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Archive for the ‘Sluts’ Category

You are about to enter another dimension of the sexual market. A dimension not only of unsightly fat and scolding schoolmarmery, but of repulsive loudmouthed bitterbitches. A journey into a worthless land of self-entitled fat Hillary-loving bitches. Next stop, the Would Not Bang Zone!

Via AutoAdmit, a gem quality thread has coalesced around the story of a fat chick in DC — Jesse Peterson — who was the featured coastal shitlibopolis representative of her swelling species in a Bezos Post Date Lab social experiment designed to prove the pointlessness of pursuing the post-femininity American cow. A couple of AAers put it best,

Date: August 3rd, 2017 9:04 AM
Author: Ozzie Canseco

its incredible how women are all converging to this one horrible personality.

***

Date: August 3rd, 2017 9:06 AM
Author: LTDanCaffey

Titcr.
It’s like all single shrews in major metros are morphing into some hybrid of Sarah Jessica Parker in SitC and the shrew from Eat, Pray, Fuck with some Beyoncé girl power mixed in.

A little background on Jesse, emeritus rider of the cock carousel, courtesy of her About page at her dating blog (aka the place she collates the wretchedness of her personality and will come to regret when she’s 40, unmarried, and sleeping with a small army of cats nestled in her gut folds):

Hey betches,

Welcome to Tinder District! I’m so glad you’re here, even though you may not be able to tell through my chronic RBF.

Afeminine? Check.

My name is J. I’m 23 years old, live in Washington, DC, and by day I do management consulting.

Anti-natalist careercunt? Check.

By night (and weekend), however, I’m a serial dater.

Slut, or pretensions to sluttery? Check.

Since I started this blog in July 2015 (when it was ClarendonTinderDiaries.wordpress.com; really rolls of the tongue, right?),

Grandiose self-conception as a dazzling prose stylist belied by horribly dull writing? Check.

I have been on over 100 first dates.

Unloveable? Check.

Two have turned into relationships (thank God those went nowhere),

Allergic to accountability for her decisions? Check.

many were good, several turned into second and even third dates – but that’s not why I’m here. The thing that keeps me coming back is the bad dates – the ones that turn into a story for me to tell my close friends, future grandchildren, and the entire Internet.

Attention whore? Check.

Oh, and the free drinks and meals. Those also keep me coming back.

Low sexual market value chick unable to date anyone but supplicating beta males who eagerly foot her bill for a chance to pork her oinky trough? Check.

So, welcome, readers! I hope you get a laugh, a nugget of useful life advice, or something new to read while at work contemplating quitting your shitty job.

XOXO,
J

And a recent photo of Jesse, for context in which to place her empty try-hard braggadocio:

She’s a 5 without the insulating layer of blubber, a 2 with it.

Sadly, Jesse is not an outlier. The shitlib cities are filled with CUNDTs like herself: totally converged into the technofemcuntyassqueen man-hating spiteborg, committed to spending their prime nubility years hunting elusive alpha males in the urban junglelove, narcissistic to a degree that would have shocked Narcissus, delusional about their sexual and romantic appeal, and more often than not carrying an extra five or fifty pounds.

Is it any wonder American men have stopped “manning up” and taken nuptial (read: financial) responsibility for these ingrate shoggoths? Women, if you struggle to find a man worthy of your curated and well-marbled self-image, look in the mirror and read the reactions of the world outside your dating blog to your crass behavior and shitty personality. 100 dates in one year? That’s not a banner to wave proudly; it’s a red flag that your goods are rotten.

How obnoxious is this bitch? From her Instawhore:

In her words, she had an awful date and hated the man with whom she was paired, yet she still wanted to exploit his graciousness by copping an “appeal deal” with him to rate each other equivalently in the Bezos Post-Op Date Lab story, so that she could continue to look good to her blog audience of aspiring spinsters. Thankfully, our intrepid beta male found an ounce of scrotal juice still circulating in his manhood and rated her lower than the entitled blobster demanded to be rated.

Management consultant Jesse Peterson, 23, describes herself as “just about the friendliest and most outgoing person there is.”

So friendly she hastily pens post-date snarkbait shitting all over the men who buy her drinks.

