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Archive for the ‘The Id Monster’ Category

Reader Chris from Dublin pens a stirring love letter to one of 20th Century filmdom’s most iconic (and loveable) alpha male jerkboys, and in the penning touches upon the abiding Heartistian sexual market truths that infuse the movie The Breakfast Club.

It was really only a matter of time before the Chateau would focus on John Bender of ‘The Breakfast Club’.

John Bender , brilliantly played by Judd Nelson (who was 26 at the time of shooting), easily ranks alongside Marlon Brando in ‘The Wild One’ and James Dean in ‘Rebel Without A Cause’ as one of the great cinema badboys, arguably the best of all because of his gritty suburban realism. It is deplorable that Nelson was not at least nominated for an Oscar for his performance and if he does no other work of note, ‘The Breakfast Club’ remains an outstanding achievement of his.

‘The Breakfast Club’ is John Hughes’s best film with a completeness that his other great work, ‘Ferris Bueller’s Day Off’, slightly lacks. What both films share is an enigmatic and deeply charismatic central character around whom the rest of the film orbits. ‘Ferris Bueller’s Day Off’ lacks the ensemble quality of script or performance of ‘The Breakfast Club’ and is also more of a straightforward fantasy (with it being generally accepted that Ferris Bueller is Cameron’s alter-ego, the man who the trapped and frustrated Cameron wants to be). Ferris Bueller is a far less likeable character than John Bender and, although no high-school bowsie like Bender would, in real life, possess the wit and articulacy that Nelson’s character has, this is no shortcoming of the film – it is, as the Chateau points out, a fantasy.

John Bender has an advantage over the characters played by Brando and Dean because, if for no other reason, ‘The Breakfast Club’ has a higher production standard than those films of the 1950’s and, as such, it is easier to watch. By the time John Hughes came around to the height of his career a more liberal attitude and practice had entered mainstream cinema allowing ‘The Breakfast Club’ to use explicit language and themes which would not have been considered in the 1950’s.

In terms of finding alpha moments, ‘The Breakfast Club’ has probably one of the richest repositories of such of any mainstream film. Bender spends nearly all of the film pissing off Princess Claire (Molly Ringwald) but the sexual tension between them grows incrementally and it becomes more and more obvious that Bender has seriously burrowed into her psyche – hear those tingles chime. When Brian interrupts their sexy ‘Moliere’ moment, Bender flings a damaged book at him in rage, but the sexual frisson is unmistakable.

As interesting is the vicious rivalry between Bender and Andrew Clarke (played by Emilio Estevez), the straight and serious beta jock who initially hits on Claire but gets politely declined.

Here’s why ‘The Breakfast Club’ is such a hit – it depicts the three levels of existence:-

Alpha: Bender and Claire
Beta: Andrew / Sporto and Alison / Emo (and they end up getting it on together by the end. Classic beta – Andrew doesn’t get alpha girl and has to settle).
Omega: Brian (who ends up getting nobody).

In that regard it is wrong to describe Brian as the beta nice-guy – Brian is the omega, while Andrew is the beta. Brian knows that he has no chance with an alpha female like Claire and can only fantasise, as Bender exposes him for doing, to his even greater shame. Andrew is not a nice-guy as such but he is a beta insofar as he is committed to conforming and playing within the system. Also his particular type of beta-dom manifests as butt-hurt and bitter rather than ‘nice-guy’. Remember that Brian ended up in detention for having a gun in his locker because he wanted to commit suicide. Andrew ended up in detention because he attacked a weaker boy in the locker room, very likely a subconscious manifestation of his frustration at having been pushed into an athletic lifestyle, to get a scholarship, that he did not want. Indeed, Bender makes a laugh of this scholarship nonsense during the film when he arses around in the gym and is taunting the deputy principal. This is another instance of Bender’s alpha-dom – he has taken a hit for the group by distracting the deputy principal (a great performance from Paul Gleason) while he lays on cannabis for the rest of the group (and see how that would go down in today’s America … !) As an alpha, the young prince is bestowing his weed upon the minions.

This film was released in 1985 and I remember that it made a huge impression upon us over here in Ireland – we were amazed to see how short Judd Nelson really is in real life (the photography had hidden this very well). At the time I was twelve, attending a bourgeois Roman catholic all-boys’ secondary school in Dublin, and Bender was like something from the space age, the man we all wanted to be, or to have like us. In hindsight our school was a deeply damaging environment of papist omega-dom and, in particular, our form teacher was a disgusting omega worm – unmarried, he spent his whole life in the school, engaged in the various ‘activities’ that seem to obsess such places and he boasted of how he had devoted himself to the “welfare of the boys” (* crickets *). I hated him from the start and it is interesting to recall that the other John Bender types at school felt the same way, and wanted nothing to do with him. That school was no proper environment for any impressionable teenage boy and it is significant that I felt the same way then as I do now, in my forties. As a place where adolescents could be moulded to cope with the realities of life it was hopeless and was no example for any boy.

Ultimately John Bender will always be a fantasy character, as the Chateau freely admits, but his defiance remains as inspirational and relevant today as ever before, leaving ‘The Breakfast Club’ as one of the greatest teen movies of all time.

