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Archive for the ‘The Id Monster’ Category

Porn for women is an overlooked phenomenon, partly because the type of porn that stimulates women isn’t as visually arresting as the porn that consumes men. The pink and moist pyrotechnics we associate with the online porn that readily captures male attention does little for women (though recent data suggest more women are turning to online porn for sexual relief, the numbers are still low, under 20%).

Female porn utilizes a different medium of arousal delivery, but the effect on the female libido and ability to form healthy relationships is just as profound as that of online porn’s effect on men.

So what is female porn? It’s pulp romance — in the form of books, movies and TV — that caresses lady limbic lobes to sprout slick clit dick. In a word: words.

More wokely, a lot of that female porn is rape fantasy porn.

The premise: women are different than men, in the most fundamental ways imaginable. Evolution as old as time has resulted in a sexually reproducing species that has inherited sexual, mental and psychological traits differentiating the sexes.

If you can’t accept this premise (self-delusion is a widespread affliction in post-America), then you won’t understand how it is words can have the same power over women’s horny levels that graphic crotch-slapping close-ups have on men’s horny levels. Nevertheless, it’s true. Women are turned on when they read salacious stories that allow their hindminds to fill in the sticky details.

There are hundreds of thousands of self-published ebook authors, but according to Amazon, only 40 of these have managed to make a profit by selling over 1 million copies of their ebooks over the last five years. Ms. Wild happens to be one of them. What is her secret? […]

So let’s look at what Ms. Wild writes about in her novels. Her first novel, Hardwired, is about a young woman’s encounters with “an array of sexual kinks.” Her subsequent novels are along the same vein. At the end of the article, a writer for Ms. Wild’s new publishing house says she is happy to “focus on writing sex scenes” because: “I just want to write wicked hot books.”

And here the light begins to flicker onto the truth. Under the euphemism of “romance,” Ms. Wild peddles erotica, the literary equivalent of pornography. While her books are not filled with nude photographs or graphic video, they contain the same drug reconstituted into another form: words that translate into pornographic images which burn into the minds of their readers (to see for yourself, excerpts of her novels are available on her website).

Ms. Wild, it turns out, is the female equivalent of Hugh Hefner. She is a verbal drug pusher, shoving words as potent as cocaine at her own gender.

And droves of women are clearly addicted. In an industry that is insanely competitive, where most authors earn below the poverty line, Ms. Wild’s first novel, published in 2014, was making $500,000 in royalties per month soon after its release. Ms. Wild sold a total of 1.4 million copies of this book and agreed to a $6.25 million advance for five books. She also started a new publishing house, which has already sold more than a million copies and hit the New York Times Bestseller list with one of its first titles, Calendar Girl.

The bottom line on the numbers of female porn consumers:

But according to Laurie Kahn, producer of the documentary film Love Between the Covers: “More than 70 million people in the USA alone read at least one romance novel per year, and most of them read many more.”

The US Census for 2015 shows there are 100 million women between 18 and 64 years old living in the United States. If Kahn’s number is correct, and assuming that the majority of those “70 million people” are women, then up to 70 percent of American women are covertly consuming literary pornography.

Pleasureman wept.

Does any of this matter? Parents want to shield their kids from visual porn, but they don’t feel nearly the same protective affront when a woman is reading a pulp romance novel in public.

You are sitting on a bus during your morning commute. In the seat next to you, there is a male passenger reading Penthouse. Chances are you may feel upset, perhaps disgusted. You might even demand that he stop.

On the other side, there is a female passenger holding a book with a very plain cover, entitled Into the Fire. With a mysterious title like that, this book could be about anything. If you ask, the passenger will tell you that it is a “romance” novel by Meredith Wild. The passenger has always loved these kinds of books, she tells you, ever since she read Jane Austen as a teenager. Innocent fairy tale, you conclude.

Both passengers are consuming pornography. But the woman is doing it so discreetly that almost no one recognizes it—often, not even the statistics.

Here’s the thing: the woman reading Into the Fire on the bus is popping a public lady boner just as assuredly as a man scouring Pornclearinghouse on his iPhag is jutting impudently into the public space. From five feet away, typeset is harder to discern than a streaming PIV video; that’s the only difference between the porn-consuming man and woman and the social norms they are violating.

Among those who admit that romance literature is pornography, there is a tendency to consider it “soft-core” (some also downplay it as “mommy porn“). This implies that it is less potent and less dangerous than the “hard” visual stuff that fries the brains of men.

When viewed from a male perspective, it makes sense to classify “pornmance” as “soft” pornography. Men are more visual than women, so they respond more strongly to photographs and video. To men, images are like crack cocaine, and literary pornography is mere marijuana.

But for women, the opposite is true. Women are less visual, and so less attracted to the internet pornography that is irresistible to men. For women, visual pornography should be considered a light beer while the emotionally charged “pornmance” novel is 70-proof liquor, hard-core pornography.