She also loves working out, bottomless brunch and a slightly dark sense of humor.

Working out => is 40 pounds overweight
Bottomless brunch => boundless bottom
Dark sense of humor => confuses hackneyed sarcasm for humor

I was much more nervous before this date than any Bumble or Tinder date. I’ve been on dates with a few Dans, and all of them were weird.

The fault lies not with the Dans.

We talked about favorite foods — I write a cooking and baking blog.

Avoid unmarried women who are a little too into cooking. That goes double-chinned for women into blogging about cooking.

And I write a dating blog.

If a chick admitted this to me on a first date, I would walk out immediately, no reason given. At the very least, a chick who feels comfortable telling me this doesn’t respect my refined taste in women and unapologetically high standards.

I’m just interested in exploring people and opportunities and dating culture.

Every girl who has told me she’s into “exploring people” was really into exploring herself for the umpteenth time and receiving external validation for it from the people she claims to want to explore. And “opportunities” is just slutspeak for “cockas”.

Dan: I can’t date a vegetarian; I left hungry. I got home and I ordered a turkey leg.

Vegetarian girls are more often fat than thin. That should tell them something, but when the world revolves around them and mirrors are magical devices found only in Harry Potter books, then one could be forgiven for assuming these broads have an intrinsic ability to put 2 and 2 together. Or maybe their concept of vegetarian is “a plate full of greasy fries and a side of pizza”.

I’m not ready for the gawking to end yet. From another dating-is-hell-on-fatties post at her Unloved Fatty blog:

I didn’t particularly care about continuing to talk to Jack, and I also ignore literally all CMB notifications I receive, so I did nothing.

The attention whore loves accumulating dating apps, so she can proudly claim she ignores them all. It would not suffice to simply not have the dating app on the iPhag. She must have it and not have it, grasshopper.

Jack, however, reached out.

“Men want me, they really want me!”

Jack – Want to get margaritas soon?
J – Sure!

So, I sent him my phone number – because anyone who wants to buy me a margarita is a friend of mine.

From its inception, CH has advised men to avoid buying drinks for women. To this day, the advice retains its merit.

It was two full days before I got a message from Jack, but he made up for his tardiness with sweeping romantic apology.
Jack – Hey, this is Jack from that bagel app

Ahh, pure poetry.

Got her attention. (Keep it short and sweet, gentlemen. The ladies love a self-possessed shitlord.)

FYI her blog is filled with those retarded pop culture gifs that women love. They acquire the habit from their gay besties.

We continued talking for a while, including a brief stint in which my friend took over my phone and sent him a long message about the superfood benefits of kale (#bless kale), when our conversation turned to the events we had planned for the weekend.

From the second I saw the ‘Yikes’ I knew something was amiss. But I was unsure what it was at first – did he frown upon the fact that I had not left all signs of neon and tutu back in college? Was he unnerved that I was not spending the weekend reading the latest political novel?

Like most straight men with a T level above 1, he’s disgusted by homosex and by the sassy platitude-spouting libchicks who latch onto the gay glorification gravy train in the hopes of tarting up their social media feeds with more colorful selfies.

All of that would have been better than his response. What do you mean you find it “off-putting”? You are aware you live in a country founded on the right to do all of those things, correct?

“Off-putting” doesn’t mean “deny the right of fag assembly”, you dumb bint.

I pressed on.

She persisted.

Ohhhhhhhh no. OH NO. I considered leaping off the nearest cliff to escape such ignorance.

She would’ve bounced back unscathed.

“inside a social construct decided by other people that doesn’t let you blah blah”…..typical poopytalk from your typical nasty woman. This is why fatties and other undesirable women glom onto social constructivist shitliberalism: the lies provide a handy rationale for explaining away, say, their lack of portion control. The CUNDT’s dating woes are never her fault; it’s always “men” or “douchebags” or “bigots” or “Trump supporters” or “society”.

She then feverishly texts Jack the Shitlord to “put him in his place”, and what she imagines as an epic BTFO of her antagonist just comes across like a butthurt fatty going well out of her way to make some stupid political point lost in the noise of her emotional incontinence.