Although the term beta gets tossed around here a bit cavalierly (as a matter of convenience and artistic license), in reality most beta males will wind up with a girl in their lives. The problem is that it will rarely be their first choice. (Omega males are the men who can spend years tormented by their incel.)

Game, or learned charisma, offers beta males the tools to increase their dating market purchasing power and thus to decrease the odds they will have to settle, or to settle very far down the female ladder. Charisma can help all men, but I believe the biggest benefactors are betas, due in part to their lower initial obstacles and to the law of diminishing returns (that latter being the reason why natural alphas are often given to scoffing at game).

In TBC, Bender was an alpha male… he got the hot girl that other guys wanted. Bender was also a specific class of alpha: The lone wolf, rule-breaking, leader of women alpha male who, I understand, would be called a Sigma Male by Vox Day.

In every respect, Bender was that cynical, aloof jerkboy chicks have a habit of falling hard for. He may not have been the most noble, or admirable, or competent man — he may even have had his personal moral and character failings that would disqualify him from leading men — but no one ever claimed that the alpha male was necessarily a paragon of virtue, nor that women would never choose men of Bender’s unruly temperament and poor character over better men. If we were to judge women’s characters by the men for whom they freely divulge their sex, I’d say the ledger of self-abasement is represented equally by the sexes.

Off-topic, Chris adds,

***** OTHER NEWS:-

Social meltdown has hit Ireland. There is a level of social unrest across middle Ireland, across the type of people who would never cause trouble in their wildest dreams, that is unprecedented. There is a particular type of person who, when they become angry, release all hell. It’s not entering the mainstream media of the UK or North America, because the powers that be are too scared. When Ireland explodes it will take the rest of the world with it – it’s begun.

Look up “Irish Water” and “Irish Water protests”.

Bring the flames …

Any Irish CH readers know something about this? What a teaser…

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Ah, dat jerkboy charisma. Chicks dig it. If you’ve been a regular guest of the Chateau, you’ll know why chicks dig jerks, and you’ll know why cultivating your inner jerkboy is a pillar of Game teachings.

For a long time, CH was out there, a retreat in the deep wood willing to preach the Rude Word to any lost and yearning soul stumbling along the stony path leading to the ancient oak doors. Few knew of our secretive hideaway, fewer still could grasp the revolutionary nature of our message.

But our mischievous proselytizing has finally breached the sound barrier of the mainstream information gatekeepers (and from the reaction to their first line of defense crumbling, they don’t like it). As one reader who forwarded the following article wrote,

The substance of this article will present no surprises.  The tone of the author, apologetic and disturbed by the findings, will also present no surprises.

Not at all. The Atlantic is the latest Hivemind organ to hate itself for falling in love with Le Chateau.

Why It Pays to Be a Jerk

New research confirms what they say about nice guys.

The suspense is killing me! I hope it lasts.

At the University of Amsterdam, researchers have found that semi-obnoxious behavior not only can make a person seem more powerful, but can make them more powerful, period. The same goes for overconfidence. Act like you’re the smartest person [ed: or sexiest man] in the room, a series of striking studies demonstrates, and you’ll up your chances of running the show.

The Atlantic agrees with CH that overconfidence is the heart of game.

People will even pay to be treated shabbily: snobbish, condescending salespeople at luxury retailers extract more money from shoppers than their more agreeable counterparts do.

Seduction is the art of selling yourself to women. And just as it is in the realm of business sales, snobbish, entitled jerkboys are the most successful at selling their promise of pleasures to women.

“We believe we want people who are modest, authentic, and all the things we rate positively” to be our leaders, says Jeffrey Pfeffer, a business professor at Stanford. “But we find it’s all the things we rate negatively”—like immodesty—“that are the best predictors of higher salaries or getting chosen for a leadership position.”

Humans aren’t a rational species; they’re a rationalizing species.

“What happens if you put a python and a chicken in a cage together?,” Pfeffer asked him. The former student looked lost. “Does the python ask what kind of chicken it is? No. The python eats the chicken.”

“You’re like a big bear with claws and with fangs…and she’s just like this little bunny, who’s just kinda cowering in the corner.”

But, careful… all jerk and no softie makes Jack a d-bag.

In Grant’s framework, the mentor in this story would be classified as a “taker,” which brings us to a major complexity in his findings. Givers dominate not only the top of the success ladder but the bottom, too, precisely because they risk exploitation by takers.

All well and good. You can’t expect to lord it over all the people all the time without attention given to your reception. However… if you HAD to choose between being a niceguy and a 24/7 asshole…

ALWAYS CHOOSE ASSHOLE. To wit:

Consider the following two scenes. In the first, a man takes a seat at an outdoor café in Amsterdam, carefully examines the menu before returning it to its holder, and lights a cigarette. When the waiter arrives to take his order, he looks up and nods hello. “May I have a vegetarian sandwich and a sweet coffee, please?” he asks. “Thank you.”