100% truefact. This is something that tradcons don’t get.

And there are many “romance alcoholics.” Women get addicted to romance books in the same way that men get addicted to photographs and videos. In 2011, one psychologist reported that she was “seeing more and more women who are clinically addicted to romantic books.”

Time for a NO DIDDLE movement.

Like other addictions, “pornmance” novels mess with women’s brains and wreak havoc in their lives. According to therapists, these books can cause women to become dissatisfied with their marriages, to become “dangerously unbalanced,” and according to a pornography addiction counselor, to have affairs.

A smarmy white knight would never finger a cause for the high divorce rate that didn’t apportion blame entirely on men. In the pussy pedestaler’s worldview, only drunk, abusive, layabout men end marriages. To them, women aren’t capable of crass sexual escapism driven by primal insatiable lusts.

Is it mere coincidence that nearly 70 percent of divorces in the United States are initiated by women?

The authoress of this article, Lea Singh, must be a CH reader. Little spoon?

If online porn is a problem for society, then so is word porn. If you argue that online porn is causing men to “drop out” and deep-six their marriages and relationships, then you have to also argue that word porn is causing women to do the same.

I’ve said it before to obstinate tradcons and their ironic bedfellows, the man-hating feminist cunts:

It takes two to tango. Especially if that tango two-steps to the metagrave.

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Via Shiv Maester chris, a study that puts hard numbers to women’s sexual (and thus romantic) worth.

This gives us data showing that late teens to early twenties women are twice the value of a 30 year old women, and the 30 year old woman is twice the value of a 40 year old woman.

Women who leave settling down till they have finished college and started a career/paid off college debts are screwing themselves over when it comes to capitalising on their attractiveness to secure a high value long term mate.

By examining what men are willing to pay for sex, Professor Sohn provides a new window onto this issue of fertility and attraction. Men do not have unrestrained choice in whom they marry or date, but they do get to choose whether or not to pay a prostitute for sex, and the amount they are willing to pay reveals something about what they most prefer. Economists call this “revealed preferences,” assuming that the amount we are willing to pay for any commodity gives a good index of how much we value it.

womensvalue

That is some stone cold id-vivisecting truth right there. Am I a sadist for pressing this news above the fold? Sure. But I am also a giver. A humanitarian, even, whose message, if heeded, will save the love lives of many, many post-America wayward women.

A 40-year-old woman is worth (sexually) half of a 30-year-old woman, who is worth half of a 20-year-old vixen. These incontestable facts about the nature of the sexual market matter, and matter in big ways, to women’s romantic fortunes.

PS Despite the age-related radical decrease in prostitute’s earnings, it is funny to note that a 40-year-old actual whore still makes more than an established 40-year-old corporate whore. Even bad sex is more valuable to men than a paper pushing HR schoolmarm.

PeePeeEss Big swinging stones to the first shivlord who sports a tee with that hourly earnings graphic above on it, and swaggers into daylight to hit on girls while wearing it.

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Zero integrity spergratsnake Ted Cruz betrayed his pledge to endorse the GOP nominee and soapboxed tonight about his “conscience”, refusing to endorse Trump in a speech that was delivered in draft format only two hours before Cruz’s scheduled podium time.

The Trumpioso family sat in the audience somberly listening to Cruz’s speech, each of them looking like they were about to give the kiss of death to Scruz’s political career.

thedonwillseeyounow

In order:

Disgust, Anger, Contempt.

All three are vital emotions that have been sorely missing from the American Right, and never more needed than now.

Ivanka’s expression is the most soul-killing. That’s the look a woman gives to a man who proves himself a coward.

thedondondon

You’re fired….from life.

It bears repeating that this is the greatest US election season in living memory. And the fun is only just beginning. Wait until TheCunt is squarely in Don Trump’s cross hairs.

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Reader Mutant Seven gushes,

CH, your trolling of Joyce Carol Oats is one of the highlight of my day! I read your tweets with my morning coffee before work and they put me in a sunny mood for the rest of the day. She just keeps barfing up the same tony progressive cliches, and you just keep swatting them aside one by one. The time you suggested she may be suffering from toxoplasma gondii was a hilarious zenith, but today’s unrelenting rope-a-dope was like a marathon of mirth. Thanks for the good times!

Believe me, the pleasure was all mine. For those wondering what this is about, click here, or here, for representative excerpts of the CH-Joyce Traveling Shiv Show. Unfortunately, it looks like Joyce, finally!, blocked yer magnanimous soul-carver after a year of shiv twists that would have left a sane cat lady yenta reaching for her pills by day two of her Twatter torment.