HOLD THE FUCKING PHONE.

STOP IT RIGHT NOW.

YOU THINK PEOPLE ‘LIKE PLAYING THE VICTIM‘?

LITERALLY GET THE FUCK OUT.

Was Trayvon Martin ‘playing the victim’ when he was killed in an ethnic hate crime?

Surprise, a conformist GoodWhite plays the Saint Trayvon card! Newsflash, fatty, Trayvon pounced on Zimmerman the Hispanic hero and in the commission of his assault and battery received a load of lead in return. Tray Tray got his just desserts.

Were the 49 lives lost in the Orlando Pulse Nightclub massacre ‘playing the victim’ when their lives were unjustly ripped from them in a homophobic hate crime?

Funny, she forgot to mention that the Pulse gayclub killer was a Muslim.

Was I, or any other victim of sexual assault, PLAYING THE FUCKING VICTIM when we were raped, had our self-worth and self-confidence, not to mention ability to trust and, I don’t know, ability to sleep through the night without having a panic attack, STRIPPED FROM US BY A MAN WHO DID NOT KNOW HOW TO TAKE NO FOR AN ANSWER?

Ten to one she was never raped.
One hundred to one if she was raped, it was by a black guy.
One thousand to one her conception of “rape” is really an ego-assuaging morning after regret rape rationalization for throwing herself at yet another garbage hour loser.

I was outraged. I would have killed him right then, if my insurance covered it.

The only thing you’re killing fatty is a plate of donuts.

Instead, I put him on blast in the betchiest way I know how

Shitlib women crave putting wrongthinkers “on blast”, and announcing their declared victory in war to whomever will listen. They’re like George Costanza thinking up a comeback zinger well after the moment has passed. It’s pure humiliation gotcha fantasy, a pageantry of the ego without substance, meant in the retelling to impress a very stupid and dull coterie of equally LSMV rejects more accustomed to getting ignored by high quality men than to putting those unattainable men in their places.

– by saying I felt sorry for him, using his own words against him, and turning the tables around.

I’m sure he was utterly destroyed by your lethal psy ops campaign.

He continued to not see the error of his ways and be the literal worst.

Resentful woman unable to convince man to cater to her feelz has literal meltdown in ASCII.

I’m out. I’m done! I can’t handle it anymore. I can’t handle humans or fuckboys or ignorance or Trump or anything that’s not at least 13% ABV or laced with THC.

This is the mewling of a woman who has experienced failure after failure in her search for a boyfriend. Naturally, she blames Trump.

So, fam, if you encounter an ignorant fuckboy along the lines of Jack, just remember that the best solution is to screenshot the conversation and put the entire thing in your Snapchat story and on the internet. Because, friends, it happens to the best of us.

So, fellow cundts, if you encounter a man who won’t tolerate your vapid lib bullshit and grating personality, just remember that the best solution is to publicly broadcast your private conversations with him in the hope that you’ll inspire a chorus of sympathetic losers to cheerlead your self-immolation and validate your desire to humiliate those who won’t feed your egotistical, self-absorbed, status striving herdthink.

The final word on the CUNDT and her species of post-America millennial woman:

they pair up with modern genderless shitlib males and get into those punching bag relationships where the wife is in the driver seat so both of their lives just sort of end up doing donuts, swerving into oncoming traffic, etc. if they have money they end up brunching and biking a lot and talking about global warming and refugees and rescue dogs. the woman becomes mean and haggard and a public nuisance and the man just looks at the floor a lot. looks like hell but tons of men jump right into it early and never reassess.

Good news. The Reassessing has begun. DOTR has a new meaning, and shitlib femcunt fatties will be hardest hit.

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Western Civilization will continue its long-term downward spiral until the sexual market rebalances to a pre-poz norm in which women paid a social and marital price for attention whoring and cock carouseling. As Taleb might put it, women must have “soft skin in the game”, or they won’t accurately assess sexual and marriage market risks and will play with reckless abandon.

Removing all constraints on female sexuality while maximally restricting male sexuality is the exact opposite of soft skin in the game. It strips consequences from female behavior while burdening beta males with higher costs and smaller rewards.