In the second, the same man takes the same seat at the same outdoor café in Amsterdam. He puts his feet up on an adjoining seat, taps his cigarette ashes onto the ground, and doesn’t bother putting the menu back into its holder. “Uh, bring me a vegetarian sandwich and a sweet coffee,” he grunts, staring past the waiter into space. He crushes the cigarette under his shoe.

Dutch researchers staged and filmed each scene as part of a 2011 study designed to examine “norm violations.” Research stretching back to at least 1972 had shown that power corrupts, or at least disinhibits. High-powered people are more likely to take an extra cookie from a common plate, chew with their mouths open, spread crumbs, stereotype, patronize, interrupt, ignore the feelings of others, invade their personal space, and claim credit for their contributions. “But we also thought it could be the other way around,” Gerben van Kleef, the study’s lead author, told me. He wanted to know whether breaking rules could help people ascend to power in the first place.

Yes, he found. The norm-violating version of the man in the video was, in the eyes of viewers, more likely to wield power than his politer self. And in a series of follow-up studies involving different pairs of videos, participants, responding to prompts, made statements such as “I would like this person as my boss” and “I would give this person a promotion.”

“I would open my legs for this jerk.”

Ok, if being a jerkboy is so personally rewarding, the inevitable question follows,

Instead of asking why some people bully or violate norms, researchers are asking: Why doesn’t everyone? […]

“That’s a complexity of humans,” Faris says: it was not until after the human-chimpanzee split that Homo sapiens developed a newer, uniquely human path to power. Scholars call it “prestige.”

There are different kinds of ways to project power (and consequently arouse women). “Prestige” is better-known to students of Game as Demonstrating Higher Value.

The Atlantic even goes so far to wonder if the Game axiom “Fake it till you create it” is a real thing:

I did wonder, though: Could the apprentice actors [tasked with acting irrationally confident], given enough time, come to inhabit their roles more fully? Anderson noted that self-delusion among his study’s participants could have been the product of earlier behaviors. “Maybe they faked it until they made it and that became them.” We are what we repeatedly do, as Aristotle observed.

Ripped from the Chateau headlines.

In fact, it’s easy to see how an initial advantage derived from a lack of self-awareness, or from a deliberate attempt to fake competence, or from a variety of other, similar heelish behaviors could become permanent. Once a hierarchy emerges, the literature shows, people tend to construct after-the-fact rationalizations about why those in charge should be in charge.

“Once a woman falls hard for a charming jerkboy, she tends to construct after-the-fact rationalizations about why the jerk she loves should be her soulmate.”

Likewise, the experience of power leads people to exhibit yet more power-signaling behaviors (displaying aggressive body language, taking extra cookies from the common plate).

Success with women breeds more success with women.

It is possible, of course, to reframe Anderson’s conclusions so that, for instance, initiative is itself a competence, in which case groups would be selecting their leaders more rationally than he supposes. But is a loudmouth the same thing as a leader?

aka the “bustamove” theory of Game.

So what is that special sauce that jerkboys have which flavors a woman’s life? Or anyone’s life?

When I thought about whether I had friends or associates who fit Aaron James’s definition of an asshole, I could come up with two. I couldn’t pinpoint why I spent time with them, other than the fact that life seemed larger, grander—like the world was a little more at your feet—when they were around.

“I want more LIFE, fucker!”

Then I thought of the water skis.

Some friends had rented a powerboat. We had already taken it out on the water when someone remarked, above the engine noise, that it was too bad we didn’t have any water skis. That would have been fun.

Within a few minutes, an acquaintance I will call Jordan had the boat pulled up to a dock where a boy of maybe 8 or 9 was alone. Do you have any water skis?

The boy seemed unprepared for the question. Not really, he said. There might be some in storage, but only his parents would know. Well, would you be a champ and run back to the house and ask them? The boy did not look like he wanted to. But he did.

The rest of us in the boat shared the boy’s astonishment (Who asks that sort of question?), his reluctance to turn a nominally polite encounter into a disagreeable one, and perhaps the same paralysis: no one said anything to stop the exchange. But that’s the thing. Spend time with the Jordans of the world and you’re apt to get things you are not entitled to—the choice table at the overbooked restaurant, the courtside tickets you’d never ask for yourself—without ever having to be the bad guy. The transgression was Jordan’s. The spoils were the group’s.

The transgression is the jerkboy’s. The romantic spoils are the women’s.

Isolating the effects of taker behavior on group welfare is exactly what van Kleef, the Dutch social psychologist, and fellow researchers set out to do in their coffee-pot study of 2012.

At first blush, the study seems simple. Two people are told a cover story about a task they’re going to perform. One of them—a male confederate used in each pair throughout the study—steals coffee from a pot on a researcher’s desk. What effect does his stealing have on the other person’s willingness to put him in charge?

The answer: It depends. If he simply steals one cup of coffee for himself, his power affordance shrinks slightly. If, on the other hand, he steals the pot and pours cups for himself and the other person, his power affordance spikes sharply. People want this man as their leader.

Women want to join a jerk’s world because they want to be taken on a mutually satisfying adventure.

I related this to Adam Grant. “What about the person who gets resources for the group without stealing coffee?” he asked. “That’s a comparison I would like to see.”

