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Archive for the ‘The Id Monster’ Category

Holding up a finger to the cultural winds carrying tingles aloft, a (probably) female reader writes,

Sia is a singer/song writer , ex–party girl with alcohol problems.

She wrote an interesting song, [Fair Game], which outline everything you have described at The Château.

I put in bold the interesting parts.

You terrify me
Cause you’re a man- you’re not a boy
You’ve got some power
And I can’t treat you like a toy
The road less…Traveled by a little girl
You disregard the mess
While I try to control the world
Don’t leave me
Stay here and frighten me
Don’t leave me
Come now enlighten me
Give me all you got
Give me your wallet and your watch
Give me your first born
Give me the rainbow and the-
So go on and challenge me
Take the reigns and the seat
Watch me squirm baby
But you are just what I need
And I’ve never played a fair game
I’ve always had the upper hand
But what good is intellect and nerve if
I can’t respect any man
Yeah I want to play a fair game
Yeah I want to play a fair game

You terrify me
We’ve still not kissed
And yet I’ve cried
You got too close in
I pushed and pushed
Opened your bites
So I could run run
And then I did betray the dust
You saw those teeth marks
They weren’t all yours
You had been trusted to a history
That had not worked for me
Into a history from which I could not face
So go on and shake me
Shake until I give it up
When I am in doubt baby
I know that we could make some love

So go on challenge me
Take the reigns and the seat
Watch me squirm baby
But you’re just what I need
And I’ve never played a fair game
I’ve always had the upper hand
But what good is intellect and nerve if
I can’t respect any man
Yeah I want to play a fair game
Yeah I want to play a fair game
And I never played a fair game
I’ve always had the upper hand
But what good is intellect and nerve if
I can’t respect any man
Yeah I want to play a fair game
Yeah I want to play a fair game

I’ve always had the upper hand
But what good is intellect and nerve if
I can’t respect any man
I want to play a fair game
Oh, I want to play a fair game
I’ve always had the upper hand
What good is intellect and nerve if
I can’t respect any man
I want to play a fair game

Sia is a 39-year-old Australian singer who’s experiencing something of a career resurgence right now. Most of you would recognize her current hit song “Chandelier”. It’s catchy, visually arresting, and vaguely pedophilic.

Her gimmick of late has been wearing a veil covering her face from view during performances. She’s been quoted in interviews as saying the veil is a feminist protest against the objectification of blah blah trail of hamster pellets. A less charitable observer might say that 39yo Sia has suffered her first contact with the Wall and the veil is radical wrinkle-remover and career-extender.

But enough of that. Clearly, Sia loves her incorrigible badboys. Sia later, betaboys!

From the beginning, women have been singing the praises of badboys. What’s more interesting, from a sociological perspective, is any noteworthy change in frequency of badboy odes, and in how those female singers opt to stylize their lyrical meanderings. Are the musical paeans to the allure of badboys prideful boasts, seeming almost like taunts aimed at the crushed hearts of lame-o betas? Or are female singers disguising their love for badboys under layers of obfuscating wordplay?

Tuning my ear snare to the pop starlet zeitgeist, I do think barely-concealed confessions of cravings for badboys have been on the increase recently. The weird thing is that this badboy exaltation is occurring simultaneously with a muddled feminist empowerment pop culture fad (think Katy Perry singing “you’re gonna hear me roar”). It’s as if women singers can’t make up their minds whether they want to be mistresses of the universe or just bound and gagged mistresses of a ZeroFucksGiven jerkboy.

If there is a social trend toward women freely expressing their deepest desires for hounds and heartbreakers, this reinvigorated female lust on public display may owe itself to the context within which pop singers, and their fans, circulate. As CH explained, a society that is bottom heavy with mewling, supplicating beta males would push women into the aloof and indifferent arms of alpha jerks. And when the bottled-up pussy pressure becomes too much to bear, even Wall-impact cougars like Sia can’t help but throw their natural romantic constituency — older, defeated, weak beta males ready to settle down with any old slutty cow — under the bus.

Women’s love for challenging jerks never dies, it just wistfully succumbs to a slow awareness of SMV self-depreciation.

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How is a wounded woman like a wounded animal? PA explains as he hoists the COTW trophy:

A nasty form of red pill involves thoughts of how to act when your woman has been through great trauma, rape or otherwise. A wounded human being is in a shitload of pain, in such cases psychic pain.

They say that you shouldn’t try to comfort a beloved dog that was injured by a car because its pain can cause it to bite you. External-source duress, usually financial, can turn a wife into a bitch.