I don’t have a particular animus for Joyce beyond her service to me as a stand-in for every aging shitlib spinster with the gall to think she can happily waltz into a rhetorical freefire zone without receiving a .50 caliber shiv to the id, and unload a Lifetime Channel’s worth of vapid (((anti-White platitudes))) while operating under the impression her boilerplate liberalism counts as deeply suppressed truths.

For all practical purposes, Joyce was my muse to abuse, as a lesson for the others. That lesson?

Their time as race equalism propagandists shielded from blowback by the media Hivemind and from inside insular liberal cryodomes scattered along the US coasts is over. There’s a new paradigm in town. The front line is everywhere.

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Post-Nice, post-Dallas, and post-…well, pretty much every mass killing that’s happened in the last five years, I’ve been hearing a lot of comments from shitlibs bemoaning the “exhaustion” they feel over all these events, and how it’s more important that ever to keep hope alive and tell people to love each other.

This is the classic shitlib retreat to sentimentality, coupled with a gnawing sense that surrender is about to subsume them, that happens when near-daily doses of reality put the lie, bluntly and relentlessly, to their equalism religion. Liberals retreat to sentimentality when inconvenient facts are freely aired, and surge forward with snark when facts are suppressed. As a Twatter reader observes:

Leftists I know:
2009 – happy, hopeful
2013 – angry, gloating, bullying
2016 – tired, confused, afraid

Why are shitlibs exhausted? Because they’re losing their religion. Religious beliefs — and make no mistake the typical shitlib’s belief in race creationism and autonomic White perfidy is as piously felt and immune to contradicting evidence or reason as any radical muslim’s belief in the teachings of the koran — are hard to dislodge without causing extreme emotional distress.

Religious fanatics, when emotionally distressed by an uncooperative reality, double down on adherence to their beliefs. We see this happening all over the West, as shitlibs and the cucks who lap their runny effluvia come to sound more like gibbering lunatics than sensible classical liberals as the mountain of evidence discrediting their kumbaya worldview crushes them into a brainless paste.

But there’s a stage after the doubling-down. That’s exhaustion. It’s when you’ve lost that loving feeling for your Synagogue but you can’t yet let go of everything you’ve believed in since you were a wee shitlib bouncing on your libdaddy’s lap. Exhaustion, the feeling of it or the claiming of it, is how a shitlib reconciles her cognitive dissonance. No more fighting, now. No more raging against the BadWhites. Just sweet release into the long slumber of empty, nihilist, emotional vacuity. Rest your weary head on that inviting id-pillow, sing “Imagine” in a low whisper, and maybe, just maybe, you’ll wake up tomorrow to a fresh injection of ego-assuaging feelz. Usually this ego reaffirmation takes the form of the shitlib clinging to her rare outlier while ignoring overwhelmingly common instances of the opposite occurring.

***

Related, media shitlibs have taken to cooing stuff like “We can’t let fear and anger dictate our policies.” Newsflash, fear and anger are justified responses to endless violent attacks by enemies within. Fear and anger motivate actions to defend oneself from continuing attacks on one’s countrymen. If you aren’t fearful or angry, you’re holding a useless candlelight vigil and hoping the next truck doesn’t run over you and yours.

Snarky, juvenile language allows media shitlibs to emotionally disengage from a credible threat to one of their own. To wit, shitlibs also like to say “let’s not reduce this problem to something simplistic.” No, of course not. Complicating a rather straightforward horror show — muslim aggression against infidel White Westerners — is the rhetorical legerdemain that allows shitlibs to maintain a facsimile of faith in their Equalism ideology. What the shitlib mistakes for simplicity is to the sane mind known as clarity. More clarity, please, and don’t stop with the clarity until every last shitlib is too exhausted to fagslap the shitlord army as they’re assuming control of the main engine room.

Executive summary:

Houellebecq was right.
Powell was right.
Raspail was right.
Juvenal was right.
CH was right.
Modern liberalism is wrong.

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I predicted on the Twatter that underprivileged muslims would target iconic European landmarks, like the Eiffel Tower. WELP. France is on fire…again.

I wonder when it will be the Western White elite give up on their open borders ethnic cleansing pogrom swamping native Whites in their homelands with third world trash. How many dead bodies have to hit the floor before deluded or malicious leftoids renounce their race creationism religion?

Rhetorical. Too many. The right answer is removing these perfidious leftoids from power. By force, if it comes to that. And the hour is late.

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An early 30s woman I know through a lover likes to regale friends who will listen with tales of her sordid sex life. (If you want to know what happens to a woman’s vagina if she’s still single by her thirties, think of a flowering rose…mashed into a slab of ground beef.)

One of her adventures included a break-up with a caddish loafer, followed by a two month-long rebound “””boyfriend””” who was dumped one month after her ex-jerkboy sent her a two word text (accompanied by a thumbs up emoji) at 1am: “wut up”. Sometime during her fling with the rebound, she openly stated when he was out of earshot that he wasn’t a serious contender and that little did he know she was fucking her ex-jerkboy on the side (her ardor obviously reignited by his eloquent late-night text). Oh, and to add colorful detail to the story, since she “didn’t have those kinds of feelings” for the rebound boyfriend, she withheld her pussy from him and only permitted mouth and anal access.