It was a comparison, actually, that van Kleef had run. When the man did just that—poured coffee for the other person without stealing it—his ratings collapsed. Massively. He became less suited for leadership, in the eyes of others, than any other version of himself.

If you’re nothing but a niceguy, people will come to despise you because you will be giving away your generosity as if it was worthless.

[C]ould rudeness cause other people to open their wallets too?

The answer was a qualified yes. When it came to “aspirational” brands like Gucci, Burberry, and Louis Vuitton, participants were willing to pay more in a scenario in which they felt rejected. But the qualifications were major. A customer had to feel a longing for the brand, and if the salesperson did not look the image the brand was trying to project, condescension backfired. For mass-market retailers like the Gap, American Eagle, and H&M, rejection backfired regardless.

This qualification exists in the field of pickup too. Acting like an egotistic jerk while hitting on fatties projects an incongruence. Hotties will scorn you, and the fatties will feel even more “devalidated” than they did before you leveled your very special attention on them. Interestingly, this aspect of jerkitude verifies the game technique of peacocking. If you stand out in a little way from the crowd of betas, your jerky charisma will be better received because you’ll be projecting a “brand image” of a man who breaks norms.

Luxury retail is a very specific realm. But the study also points toward a bigger and more general qualification of the advantage to being a jerk: should something go wrong, jerks don’t have a reserve of goodwill to fall back on.

This is why you’ve gotta mix up your jerkballs with some slow pitches, especially if you want a long-term relationship with a girl. A jerkboy can keep a woman spinning in a dizzying drama orbit for a long time, but eventually, should a major fault line erupt, she’ll come back down to earth, and if you haven’t provided at least a little padding for her landing the crash could be spectacular.

([Being a jerk] is also marginally more likely to fail you, several studies suggest, if you’re a woman.)

Contrary popular but embittered feminist belief, men don’t dig bitches (unless they’re smoking hot).

Yet in at least three situations, a touch of jerkiness can be helpful. […] The third—not fully explored here, but worth mentioning—is when the group’s survival is in question, speed is essential, and a paralyzing existential doubt is in the air.

Jerkitude is really helpful to your game right at that precarious decision-making point of your first meeting with a girl. When she’s wondering if you’re an interesting man she’d like to get to know is when being a jerk will nudge her in the direction of wanting more of you.

But can you become the jerk women love? There’s an anecdote in the article about an entrepreneur whose life changed after he joined the Marine Corp. His time in the Marines made him more aggressive. He learned how “to go from 15 to 95 real quick”. He did this so often that his personality permanently changed to a new, jerky valence, and it carried over later into business success.

Learning to become a jerk is just like learning Game,

Without that kind of modulation—without getting a little outside our comfort zone, at least some of the time—we’re all probably less likely to reach our goals, whether we’re prickly or pleasant by disposition.

You have to get outside your comfort zone. Not a lot. Just a little push against your comfy boundaries is enough to mold you into a better man.

He believes that the most effective people are “disagreeable givers”—that is, people willing to use thorny behavior to further the well-being and success of others.

No man is a jerk store unto himself. Speaking of “disagreeable givers”, that appellation fits a lot of natural players I’ve known. They are rude and shocking and arrogant, but are also sometimes surprisingly generous, and the recipients of the jerks’ generosity value it so much more than they would from a niceguy because they are preconditioned to assume the jerk had to sacrifice a lot more “character capital” to be generous with them. It’s like getting a pat on the back from the CEO versus getting slavish praise from the mailroom grunt.

Smile at the customer. Take the initiative. Tweak a few rules. Steal cookies for your colleagues. Don’t puncture the impression that you know what you’re doing. Let the other person fill the silence. Get comfortable with discomfort. Don’t privilege your own feelings. Ask who you’re really protecting. Be tough and humane. Challenge ideas, not the people who hold them. Don’t be a slave to type.

Game 101.

And above all, don’t affix nasty, scatological labels to people.

I dunno about this one. I’ve found that girls love my occasional streaks of sadistic cruelty. Ever play the “marry fuck kill” game with a girl you’ve just met?

It’s a jerk move.

And…

wait for it…

chicks dig it!

(this post was very meta-jerk.)

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You can tell a lot about what people really value by… eureka!… listening to their conversations.

Women sometimes talk about sex — and they can be surprisingly raunchy recalling or imagining the details of intimate congress — but sex talk is hardly a major focus of their socializing amongst girl friends. Usually, one girl (the token slut) will crack a joke about the shape of the penis she inhaled and the others will collaterally cackle as part of an alliance preserving exercise. The smutcluck is dropped quickly for extended emphasis on subjects nearer and dearer to the female heart: Relationships and love.

(Slutwalk women who stick with the raunch talk for an awkwardly uncomfortable length of conversational air space tend to elicit disapproving glares and then social abandonment from their girl friends. Chicks have a limited capacity for enduring sex talk, even in their female friends.)

When women veer into R&L, as is the frequent wont of their meandering sex, their conversation assumes a VERY SERIOUS TONE.

***

INTERCHANGEABLE GIRL #1: “We’re back together.”

INTERCHANGEABLE GIRL #2: “Oh really! I didn’t know…”

INTERCHANGEABLE GIRL #!: “You didn’t know?”