There was an article a few years after the 9.11 attacks, about a middle aged woman, civilian employee at the Pentagon, who was badly disfigured in the resulting fires and how she copes with life. Her husband (photos from happier days were shown, they were both radiant) had left her after the disfigurement.

I was quick to fault the man for abandoning her. But now I wonder, did he try to ‘be there’ and she pushed him away? I don’t know. In the story she said she is not angry with him.

A man wants to be needed and many of us want to help the few people in our inner circle when they need us. When we were little and got hurt, our moms poured concerned affection on us, and in those recesses of our psyches lies a template for healing another’s pain.

But like the struck dog, does the traumatized woman lash out at those closest to her? Those with the hard task of ‘being there’ have to think about what she really needs. Soft care may not be it.

Yes, this is a deeply dark red pill to swallow. I’ve seen it myself, and I’ve experienced it: The lashing out of the hurt woman against those trying to comfort her. The proper response to the hurt woman is a nod of sympathy and a studied avoidance of getting entangled in her drama other than giving her time to cry it out, (and giving yourself a little distance from her bared claws).

Why is it not uncommon for traumatized women to push away their supportive lovers? It’s a mystery, but my theory is that it has to do with the natural revulsion men and women feel for sex role inversions. The caretaker and the nurturer is the woman; when a man eagerly tries to assume this role, it’s disturbing to women on a primal level. It’s similar to the aggressive career woman barging into a meeting ready to close a big deal. Men may admire her gumption in the abstract, but as a character trait it’s very off-putting to behold in a woman.

Another, related, possibility is the idea that a supportive man, in his readiness to “be there” for a hurt woman, inadvertently “betatizes” himself. He may be perceived less as a shoulder to lean on than as a cloying handmanlet who in his zeal to be helpful winds up reminding the woman of the source of her pain.

Traumatized men do this too, but it seems more common with women. Or perhaps, when it concerns women, it’s more shocking to men who witness it, given the pedestal-contoured presumptions that men hold of women’s receptivity to assistance in times of need.

Maybe there’s a reason why in large parts of the world women who are rape victims are considered sexual persona non grata. Could it be that, underneath the religious or moral justifications, men shun traumatized women because they know, instinctively, that those women will never be “right” as relationship material?

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We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all women are created unequally, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain divergences of appearance, that among these are Beautiful, Ugly, and Downright Hideous. –That to gloss over these divergences, Feminism is instituted among Women, deriving its magical thinking from the consent of the lovelorn. –That whenever any Form of Feminism becomes destructive of these ends, it is the Right of Women and their effete Male petitioners to alter or to reinvent it, and to institute a new Feminism Wave, laying its foundation on such irrationalities and organizing its powers in XXL vestment form, as to them shall seem most likely to effect their glowing Self-Conception and freedom to Hallucinate.

***

You ever notice how the women who go on and on in high dudgeon about the necessity of consent are the women who are least likely to ever be in a romantic situation conceivably requiring their consent?

It’s almost as if…. almost!… unattractive, LSMV women glom onto feminist slogans to make themselves feel more desirable to men. The darlings. Not.

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Have you noticed the dearth of original ideas coming out of Hollywood? The problem is that a good idea needs a companion in the truth. And our culture has turned violently away from the truth. Consequently, novel ideas in all art forms are getting rarer.

Reader PA suggests a Crimson Pill movie idea that’s both fresh and honest.

I wonder if rape victims who experienced orgasms mid rape were capable of having vaginal orgasms in their normal lives.

You’re writing a screenplay for a drama/thriller involving a normal, happily married woman who was just brutally raped and came hard in the throes of the assault. Her husband is a normal blue-pill greater beta who suddenly finds her unable to have vaginal sex. The husband goes through tears and frustration, and self-defeating attempts at being “supportive” and then finds a crimson arts blog and makes a plan to transform himself into a Love-Heisenberg, to save the marriage.

Do you simply graft the script of “9 and 1/2 Weeks” from here on, or is there another approach?

Throw in a paint-by-numbers overcredentialed marriage counselor, a spiteful feminist BFF, and an undersexed white knight friend of the husband who secretly desires his wife, and you’ve got yourself boffo box office!

By the way, Fifty Shades of Grey, if you don’t already know, is a complete rip-off of the vastly superior Mickey Rourke-Kim Bassinger erotic movie Nine 1/2 Weeks. Ferkrissake, the male lead’s character name in Nine 1/2 is “John Gray”. I’m surprised critics have failed to note the similarities. It’s canny enough that the producers of Nine 1/2 (and the writer of the book on which the movie is based) have grounds to sue the fat pig who wrote Fifty Shades.