I thought of this while relaying the story about the tennis pro thot who whores for attention on Instawhore and is shocked, shocked she tells you that so many millions of thirsty beta males now follow her to fap to her every bosom-thrust selfie.

Commenter T: if you want to read some seriously disingenuous horseshit, check out this:

http://www.golf.com/knockdown/2017/02/01/paige-spiranac-unfiltered-how-power-social-media-set-controversial-golf-star-soaring

sample:

In a culture that worships beauty, Spiranac has hit the genetic lottery: luscious golden hair, sparkling blue eyes, porcelain skin and a figure curvier than 17 Mile Drive. But she has always had a complicated relationship with her appearance, going back to a traumatic childhood beset by physical maladies. From the moment she became an accidental Instagram sensation, she has been objectified on a global scale. Ever since, Spiranac has been fighting to regain control of her sense of self. Her reaction to the first rush of Internet fame, in the summer of 2015, remains instructive: “I’ll never forget the day the craziness began,” says her mother, Annette. “She was getting thousands of new Instagram followers every hour. We were visiting my husband’s relatives and Paige was in her room, laying on the floor in a fetal position, crying. She kept saying, ‘I don’t know why this is happening. I’m so scared.’ You’re talking about a girl who has always been shy and introverted. She simply couldn’t process the attention.”

So Paige is a pathological liar as well as attention whore. Great combo in a wife! /sarcasm. Because as we all must know, taking erotic selfies with a huge shit-eating come hither smirk and deliberately posting them to social media is exactly the expressiveness one would expect from a shy and introverted woman utterly perplexed that she has horny Instagram followers. /Dcupsarcasm. “fetal position” lol that her pr agent/mom expects us to believe this load of spin.

No soft skin in the game means girls are liable to make the same mistakes over and over. Without honest social feedback and costs to pay for making bad decisions, girls will even lose the ability to know when they are diminishing their asset value.

Current Year girls with no soft skin in the game are blissfully unaware of the disgust they inspire in men when they casually mention past bad relationships with assholes, as Paige did when she admitted in print, and thus to her fiance, that before she met him she had had a lot of Netflix and chill fuck sessions in which she demanded no payment in nuptial servitude from her lovers. The Slut Life + the Thirst Life have become so ingrained in US culture — in assertion if not in actual practice — that displeasing men is an autonomic twitch in women.

I know one thot who casually bragged to a man she had been dating for a month that she went through so many men in the past year that her expectations sky-rocketed and he should be proud he made the grade. She said this as if it would open new and exciting conversational avenues to accelerate their bonding process. It ended two weeks later.

Skankitude has consequences, even for hotties like Paige. They may be subtle consequences, but they exist. (For instance, beta hubby will over the years show her increasing disrespect and contempt). I’ve seen it happen. The contempt comes pre-wall, intensifying with the years. Little slights to which women are acutely sensitive coming from men start to add up, like emotional distancing, verbal snapping, and spiteful innuendo. And let’s not forget that hot sloots are also more likely to abandon their marriages to beta chumps, which hurts the sloots as well since women have exponentially more difficulty in the dating market after age 25.

Wives or girlfriends with slutty pasts (and a predilection for present day attention whoring) tend to lose their men’s adoration. The hotter the thot, the slower the adoration erosion, but nevertheless it persists. Whatever system was in place to remind women in so many grandmotherly words of wisdom of these unpleasant realities is gone now, and the Instawhore id is out of her cage, hungry for empty calories. The end game isn’t pretty: the death of romance and the corruption of love.

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This is Lisa Sparxxx (néigh Lisa Hansen):

She is a porn star who holds the world record for most sexual partners in a single day: 919 cockas.

Look at her eyes staring back at you. What you see is a literal thousand cock stare. Vacant and deranged….the same look a soldier has when he’s seen too much blood and death.

Whatever anima pulsed in the broken vessel of her body abandoned her for good around cock number 300, I’d wager.

For the record, would only bang in virginal condition. She’s not hot enough to overcome the disgust factor at porking the semen slide which is her vagina.

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A hot if somewhat mannish-looking female teacher is in court on charges of “raping” one of her students during their months-long sexual adventure.

