation of the day. I don’t know why I do this, except as an exercise in having my cynicism affirmed. Without fail, I’m subjected to the exquisite pain of a fagged up torrent of leftoid lies, war on women crap, and race creationism… every topic infused with the easy assumption that White men are the root of all evil, and delivered with the butt-clenched sanctimony that only a shitlib in the middle of a set of Kegels can summon.
Lately though, listening in on the enemy has become intolerable. I’m talking about the uptalk. It’s outta control? I mean, everyone has to speak their sentences like a question now?
For instance, on a recent excursion to the freaky farm, in the span of fifteen minutes I had to endure hearing four women and two men uptalk NEARLY EVERY GODDAMN SENTENCE that poured out of their mouths. And once you pick up on the repetitive nature of this Millennial verbal tic, the sound quickly hits the ear like nails on chalkboard.
But it’s not just Millennials. One woman had the gravelly voice of late middle age, and she uptalked as badly as the younger women. The men sounded like recent college grads, and while they didn’t exhibit the degree of commitment to uptalking that the women did, (taking a break every so often to deliver a statement in the form of a statement), when they did uptalk it struck my nerves harder, so unused was I to hearing grown males speak like insecure preteen girls. Like, wow just wow?
I’m continually amazed at how faggy shitlib Americans are becoming, in speech, belief, and behavior. I wonder sometimes if they aren’t a new developing species; a branch on the evolutionary tree hanging low with a load of fruit.
In theory, a little bit of uptalk should sound feminine coming from a woman, but in practice it just comes across whiny and passive-aggressive, as if the speaker is so thin-skinned she has to phrase everything as a question so that she can coerce the listener’s head-nodding agreement. And, I suppose, if in a rare planetary alignment one of the un-vetted guests on these news shows were to actually challenge the uptalking shitlib on her faulty premise, she can mentally retreat to the ego-saving fake-out that she was only “questioning the received wisdom”.
The latest liberal screech-out is high dudgeon over some prankster teenage muslim mud in Texas who brought a “””clock””” to school as a science project that looked suspiciously like a suitcase bomb, and his teacher justifiably freaked out and called the cops.
Status whoring badwhite-hating disingenuous shitsack liberals, of course, are springboarding off the incident to claim, for the umpteenth time, that racist White America keeps the mudman down, neglecting to mention while in thrall to their righteous indignation that White kids have been tossed out of school and hauled before court for, to wit, bringing in a pop tart bitten into the shape of a handgun.
America, fuck yeah!
Anyhow, as details have leaked past the Hivemind information bottleneck, it’s become apparent to anyone who isn’t a robotic, race creationsist leftoid that the kid was doing the bidding of his white-hating black muslim family. The “clock” was deliberately mocked-up to resemble a suitcase bomb and frighten White authorities, who would react in the appropriate way (and according to Texas law which explicitly forbids bringing objects to school that look like jihadi weapons of area-wide destruction).
The oh-so-innocent Ahmed’s darling parents are lined up behind him in faux outrage, delivering speeches to the media that sound like they were scripted by a team of Alinskyte shock-troop Eskimos.
An emailer adds to the evidence that this bomb/clock story is a giant middle mudfinger in the face of White America,
RE: Ahmed’s completely innocent homemade clock.
When I first heard about Ahmed, the kid who made the news for his “bomb” clock project, I took his side. I played with discrete electronics as a kid. I built breadboards, I soldered, and I experimented with early robotics… In this STEM obsessed educational system, why couldn’t the school officials quickly dismiss this scare as a science project? Why did this make the news? I just didn’t get it… and then I saw a picture of the clock.
From CNN: “A teenager with dreams of becoming an engineer, he wanted to show his teacher the digital clock he’d made from a pencil case.”
Anyone with an understanding of electronics will immediately see this “homemade clock” is not the tinkering of a child or teen. It was never Ahmed’s idea to begin with. This isn’t some innocent science project. The picture of the clock exposes the lie. Ahmed did not lovingly patch together IC chips and resistors, as the media would like you to believe. What you see is the guts from a manufactured digital clock, right down to the 9 volt memory backup, and the prefab button board. Absolutely nothing was made. It’s the equivalent of taking the plastic surround off of your TV and claiming you “made” a TV.