Bassinger’s character, Elizabeth, in Nine 1/2 also falls for a badboy with a sadistic streak. (Girls can’t help themselves.) There is a rape scene in which Elizabeth has a powerful orgasm. She is both bewildered and entranced by her body’s betrayal of her good sense. The movie has a sort of audience-stroking happy ending, when Elizabeth, deeply in love with John but emotionally broken by his intensifying manipulations (he has her watch a prostitute service him in a hotel room), leaves him, but in so doing turns her back on a piece of her womanhood. There’s a subtext that she will never joyously submit to that kind of fiery passion again.

(John should’ve balanced all that anxiety-inducement with some comfort. Game 101, man!)

Personally, I would take PA’s idea and make a feint toward a Nine 1/2 Weeks conclusion, except with a Walter White Breaking Badboy twist: The greater beta husband, upon elevating himself as the dominant force in his wife’s life and finally in a position to save their marriage (ironically via a route that mirrors his wife’s confusing rape experience), opts instead to succumb to the temptations of his reinvention. I’d also change the deus ex machina from a blog to a player buddy, or perhaps to a death row inmate with a pile of marriage proposals from adoring female fans. Internet-hemmed epiphanies don’t play well on screen.

Submission to a man worthy of it is engraved in a woman’s soul. She will deny it, the Hivemind will deny it, the pedestal-polishing plushboys will deny it as they politely discuss financial outlooks over the din of insistent pleat-imprisoned chubbies in sterile offices with gogrrl droids in pencil skirts, but when the blinds are closed and the darkness descends, every woman will arch her back to meet the lovely, exquisite pain of an icy caress.

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An Atlantic leftoid* wrote a smug, insular column, “Waiting for the Conservative Jon Leibowitz”, rhetorically asking why there’s no conservative equivalent to The Daily Show or Colbert. The article reads like a gloat about how liberals “get it” and conservatives don’t get it, “it” being the nuanced (read: intellectual) forms of humor.

Over the years, Stewart and his cohort mastered the very difficult task of sorting through all the news quickly and turning it around into biting, relevant satire that worked both for television and the Internet.

Now, as Stewart prepares to leave the show, the brand of comedy he helped invent is stronger than ever. Stephen Colbert is getting ready to bring his deadpan smirk to The Late Show. Bill Maher is continuing to provoke pundits and politicians with his blunt punch lines. John Oliver’s Last Week Tonight is about to celebrate the end of a wildly popular first year. Stewart has yet to announce his post-Daily Show plans, but even if he retires, the genre seems more than capable of carrying on without him.

The insularity of the article is betrayed by the author’s assumption that liberal-dominated fake news shows represent the pinnacle of achievement in humor. The implicit belief is that conservative “failure” in this domain is indicative of an inherent conservative inability to appreciate or master the finer arts of funny, such as irony and satire.

Whenever I read masturbatory liberal articles like this one, I cross-check the article’s biases with my personal experience to see if there’s a match; if there is, I give the liberal the benefit of the doubt that it’s onto something. (It rarely is.) If not, I don’t immediately write off the liberal conclusion, but I don’t give it much merit either. In the real world, where all that matters is how much I laugh, I’ve been friends with quite a few liberal and conservative funnymen (and a smattering of funnywomen). But the funniest guys I’ve known were all far right of center rascally SOBs. Online, the situation is similar. I think the Christian sadists at MPC are funny as hell, and no one can accuse them of being Leibowitz lackeys.

Could it be that American political satire is biased toward liberals in the same way that American political talk radio is biased toward conservatives? Dannagal Young, an assistant professor of communications at the University of Delaware, was looking into the lack of conservative comedians when she noticed studies that found liberals and conservatives seemed to have different aesthetic tastes. Conservatives seemed to prefer stories with clear-cut endings. Liberals, on the other hand, had more tolerance for a story like public radio’s Serial, which ends with some uncertainty and ambiguity.

Yes, how those leftoids love ambiguity and nuance. You can see it in how they assiduously avoid unambiguously pigeonholing, for instance, rednecks.

Framing is one of the most interesting game concepts, and it’s because it has applicability well beyond the context of picking up girls. The supposed leftoid love for uncertainty and ambiguity is just as accurately expressed as a leftoid fear of judgment. Which, when you think about it, makes survival sense. An effete liberal manlet benefits from a society that refuses to judge it unworthy of inclusion.

Young began to wonder whether this might explain why liberals were attracted in greater numbers to TV shows that employ irony. Stephen Colbert, for example, may say that he’s looking forward to the sunny weather that global warming will bring, and the audience members know this isn’t what he really means. But they have to wonder: Is he making fun of the kind of conservative who would say something so egregious? Or is he making fun of arrogant liberals who think that conservatives hold such extreme views?