A teacher is accused of sodomizing a middle school student and raping him during their alleged months-long sexual relationship.

Lindsey Jarvis, 27, pleaded not guilty to two counts of rape at the Fayette County Courthouse in Kentucky, where she held hands with her husband of three years.

She was also charged with rape, sodomy and unlawful transaction with a minor in neighboring Woodford County, where she was accused of sexually assaulting the boy in May 2016.

Police found evidence on the victim’s phone suggesting the two were in a ‘romantic relationship’, and Jarvis was arrested on Friday.

If you’ve heard this story before too many times to count, you’re not going crazy; sexual predation by female teachers, many of them hot and married, of their young (and usually willing) charges is rampant in America, FOR SOME ODD REASON. (Hint: it’s the leftoid glorification of unconstrained female sexuality and the concomitant demonization of normal male sexuality and patriarchal prerogative, plus various r-selected biofeedback loops that accompany declining cultures in the throes of late stage decadence.)

You can tell by the psychocunt smirk in her mugshot she expertly summoned like a seasoned PUA that there was no adult alpha man in her life who could stand up and answer the call, “Who bitch dis is?“. On paper, she was her husband’s bitch. On paper. In reality, she was no one’s bitch, to the detriment of society.

Never rely on legal documents to secure a woman’s love. You can only win her heart in the supreme court of her raging id.

But the black heart of this sordid tryst — the essence that tells you everything you need to know about why she did it and why she’s smirking — isn’t in Lindsey Jarvis, Wonderslut. It’s in Lindsey Jarvis’s lapdog, her dutiful, supportive husband.

Lindsey Jarvis, 27, pleaded not guilty to two counts of rape at the Fayette County Courthouse in Kentucky, where she held hands with her husband of three years

There’s a time to hold your wife’s hand, and that time is NOT when she’s in court for fucking and tickling the anus of one of her underage students for months on end.

(Who, by the looks of her, will probably go right back to livin’ la vida alpha fux beta bux once she’s out of jail (one month)).

Their body and facial language is a thin palimpsest barely concealing two rotten souls — hers rotten with wantonness, his rotten with appeasement. That’s a married couple in complete sexual polarity reversal, defying the God of Biomechanics with arrogant impunity. She’s the alpha male, here, looking into the middle distance, thinking of some other male, head tilted away from her doting husband who, for his part, must reach across her lap to take her hand, his eyes downcast in submission and supplication, probably fighting back a gnawing fear of her hot body and BPD love leaving his life forever (even though he never really had unrestricted access to her body and heart, but just try telling ARE MARRIED BETA MALE that, and he’ll suddenly find a reason to passionately defend his manly honor.)

“But he’s innocent in this!”, you poon plebs shriek ignorantly. No, friendos, he’s not innocent. He’s an enabler. A force ten amplifier of the crassest female instincts and tramp malice. America is suffering a crisis of these “supportive” beta male husbands who stand by their cheating slut wives, bearing for themselves all the shame and responsibility that should be the sole domain of their faithless women.

You think a beta phagg like Lindsey’s Lapdog just started being supportive now, in Lindsey’s time of greatest need? Ha, no. This doormat was born supportive, a human toilet seat upon which the world’s whores would sit to pinch their cock-impacted loafs embedded with the crusty cum of secret lovers, knowing all too clearly that a pushover like this milquetoast will take those steaming slut deuces and beg for more.

Not to put too fine a point on it, but women are DISGUSTED by indiscriminately supportive males. Look closely at Lindsey’s face in the second photo; that’s disgust mixed with contempt amid a swirl of illicit yearning. No man who’s had experience with more than one or two women would miss the meaning in that face. And no man worth his dignity and salvageable serum T level would unconditionally “support” a cheating wife who seethed with that much resentment for him. He’d tell her to hit the road, face first, and be glad he was rid of her for the rest of his life.

Unquestioning beta male support is ruining our women. It’s as simple as that. Beta thirst kills feminine virtue dead. Manginatude frees the Inner Whore in every woman.