Look at the case itself. CNN calls it a “pencil case.” Please. The whole package is vaguely sinister, and it’s intentional. Notice the nondescript packet of unidentified white powder. See that nice dent in the side? I wonder if you could stash plastic explosives behind that huge LED. Why is the lining so bumpy? Look at the shoddy taping and the twisted wire used to close the case. It’s almost as if someone designed this clock to look like a questionable object.
Again, from CNN: “”I built a clock to impress my teacher but when I showed it to her, she thought it was a threat to her,” Ahmed told reporters Wednesday.” It was really sad that she took the wrong impression of it.””
Ahmed, you didn’t build a clock. You’re a pawn to your Dad’s political and social agenda. This is all a creation of your father. I’m sure he involved you in the process, and made you feel as though you were truly making something, but you didn’t. It’s a clock without its case. Everything in the “pencil case” was made in a factory. See, a legitimate electronics project full of diodes and resistors looks innocent. It usually runs off of a battery, not an exposed AC to DC transformer… speaking of science projects, Ahmed, why again did you bring this to class? Was it part of an assignment? Oh, you just wanted to impress your teacher with a clock you rearranged inside a small briefcase? Hmm…
From dallasnews.com: ““He fixed my phone, my car, my computer,” Mohamed Elhassan Mohamed said. “He is a very smart, brilliant kid.”
If he were so smart, he’d know the difference between creating a circuit and stripping the guts from a manufactured clock. His dad helped him “make” this, and dad helped to make this “project” look as questionable as possible, within the realm of plausible deniability.
The dad is a politician. He made this happen. Whatever agenda he’s advancing, it just further demonizes western society, and reminds us all to be guilty for how racist we all are. Maybe that’s the agenda.
Yes, and these anti-White ingrates wouldn’t get nearly so much mileage out of their schtick if they weren’t enabled by a ready and willing army of millions of fanatical white leftoids (and their eskimo paymasters) to see how much they can freely shit in the faces of normal White Americans.
Perchance to say, wake up white man. It’s getting ugly out there.
Yet more proof of the CH ur-maxim:
Strip away the particulars of these increasingly unhinged and ludicrous attacks against BadWhite America, and we are left with two insistent questions:
Why are all these ingrate nonWhites even in America in the first place?
Why do White Leftoids have so much power?
Someone’s gotta ask the first principle questions; it may as well be CH.
This latest confirmation of ¡Jabe! Bush’s innate beta maleness is so funny that for a moment you will forget about weeping for the decline of your nation.
What a maroon! Think about how fucking insecure and mentally lazy a man must be to pull this stunt in full view of cameras, essentially telling the world that he isn’t confident in his 6’3″ height to project an aura of dominance over his hated rival Trump, who bullycides Jeb so completely that Jeb lurches into desperate countermeasures, like a spastic nerd wearing underwear with detachable waistband so he can smugly retort “fooled you!” when he receives another atomic wedgie.
When people see this, do you know what they’ll think about you, Jeb? That Trump has your number. He’s under your skin. He’s winning. And you’re losing, because you’re a loser at heart. The stink of loser eeps from your fatfuck chipmunk cheeked plushboy facehole, and it’s become clearer to everyone why your fragile ego demanded you squat up with a third world midget and let her embarrass you for years, the wife of a major public figure, by never learning to speak English.
Goddamn these cuckservatives are useless. They need to be tossed out like last week’s garbage. Their rot infects everything and strangles any hope of a real revolution coming to wash away the grime.
Reader Otsuka adds,
Think about a man who has been a governor of a large state; a man who has both brother and father former Presidents; standing on his tiptoes because he feels his 6’3″ stature is inadequate to impress the girls. The mind reels, the revulsion for this betaboy is reflected in his poll numbers. Imagine what must be going on in the minds of the PAC dropping a 100 million dollars on this pathetic creature.