Liberal audiences love liberal showmen who vigorously pump their priors. I doubt there’s a single SWPL viewer who doesn’t know that Colbert is on its side.

As Young noticed, this is a kind of ambiguity that liberals tend to find more satisfying and culturally familiar than conservatives do. In fact, a study out of Ohio State University found that a surprising number of conservatives who were shown Colbert clips were oblivious to the fact that he was joking.

Good lord. How often are liberal SJWs oblivious to the humor in racially-tinted jokes? Maybe people just don’t find jokes funny when they’re targeted at firmly held beliefs.

In contrast, conservative talk radio humor tends to rely less on irony than straightforward indignation and hyperbole.

I haven’t heard a shortage of liberals engaging in indignation and hyperbole.

When Rush Limbaugh took down Georgetown student and birth-control activist Sandra Fluke in 2012, he called her a “slut” in order to drive home his point about state-mandated birth control. After the liberal blogosphere erupted with derision, Limbaugh responded with more jokes, asking that Fluke post videos of her sex online so taxpayers could see what they were paying for. (After a few days, he offered a public apology, insisting that he “did not mean a personal attack” on Fluke.)

Here we detect the primary driver of conservative retreat, if it exists, from political satire: Conservatives are constrained by the reigning leftoid Hivemind orthodoxies. Conservatives with audiences larger than three people have a limited ability to skewer liberal shibboleths without getting into serious career-ending trouble. Limbaugh’s backpedaling slut smear apology is Exhibit S. Has a leftoid on any of these fake news shows ever had to grovel before the inquisition for maliciously slandering a right-wing representative? No. They have license to smear their right-wing targets, something that non-leftoids cannot do to with the same gusto to sanctified liberal targets like Sandra Fluke.

Conservatives will never win at this game until they begin the process of chipping away at the bedrock of the Narrative. This means AGREEING & AMPLIFYING when the usual liberal accusations are cavalierly leveled. For example, once accused of slut shaming, Limbaugh should’ve had whole skit about Fluke mentally calculating the number of cocks she could raw dog on a $10 supply of pills. (zank you, i’ll be in all zee veek.)

If non-leftoids had the same freedom to parody cherished liberal icons — race, sex, eskimos, SWPLs, new atheists — with the same venom, I bet you’d see plenty of right-wing Daily Shows pop up. Right now, that freedom isn’t there, so mainstream righties have to stick with the liberal script, which in practice means essentially agreeing with the fundamentals of liberal progressivism while making feeble feints against the rapidity of that progress to which they have already tacitly acceded as inevitable.

Despite these societal biases against a conservative satirical uprising, I still think there could be an innate disposition in liberals that favors ambiguity and uncertainty. I think this because women also love ambiguity and uncertainty, particularly in the realm of romance, and we know women are more liberal than men. We also know liberal men are more womanly than conservative men (and this jibes with personal observation), so it’s not much of a logical leap to deduce that liberals in general are on the whole more womanly and thus more frightened of harsh moral dividing lines and of the judgment of peers.

*I invented the term of art “leftoid” because it captures the anti-human nature of the liberal vision, and the robotic incantations with which liberals autonomically resort to defending their faith when attacked by apostates.

PS Here’s a fantastically brutal judgment of Jon Leibowitz in the Post. Money shot:

Stewart is a journalist: an irresponsible and unprofessional one.

He is especially beloved by others in the journo game. (For every 100 viewers, he generated about 10 fawning profiles in the slicks, all of them saying the same thing: The jester tells the truth!)

Any standard liberal publication was as likely to contain an unflattering thought about Stewart as L’Osservatore Romano is to run a hit piece on the pope.

The hacks have a special love for Stewart because he’s their id. They don’t just think he’s funny, they thrill to his every sarcastic quip. They wish they could get away with being so one-sided, snarky and dismissive.

That’s it right there. Leibowitz and his ilk succeed because the entirety of the media industrial complex share the same targets of hate. That’s why he gets so much positive ink, and why he’s catapulted into icon status, however pinched and domed the arena in which he rules.

The leftoid machine is a hate machine, and but for the pretense of objectivity that constrains “journalists” they’d all be taking up pitchforks and driving their hated enemies — core white Americans — into the flames, cackling like maniacs the whole time.

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Reader Mitch Cumstein tells thee of his saga, of his days of thigh adventure!