If women, especially spoken-for women, don’t fear consequences for indulging every sexual compulsion (and women have many, often contradicting, sexual compulsions), then they won’t curb themselves. Women are not natural self-regulators; they require a strong pimp hand to avoid descent into womb wilding, whether that pimp hand comes in the form of a dominant alpha male or a dominant patriarchal culture.

Instead, America’s men are caught in a spiral of self-abnegation and slavish pussy pedestal polishing. Witness:

On her 25th birthday, husband Andrew Jarvis paid tribute to his wife, writing: ‘Happy 25th birthday to my sweetest Lindsey!

‘So thankful for your wonderful heart, which teaches me so much about compassion and kindness.

‘So thankful for your wisdom and discernment that help guide us through life….Love you with all my heart, and so thankful to have you as my best friend.’

First mistake: a wife or gf should never be a man’s “best friend”. His lover, his confidant, his alibi, his accomplice, his lolita, his sex toy, sure. But not his best friend. That cloying admission reeks of neediness and uxuriousness, and sucks all the romantic lifeblood out of what should be a sexually dichotomous relationship. Women don’t want a best friend for a husband; they want a lover and a king.

Second mistake: penning this treacle at all. He could have done so much more for his cause, meaning his sex life and future paternity certainty, had he sent her this instead on her birthday:

I’d like to end on a hopeful note. How do we solve the crisis of supportive beta husbands and boyfriends enabling the worst sort of female animal behavior?

My suggestion, one I’ve been proselytizing for a while, to no avail apparently as we can see the population of supplicating betas grows year over year, is….hold your breath….Game. If beta males gained the skills of the crimson arts and had more choice in women, or at least perceived that they had more choice in women, the confidence instilled in them would stream outward and fill the hearts and Bartholin’s corpuscles of the women in their lives, and a big beautiful mutually reinforcing limbic synchronization that aligned with the ancient biomechanic laws of sexual polarity would draw man and woman closer together, and those wild cockscillations that undulate darkly in the vajfold crevices of every woman threatening to crumble heartbridges would be calmed.

Or, having options in women, beta males would at least be more emotionally continent about their choice of long-term mate and be more willing to jettison those women who don’t make the grade.

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Around the year 2040, maybe a little sooner or later, the saddest sight in the world will be seen in the wilds of a dying America. It will be so sad, so pathetic, that onlookers will know deep in their bones — it will in fact cause them to palpably shiver — that was the moment their country finally yielded itself through wheezing gasping breaths to the illimitable darkness.

That sight will be an old wrinkly woman with leathery over-tanned skin sporting a “Proud Slut” tattoo, or a similar formulation, on a visible part of her body such that it was obviously meant for mass consumption during greener times, but now etched into her skin in drape-like folds, creased almost beyond recognition and the color leached out of it to a smear of sickly gray.

When you see it, you will remember this post, and regret that the world only had to listen to CH.

PS Odds the first sighting will be in Florida: 100%

Try to imagine this:

…on an eighty-year-old woman’s haggard body.

There’s nothing more pathetic than a slut who long ago aged out of her ability to capture male interest, but continues to advertise her past sluttery inches above her dusty muff. It’s self-mockery as biting as the WE WAZ KANGZ meme.

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Manjawed women are avoided by men because men don’t like women who look like men. CH has written about this topic a number of times, so the news won’t surprise regular readers.

Too much femme T
there goes my chubby

Evolution has seen fit to incorporate this distaste for masculinized women into the male limbic landscape as a hedge against female infidelity and getting cuckolded. It turns out the manjaw (and associated manchin) in women is linked with an increased “sexual unrestrictedness”, which in laybro’s language means manjawed chicks are more likely to step out on you.

It is therefore natural and normal and most importantly SELF-INTERESTED for men to prefer the romantic company of slender, young, attractive, feminine, womanjawed women.