[twenty  more minutes of delicate social maneuvering before getting to the meat of the topic]

INTERCHANGEABLE GIRL #2: “It’s just that he did this really nice thing and I really love that.”

INTERCHANGEABLE GIRL #1: “mmhmm, yeah that’s sweet.”

INTERCHANGEABLE GIRL #2: “And anyhow I think he tried to say he loves me.”

INTERCHANGEABLE GIRL #1: “He dropped the L word! Wow, that’s big.”

INTERCHANGEABLE GIRL #2: “Yeah, I know!”

[two more hours of hot debate about the precise wording of the boyfriend’s confession and whether it counts as a sincere exclamation of love. tack on another hour of girls #1, 3, and 4 alternately affirming girl #2’s decision to stay with her boyfriend and playing a gentle devil’s advocate for dumping the guy.]

***

Men, in the starkest of contrasts, rarely, if ever, have conversations about R&L. Instead, what do cool dudes talk about when the subject isn’t sports, work or hobbies?

***

ONE OF A KIND COOL DUDE #1: “So what happened last night? I saw you hitting on that hot blonde.”

ALSO ONE OF A KIND COOL DUDE #2: “Dude, I got her back to my place!”

VERILY, ONE OF A KIND COOL DUDE #3: “No shit! Did you tap it?”

ALSO ONE OF A KIND COOL DUDE #2: “Oh man, she was crazy. She was down on my knob, doing this thing…”

[twenty minutes of high fives and rapt attention as excruciatingly crude, detailed account is told of sex positions and composition of female squirt juice.]

NOT SO COOL DUDE #4: “Man, great stuff. Does this mean you’re gonna date her for a while?”

[sound of air being let out of balloon. full-body group cringing and disappointed looks exchanged.]

ONE OF A KIND COOL DUDE #1: “How ’bout those Dodgers?”

***

The examples I presented here are highly illustrative of real life among normal psychologically healthy human beings, but neither presupposes that men never concern themselves with relationships and love, nor that women are never interested in talking about sex. The key difference between the sexes is this:

Women are primarily interested in R&L, and secondarily interested in sex. Men are primarily interested in sex, and secondarily interested in R&L.

To punctuate the point, try to imagine a conversation between men that focused on R&L without any familiar, tension-alleviating digressions into sex talk.

***

BUTTPLAY ENTHUSIAST MANLET #1: “We’re back together. It’s been one month.”

BUTTPLAY ENTHUSIAST MANLET #2: “Aww! Tell me all about it!”

BUTTPLAY ENTHUSIAST MANLET #1: “Wellllll… she’s been really good to me lately.”

BUTTPLAY ENTHUSIAST MANLET #2: “That’s really great.”

BUTTPLAY ENTHUSIAST MANLET #1: “AAAAaaaand… I think she might’ve said she loves me.”

BUTTPLAY ENTHUSIAST MANLET #2: “Wow, that’s huge! How did that come up?”

BUTTPLAY ENTHUSIAST MANLET #1: “I’m not ENTIRELY sure she said the EXACT words ‘i love you’ but it sounded like she was trying to say them.”

BUTTPLAY ENTHUSIAST MANLET #2: “I knew there was something between you two!”

***

Preposterous on the face of it. No straight man has a conversation like this with his buddies, unless he’s auditioning for a part in a Broadway play called “My Colon For Old Fags” or “My Own Private Hide-A-Pole”.

Yes, yes, so many of you are shocked by this news. “Tell us something we don’t know, CH.” But we have entered a cultural dystopia when this common sense is rapidly being distorted and replaced by feminist and manlet poopytalk. Tragically, some of the SJW poopytalk is reaching the ears of impressionable naifs, and setting some of them on a course for self-destruction, especially those whose emotional stability is marginal.

There are CH readers with children. One of these naifs swallowing feminist slut cunt lies by the bucketful could one day be your daughter.

When bitterbitches ape the mannerisms and sociosexual predilections of men, their butthurt try-hardness is a transparent ruse all but the lappiest lapdogs can see through. A girl screeching about “opening her legs for every man BUT YOU” is assuming a twisted, false pride in a domain normally and healthfully reserved for men which she knows, deep inside where the armor of her lies yields to the rumbling growl of her id, is a phony front serving no purpose other than blind rage at the retreating world of a good man’s sincere love leaving her behind.

Case in point: The “dick is abundant and low value” girl I had to disembowel as a lesson for the others. With much pain and sorrow in my heart, I took the shiv to her exposed ego and performed a necessary duty. A duty that perhaps would, one day, somewhere, and in a fashion that social science studies would struggle to capture in their arid data sets, rescue an innocent young woman or young man from living by the lies of a loser in love.

For those still wondering what this is all about, a revelation. Above all, Le Chateau abides the Keats’ ode: “Beauty is truth, truth beauty.” Our glorious, gleaming civilization is getting uglier and further from the truth by the day. A mind full of lies contorts the body into misshapen ugliness. An ugly visage will infect the mind with ego-assuaging lies. Lies must be exposed at birth, or they will grow monstrous and consume everything beautiful in their path. In the wake of lies, ugliness follows like a toxic spindrift.