To her ex-jerkboy’s credit, he wisely said no to getting back together in a relationship context.

Let me just preface here that the clearest view of women’s true sexual nature is from the vantage point of a man who has gotten “in”, in every sense of the preposition, with a crowd of attractive young women. You will hear, and sometimes see, and occasionally participate in, everything that the average bumbling beta male does not. If observed patterns at the individual level are indicative of general behavior at the societal level, then the view is a disillusioning one indeed for those who nurture a streak of quaint romanticism.

A thought intrudes: What would the sexual market look like if all men, appeasing betas included, had first-hand knowledge of women’s most intimate goings-on? Women have a vested interest in maintaining a quasi-lockdown on unsanitized information about their sexual behavior reaching the mass audience of potential male suitors. But if men had Pussy-vision — that is, if men could see women’s secret world through the cylindrical scope of their vaginas — how would the sexual market change?

Would, say, the rebound man in the story above, if Pussy-vision pinkly illuminated the world of women for him, have continued dating and investing his time and money and energy into this girl who refused him her vagina but gave it freely and furtively and concurrently to an ex who invested nothing in her that didn’t require more than a perfunctory text solicitation?

What about other female behaviors that most men, especially White men, consider distasteful or even depraved and evidence that the woman exhibiting them is unworthy of marriage, or a carton of Skittles on her birthday? How would the typical White man respond if he suddenly knew that the bubbly HR girl he has started dating once shacked up with a black guy who left her with a bruise and an abortion?I’ll cut to the lace.

These rhetorical questions answer themselves. If Pussy-vision were real, the sexual market would change radically, and not to the benefit of women or of society. You’d see a lot more pump and dumping, a lot fewer engagement rings and $40K wedding circuses, and increased market demand for sexbots, virtual reality porn, and libido-numbing interventions.

Alpha males would hesitate more to commit, greater beta males would kick out the last leg of their pussy pedestal and consequently score with more women, lesser beta males would shy from asking girls out even more than they already do, and omega males would, to women’s consternation, become bolder in asking for raunchy sex, not unjustifiably assuming that skanks who have taken it up the pooper on first dates might not have a properly functioning discretion filter.

These would be the immediate effects. Eventually, (if Pussy-vision were real), the wholesale abandonment of men from the LTR and marriage market would drive women’s behaviors in the direction of chasteness, modesty, low partner count, deference to male prerogative, and vulnerable femininity, (and away from mudsharking, you bet your ass). Hmm, not unlike how it used to be prior 1960 or thereabouts.

So, did pre-1960 American men have Pussy-vision? In a way, they did. No, they weren’t seeing the world close-up through women’s vaginas, but the culture was a healthy one that acted as a proxy Pussy-vision instrument, instructing men in the traits and behaviors of women who are worthy of long-term investment. Men didn’t need to spend years in the banging trenches to learn the true nature of women; they had fathers (and mothers!) and friends and institutions teaching them, forthrightly or round-aboutly, the shapely contours and tell-tale demeanor of the marriage-worthy woman.

What has happened since then is the warehousing of Pussy-vision out of sight of the everyday man. In a way, Pussy-vision is real, but now only for a select few alpha lords who have the key to the secret garden and a peen’s-eye-view of unkempt, chaotic, dizzyingly feral female sexuality. For the rest, the culture has not only jettisoned the concept of Pussy-vision, it actively works to promote the opposite of Pussy-vision:

Beaver-blindness.

Which would not be such a mentally handicapping thing if women were, in fact, worthy of investment. Beaver-blindness is the benefit of the doubt women receive when they are truly keeping up their end of the bargain: namely, don’t have an N-count that could rival a porn star’s and don’t delude yourself into thinking ass sex is an acceptable virginity-preserving substitute.

But Beaver-blindness is metadeath to the idealistic man living during an era of unrestricted female licentiousness, either as practiced or as imbibed by a go-girl propaganda machine that encourages and glorifies sexual amorphism and the taking on by women of the traditional roles and behaviors normally associated with male sexuality. Beaver-blindness is wilful castration when pussy is liberated from male expectation and discernment. It’s basically telling women, “Do what you will, I have neither the inclination nor the capacity to judge your worth as a lover and a partner in life.”

Naturally, women HATE HATE HATE nonjudgmental men who let them get away with the farm, (even as they tell social scientist surveyors and gullible male feminists the opposite). The only counter to liberated pussy is donning the Pussy-vision goggles and treating women exactly how they allow themselves to be treated. This will improve the enwhitened man’s love life and may, paradoxically, persuade women to reject the liberation of their sex.

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