What is Jeb’s PAC thinking? *flush*
One hundred and one Chateau patrons slipped this juicy omega male shitlibbery — “What Open Marriage Taught One Man About Feminism” — into the combox for cathartic evisceration by yours unduly. The story concerns a “Mr.” “Michael Sonmore” (scare quote usage to become clear in a moment) who professes to an open sexual relationship with his wife and a full awareness and acceptance of his cuckoldry.
As I write this, my children are asleep in their room, Loretta Lynn is on the stereo, and my wife is out on a date with a man named Paulo. It’s her second date this week; her fourth this month so far. If it goes like the others, she’ll come home in the middle of the night, crawl into bed beside me, and tell me all about how she and Paulo had sex. I won’t explode with anger or seethe with resentment. I’ll tell her it’s a hot story and I’m glad she had fun. It’s hot because she’s excited, and I’m glad because I’m a feminist.
Mmhmm. This rings authentic.
When I quit working to stay at home with the kids, I began to understand it on a whole new level. I am an economically dependent househusband coping with the withering drudgery of child-rearing. Now that I understand the reality of that situation, I don’t blame women for demanding more for themselves than the life of the housewife.
LOL. So transparent. Male feminists don’t parade their sickly ids in public quite so pitch perfectly. AlexPareeniks, manlets extraordinaire, usually whip up their self-flagellation with a leavening dollop of bitter regret for betraying the last vestiges of their masculinity.
She didn’t present it as an issue of feminism to me, but after much soul-searching about why the idea of my wife having sex with other men bothered me I came to a few conclusions: Monogamy meant I controlled her sexual expression, and, not to get all women’s-studies major about it, patriarchal oppression essentially boils down to a man’s fear that a woman with sexual agency is a woman he can’t control. We aren’t afraid of their intellect or their spirit or their ability to bear children. We are afraid that when it comes time for sex, they won’t choose us. This petty fear has led us as a culture to place judgments on the entire spectrum of female sexual expression: If a woman likes sex, she’s a whore and a slut; if she only likes sex with her husband or boyfriend, she’s boring and lame; if she doesn’t like sex at all, she’s frigid and unfeeling. Every option is a trap.
This paragraph is the crone giveaway. A bitter, lonely cat lady wrote this article as a hoax to fellate her scorched ego and lash out at all the men who pass her by or use her up. True, the lowliest of lowly men COULD have written such excrescence, but the way to bet is that an insol spinster with delusions of vengeance and… sexual agency (heh)… fantasized this whole scenario into existence. She hits too many jargony femcunt talking points too squarely on the whiskered nose. Madonna/whore double standard? Check. Alpha fux/beta bux strategy justification? Check. Anti-judgmentalism? Check. Patriarchal oppression? Check. Dismissing as cultural baggage the real, primal, biologically-founded fear men have for cheating wives who might get pregnant by another man and foist their bastard spawn on them as their own? Checkold.
The point is that it should be women who choose, not men — even the men they’re married to. For my wife, the choice between honoring our vows and fulfilling her desires was a false choice, another trap. She knew how deep our love was, and knew that her wanting a variety of sexual experiences as we traveled through life together would not diminish or disrupt that love. It took me about six months — many long, intense conversations, and an ocean of red wine — before I knew it, too.
This paragraph contains the second crone giveaway. No man nurses his depression with “an ocean of red wine”. He hits the hard stuff or the beer. Spinster cat ladies, licensed to psychologically project! B-U-S-T-E-D. Great job, Michelle Eatmore.
It does work both ways and, yes, I too enjoy sexual carte blanche. I just don’t use mine as much as my wife uses hers. What’s important is equality of opportunity, not outcome.
How convenient for your imaginary heroine, Michelle. PS Equality of opportunity doesn’t apply to the sexual market because women have a near-monopolistic advantage on sexual commerce (which when they indulge decreases the value of their commitment market value, but femcunts don’t want to hear that part).
Reader NothingMan00 adds,
I plugged each of the paragraphs presented here into the Gender Guesser:
It guessed female writer for each, assuming the piece is an example of “formal” writing.
Another commenter astutely pointed out that no man would worry more about his wife “falling in love” with another man than about his wife fucking another man. This is pure, distilled bitterbitch psychological projection.