Therefore, the CH Excalibur… the Holy Heartistian Shiv… drives through the bullshit until the gore stains the hilt, so that beauty and truth may once again assert their rightful place as earthly host to humanity, and the loveless lampreys, despite their worst fears, find to their surprise a new hope for a better life…… or slink away to the icy outback where their limbic disease is quarantined to their own souls.

UPDATE

❤️SCIENCE❤️ presents her rump and accepts a meaty intrusion from yours truly before looking over her shoulder with love in her eyes.

Findings reveal that while communication patterns tend to be supportive and relationship-focused in women’s bathrooms, the graffiti in men’s bathroom walls are replete with sexual content and insults, in the course of the construction of hegemonic masculinity.

H/t commenter Strahlemann. The sex-based difference in predilection for R&L or sex talk is evident even in anonymous bathroom stalls. Chicks scrawl odes to LTRs. Men scratch sonnets to sexual slang.

If you play on Team CH, you bat 1.000. How can you not like those odds?

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This scorched-id ashvomit from a bitter, unattractive androgyne is representative of a lot of spoiled word salad written by emotionally shattered Millennials. It’s featured on the hallowed screen of the Chateau because it encapsulates just about every psychological disorder afflicting the inhabitants of the currently operative mating market.

See if you can spot the try-hard misappropriation of Heartistian ideas in her snarkbark.

My Tinder match decisions had grown more rapid and decisive. Handsome but no bio and all shirtless gym selfies? Dick is abundant and low value. Lists only an Instagram as a bio? Dick is abundant and low value. Quotes Jack Kerouac’s “The only ones for me are the mad ones…” Dick is abundant and low value. Went to Burning Man…twice? Dick is abundant and low value. Member of an improv troop? Dick is abundant and low value.

Technically, she’s right. Dick is abundant (aka sperm is cheap) and, therefore, low value. But if she were to finish her thought — she wouldn’t dare — she’d have to admit that high value dick is scarce, in fact scarcer than is high value pussy, and that her real problem is getting too much attention from loser men and not enough attention from the winner men she wants who aren’t desperate enough to momentarily flatter her self-conception as part of a low investment strategy for an easy lay with a rancid skank.

Dick is abundant and low value. I had gotten my new motto amidst the worst break-up of my life.

Break-ups are especially hard on women when they are the ones getting dumped. Women in their sexual prime are rarely cast off outright. Usually, when a man tires of his girlfriend, he strings her along and starts to check out while keeping his eye open for new possibilities. A man would have to be completely fed up with his girl to dump her cold before having another plate in his cabinet.

Shaken to my core by the degrading insults my ex had hurled at me but also mourning the permanent departure of some poetically good dick,

A frequent semantic ploy of Millennial chicks is their straining to ape the sexual prerogatives inherent to men, or their claiming to do so to an audience of like-minded bitterbitches cheering them on. The urban warrioress wants the world to know she has the sexual appetite of the most promiscuous men, because it infuses her with a false sense of power in the face of personal crisis.

I was spending a day mindlessly refreshing Twitter and reading up on how to spot sociopaths.

Dead giveaway she loves her some sociopath schwing.

Send an unsolicited photo of your lower body in your laundry-day underwear with your hand suggestively but not sexily placed over your semi and not even bothering to crop out your poor cat? Dick is abundant and low value.

If you look weird and have an unfeminine personality, it shouldn’t come as a surprise that the kinds of men contacting you are also weirdos with a poor grasp of of the concept of selling themselves.

Some will read my gleeful rejections on the many faces I encounter on Tinder as evidence of a disturbing uptick in malevolent, anti-male sentiments among single straight women. It is not. It is evidence of us arriving nearer to gender equilibrium where men can no longer happily judge the clear and abundant photos and carefully crafted profiles of women but become incensed when they take the opportunity to do the same.

This paragraph doesn’t make any sense. How does she reject on Tinder faces? With a vigorous clit flick? And how can men no longer judge the clear and abundant online dating photos of women? Are men blind, or just the men who contact her?

It was not always thus.

Painfully bad writing. If it weren’t for the internet, what would all these feminist Austen-wannabes do with their time?

I hoped that the obvious would become clear and that he’d do what I would do when faced with rejection: slink away to a remote cave and hope to find a sudden and merciful death. Instead, he flooded both my email and Facebook page with accusations of egregious superficiality and a sudden change of heart regarding my own attractiveness.

Note the subtle attractiveness-affirming humblebrag. Typical self-contradicting feminist. “I reject your patriarchal beauty standards, forthwith and egregiously. But not before I mention this one guy I rejected who acted like I wasn’t cute when it was so clear to both of us that he did think I was cute when he thought he had a chance.”

And, for all its faults, I still find Tinder delightful. […] No one can address me without my consent, which I can withdraw with an unceremonious “Unmatch” at any time. […] It is a special joy to left-swipe such profiles back into the bowels of Hades from whence they came.

Woman with low SMV imagines that a technology particularly suited to the insta-courtship, low investment preference of fly-by-night men is somehow a blow for female sexual empowerment.