***

In related SCIENCE, YO! news:

  • The more household chores a husband does, the more likely the marriage is to end in divorce. (Also an ugly truth CH has covered in the past.)
  • It helps (a lot) to be a female criminal defendant. “After controlling for the arrest offense, criminal history, and other prior characteristics, “men receive 63% longer sentences on average than women do,” and “[w]omen are…twice as likely to avoid incarceration if convicted.” This gender gap is about six times as large as the racial disparity that Prof. Starr found in another recent paper.” Now some of this sex disparity (like the race disparity) is probably a result of female criminals exhibiting less depravity than male criminals in the commission of legally equivalent crimes. But a bigger reason for the disparity goes to something much deeper in the human psyche: the Fundamental Premise, which explains that female coddling is a natural psychological instinct among both men and women that exists because (most) women are more reproductively valuable than are (most) men.

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News clippings about shitlib/antifa White women suffering the all-too-predictable consequences of taking their anti-White ideology seriously are an almost weekly occurrence. The latest is a howler, if you’re into schadenfreude so delicious the aftertaste lingers for weeks.

Antifa Chick Goes to Turkey With Muslim Loverboy, Gets Raped and Beaten

Lacy MacAuley is a well known radical left-wing Antifa organizer in Washington D.C. She was featured in Project Veritas’ undercover videos which exposed the #DisruptJ20 plot to violently disrupt President Trump’s inauguration.

Just like every other lunatic leftist, Lacy fell in love with Islam and became obsessed with helping Syrian ‘refugees’, wholeheartedly believing that Islam is the religion of peace. MacAuley details her experience dating a Turkish Muslim man, describing the hell and fear she lived in because he controlled every move she made, beat and raped her.

You should go to the link and read about the Rapefugee Enrichment Lacy MacAuley received in her own words (she lovingly detailed her international romance on her blog, natch). A few revealing excerpts:

The first two weeks were quite the love story. I observed that he was drinking heavily, and called him an “alky,” but it was just a joke at first.

Recall CH Maxim #[X]: A woman will hold a beta male endlessly accountable for the slightest infractions while promptly forgiving an alpha male the worst transgressions.

Then came our first fight. I had wanted to interview a local woman for an article on Syrian refugees. He did not approve. He knew the woman and did not like her, so he strictly forbade me from speaking with her. After I questioned his rationale, he yelled and stormed out of the room to go smoke a cigarette. I just stood in the middle of the room not knowing what to do. Of course, as a Western woman, no one had ever forbidden me from speaking with anyone else. It was a strange feeling: Don’t I have a mouth to speak? Why can I not use it as I wish?

There was another strange feeling in her vagina: SPLOOGE. You think I’m kidding? Nope. Read on. She stayed with the inbred sandwog for more than two months of sex (nonconsensual, she claims, though this post-cock rationalization is likely subject to alternative interpretation), after experiencing numerous episodes of his charming vibrancy. #LoveWins!

I honestly think that one of the reasons that I have been silent about this for two months has been that I did not want to feed into the narrative of Muslim men being aggressive. I didn’t want to fuel hatred or racism. But silence breeds complicity, and am now telling this story in order to heal.

“I didn’t want to feed the narrative of anti-Muslim hatred or racism, so I covered up a story of a hateful, abusive Muslim man feeding the narrative.”

Are empowered feminist shitlib women sick in the head, or are social pressures and dysfunction in the West simply permitting the omnipresent female id, including its worst instincts, to break out of its cage and roam freely? Perhaps feminist cunts with a pathologically enlarged empathy gland for foreign scum are more susceptible to indulging their primitive sexual compulsions when societal guardrails are removed?

Or maybe these shitlib chicks are unattractive and lonely and ignored by the alpha White men who are in vanishing supply among their shitlib social set.

Are they just garden variety attention whores?

This is Lacy MacAuley:

Manjaw. Manlips. Thousand cock stare. A bad combo for the continuation of Western Civ. This woman is a walking biohazard sign warning that you’ll have to check your sanity and illusion of paternity certainty at the door if you get involved with her.

How many women are like Lacy, in full-throated assault against their own culture and White men as they scuttle to shitholes to sexually adopt gutter filth pets as vanity projects to affirm their twisted libshit morality and soothe their undernourished maternal instinct? A thousand? A million? Tens of millions?

Canary in a coal burner. The Lacys of the West are a wide-open omen of social collapse coming to an endocrine-disrupted globalized outpost near you.

***

PS On the subject of international hedonism, was G Manifesto at the Fyre Festival?

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