When Tinder matches occurred, these men stormed into our messages with all the social grace of Steve fucking Urkel but none of his endearing sincerity with appeals like, “Sexy dress. Hook up?”

Men give women what they think women deserve. If you look like a good-to-go slut and you have a Tinder profile, most men will think you deserve little more than a dick pic.

They wore jerseys for teams that suck.

She’s got to pare down her 463-bullet point checklist by at least 462 bullet points.

And almost every last goddamn one of them found their whiskey habit absolutely fascinating.

Fascinating enough that she remembered them and wrote about them.

When these tactics repeatedly failed them,

Did the tactics fail them? This chick seems to have no comprehension of the appeal to men of the low investment, mass mailing seduction strategy. If 1 out of 100 drive-by “hey baby” Tinder come-ons work, that’s a roaring success considering the few seconds of effort it requires to put the plan in motion.

It would be sad that they inadvertently admitted that they actually just have no game if there wasn’t such a spiteful sense of entitlement in such sentiments.

Chicks dig entitled men.

Bless their blue-balled little hearts.

Alert: Unloved harridan enjoys visualizing herself in the role of temptress heartbreaker.

Meanwhile, a substantial number of other men guessed that women using Tinder might enjoy wild romantic gestures like using punctuation in sentences instead of winky faces, or asking which trains we lived off of to pick mutually convenient meeting places, or bringing their own condoms because safety is everyone’s responsibility. These men who care more about women’s realities than their own fantasies are the ones who still actually get laid on Tinder.

She’s yet to form a lasting bond with this kind of man. Mysteries of the universe.

While some women only use Tinder to seek long-term relationships, the assertion truth is that many of us are actively trying to find no-strings attached sex and even more are at least open to the possibility of it on an initial meeting.

Slut wants NSA sex, shocked to discover men who want same thing aren’t Prince Charming.

It is understandably non-negotiable for many women that this meeting take place in public because the law does not look kindly on us if we are assaulted after showing up at a new man’s home nor is it any kinder to women who welcome new men into theirs.

rapesthatwillneverhappen.txt

I am one of many women who has upgraded these initial encounters into sex and have grow increasingly skilled at selecting for only the most exceptional sex with every swipe.

David Fatrelle smiled knowingly.

One guy was 20 minutes late to our museum date and it turned out it was actually closed so we went to Ikea for our date instead. Ikea where love goes to die! Ikea. I carried his clunky-ass light fixtures across an industrial part of town in August heat wearing skinny jeans and still let him see me naked that day.

Well, that’s the kind of thing desperate LSMV women who love entitled jerks do.

I halfway had sex with an investment banker who insisted on bringing his shitty little dog into my pristine cat’s lair.

What you are witnessing is the raw, uncensored id of a loveless and unloveable shrike having a mental breakdown online as she recollects with exquisite detail and simmering rage all the badboys who dumped her after they squared away a few jackhammer sessions with her shredded snatch before moving on to less crazy pastures.

The truth is,

Autonomic female verbal tic meaning “the truth is not”.

sluts like me are everywhere on Tinder but we aren’t impressed by men who are positively beleaguered by the prospect of having to put effort into getting laid,

Funny, if you aren’t impressed by these men, why did you fuck so many of them that you were able to recall and write up a compendium of them as part of your mental health rehabilitation?

nor do we like it when they mock the boundaries of our girlfriends who want to use Tinder only for traditional dating.

Strange non sequitur. I’ll leave it as a challenge for the readers to parse its hidden meaning. My guess: She’s been used a few too many times by men as a pivot to score with her hotter girl friends.

But I’ve found enough value on Tinder to keep going, swiping and unmatching bad profiles out of my life at the first sign of unreasonable expectations.

Power Swiper. With any luck, Tinder will still be around when she’s really old (and not just old-looking), and she can assuage her butthurt spinsterhood by swiping away randos who love her as much as they love the other 100,000 Tinder ladies they’ve gallantly wooed.

Their corner of Tinder is a dark place, dense with hapless souls who didn’t realize that the centuries-long period of dick overvaluation is over.

Yet there she is, in the dark place with these hapless souls. So that makes her…?

The writer — and I use the term loosely — of this soul-scarred confessional is Alana Massey. You can follow her on Twatter here.

Esteemed winner of the CH Attention Whore of the Month award:

29-year old Millennial, or 50-year-old meth addict? If she’s the slut she says she is, she’s a great PSA for women to lay off the cock carousel.

(My shiv needs sharpening after this carving.)

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Here’s a choice quote from Sheryl Sandberg (h/t commenter Derzu Uzala) on the occasion of her husband’s death:

Dave was my rock. When I got upset, he stayed calm. When I was worried, he said it would be ok. When I wasn’t sure what to do, he figured it out.

That doesn’t sound very feminist. It sounds, instead, a lot like she loved a man who adhered to Chateau Heartiste Poon Commandment XV:

XV. Maintain your state control

You are an oak tree. You will not be manipulated by crying, yelling, lying, head games, sexual withdrawal, jealousy ploys, pity plays, shit tests, hot/cold/hot/cold, disappearing acts, or guilt trips. She will rain and thunder all around you and you will shelter her until her storm passes. She will not drag you into her chaos or uproot you. When you have mastery over yourself, you will have mastery over her.

Lean in? More like Sheryl “leaned on” her husband when she was having emotional swings, as is the wont of the female human.

Dirty leetle secret: Raging feminist soldierettes are often the women who fall hardest for men who have some game. It’s almost as if their caustic man-hating is a subconscious cry for an alpha male who isn’t a supplicating yes-beta.

Update

GBFM reveals the secret Sandberg tapes,

“While Dave was my rock, da GBFM was my cock. When I got upset, he stayed hard. When I was worried, he splooooooged in my facsccaeaz. When I wasn’t sure what to do, he figured it out in da gina hozlzlzolzozo.”

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Sweden is the flaccid tip of the rapidly deflating penis of Western civilization, so what happens there can be construed as portents of dire things to come to the rest of the West. Reader Jack Dorchol writes about his first vision upon landing at Sweden shores.

Last year I took a regular passenger ship line from Helsinki to Stockholm. It was to be my first time in Sweden. As I was disembarking the ship, the moment I put my feet on the Swedish soil I was “Welcomed to (new) Sweden” by the sight of East African multiple-wives freak show (the 4th one hid behind his back when she saw my camera.)

And this is just the first of many similar scenes playing out on the Swedish streets.

I felt the sick to my stomach the entire stay.

The suicidal tendencies of white Swedes (a qualifier one needs to employ nowadays) are breathtaking. So breathtaking, that it’s not possible to see a happy future for Sweden that doesn’t take a path first through an illuminating hellscape. I see two possibilities for the new Sweden:

1. Dissolution. Quickening cultural and economic deterioration, and absorption of white Swedes into a nonwhite polyglot via intercopulation and abysmally low native birth rates. Total demographic and cultural exhaustion.

2. Rupture. A formidable fraction of non-elite, sane-thinking white Swedes bring war home. Or this war is brought to them when a tipping point of foreign migrants utterly drain the Danegeld reserve.

Either way, Sweden is set to go through a trial by fire. What comes out the other end is disappearance, or destruction. What I don’t see happening is possibility #3: Swedish elites come to their senses, close the borders, kick out the alien squatters en masse, and reaffirm their northern white European identity. Ideological leftoids with a bad case of the non-reciprocated altruistic yips will never change their minds; the human ego is a cosmic force too powerful to defeat. They can only be removed from power and cast to the wastelands where their status-striving idiocy can’t threaten the very existence of their own nations.

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Reader Donohoe notices that, contrary to popular perception, it’s hard for women to hide their sexual desire.

Does anyone else have exes that they accidentally hurt so much that the ex can’t even talk to them?

Strolling with some chick today and saw this kinda-ex fling thing today with her new boyfriend

Her eyes met mine from across the street and she body visibly coiled up, her face turned to that of bambi’s mother before being shot, the blood draining from her face.

I smirked and walked on.

The Smirk: Leaving her better than you found her, since 1995.

Raw sexual desire is one of the toughest emotions to conceal from view. (Jealousy is perhaps the toughest.) Men are actually better at hiding their sexual desire than are women, despite most people believing otherwise, and it’s easy to see why evolution equipped men with this ability to keep their horniness levels under wraps. In the environment of evolutionary adaptation, a sexually desirous man wantonly displaying his eagerness courts the murderous glares of competitor males. A sexually desirous woman doing the same doesn’t risk her life (although she does risk her reputation and catching a slew of venereal diseases).

For men, as the sex that responds instantly to visual cues for mating opportunities, there is simply a lot more time in the day when the typical man will feel urges to fuck, these urges ranging from mild perturbations of the general body to intense conflagrations of the loins. Women, as the sex for whom attraction to men is less visual and more holistic in nature, feel urges to fuck far less frequently throughout the day.

So it is understandable that women would seem to have more control over manifestations of their sexual desire. Women don’t actually have more control; they just experience fewer moments when their sexual desire is roused from slumber.

Given the near-constant onslaught of limbic-generated horniness men must tame to function in a civilized society, it’s no wonder that as a sex, men are very good at controlling their sexual urges and carrying on as if that secretary with the heaving cleavage wasn’t setting their brains and balls aflame.

All this is to say that when you see a desire distress signal in a woman, (as opposed to the transparently fake come-ons of strippers and golddigging sluts) you know that what she’s feeling in that moment is real and powerful, and therefore not something which she can conceal very well.

The body coil is one of those recognizable signs of a woman’s racing desire thwarted by circumstance. Donohoe describes it well; the whole body tenses and she appears frozen in place. An ex-girlfriend (if she’s the dumpee, not the dumper) is the perfect candidate for a whole body coil, especially if she sees you with another woman.

Men experience the body coil too. Often, it’s the inexperienced beta males who show symptoms of waking rigor mortis when in the company of a beautiful young woman. Alpha men who do well with women and who have accrued years of confidence-boosting successes bedding women sometimes come to miss those days when their bodies betrayed their desire and the aroma of a sexually ripe woman would offer a rush to scrote and soul alike that no other enticement could duplicate.

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