When I was 17, I worked for this magazine as a summer job. They hired this 30-something lady to be the face of the company in its adverts. Striking for her age. HB9. No one at work dared flirt with her, because she was “married”. However, I knew she was game when I realized 1. Her husband reeked of beta and 2. She accepted every invite to hang after work at the bars. She even rallied the troops most of the time, which is a dead giveaway.

Anyway, another coworker was getting married and HB9 RSVPd with no plus one (another sign), her husband was out of town (another) and she invited us all to come over and drink at her house after the wedding (!!!).

I was 17…the office loved me and I could see she was seeing the affection everyone had for me. People sneaking me drinks, etc. It was an “honorable little brother” type love, and she took notice. She tried chiding me at her house. “Those dance moves you had on the dance floor were inappropriate…” Agreed and amplified (“yup”, “were they? i was too caught up in the rhythm to notice”). I remember she asked, “What do all these coworkers see in you anyway?” And I was buzzed enough to say, “I’d show you, but I probably wouldn’t be invited to your husband’s birthday party if I did.” Her tongue was planted firmly in her cheek. Within five minutes, we were making out and I was fingering her.

She clears everyone out of the house. I tell everyone to go on ahead, I’m going back to get my jacket. When I opened the door, she was standing there, ass naked. She walked into her room and I followed. When we got there, I stopped. Most men would’ve gone ahead, but I realized: THIS IS TOO EASY. It was low-hanging fruit. So I kissed her on the head and made my exit.

The next morning, I get a call on my phone from her. Except when I answer, it’s her husband. He tells me to meet him outside a pizzeria a mile from my house. I go and he’s standing there, pretending to be stoic.

Him: You son of a bitch…
Me: Present.
Him: You are scum…
Me: Yup.
Him: Don’t you have anything to say for yourself?
Me: Well…I didn’t fuck your wife…but the next guy will.

That one hit him like a sledge hammer. It was too true to deny. I guess they’d moved around a lot together, which is why they came to our town in the first place. My friends tell me he didn’t kick my ass because I was 17 and he’d be embarrassed to explain it all if he had to, but I disagree. He actually thanked me before taking off. “Thank you for being so honest,” was what he said. He was THAT beta. They were divorced within a year.

The next day at work, I was stocking sodas and the HB9 dropped a gift bag at my feet with a smile. Inside it were my sunglasses. I left them in his bedroom and that’s how he found out. It wasn’t even that she told him out of guilt; the guy found a pair of sunglasses in his room and had her dead to rights.

The takeaway: you grow up thinking married women are hard to snag, but in reality, they’re easier. It’s because most are lonely. Have relations with them or don’t, but if you do…don’t forget your sunglasses.

Bored wives are cheating wives, in heart if not in pussy. And where a woman’s heart goes, her hole is sure to follow.

Women complain that they have to keep up their looks so their husband’s eyes don’t stray, but they fail to recognize the tougher job men must undertake to keep the interest of their wives…. omnipresent charm and sexiness, to be called upon at will and dispensed in precise degrees of need as with a chemist’s skilled titration hand. The legally entangled husband’s job is made tough by the nature of women’s demands, which are psychological outgrowths of the fundamental premise. The job is tougher still in a social environment which has unleashed and sanctioned the most primitive animal instincts of women, and which offers women endless opportunities for financial and emotional exploit through the feminism-directed man-loathing divorce industrial complex.

PS I understand that there will be the usual readers who disbelieve this story. CH is not interested in the after-school job of parsing lines of code in reader-submitted anecdotes for evidence of fantasy, but we can tell you from experience that stories similar to Mitch Cumstein’s are common enough to warrant testimonial status, even if the specific, and probably poorly recalled, dialogue snippets are reconstituted in stilted or hubristic form.

Having stated the above disclaimer, I have to ask Cumstein… why would you agree to meet the husband of your near-hit illicit liaison? Teenage naivete?

PPS If your girlfriend or wife travels without you, the chances she’ll misbehave go way up.

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In the “Picking up married women” post, I commented that an indeterminate number of happily married women will go out of their way to avoid the temptation to infidelity, and will extend this courtesy to their boyfriends and husbands.

Some happily married women (read: married women still sexually aroused by their husbands) avoid the company of sexually appetitive men or of high status men capable of stimulating the sexual appetites of women. Often, this avoidance is achieved simply by not going to places where a lot of single huntsmen congregate. And, married women will try to introduce the temptation-resisting wonders of avoidance to their husbands, by preventing them from being too frequently in the company of young single ladies. Moving to the suburbs helps a lot with this avoidance program.

Commenter Euro Death Knot astutely notes the corollary to the above observation, and illustrates it from personal anecdotes as the “other man” having an affair with a cheating wife:

The converse of this principle is that a married woman traveling alone is a strong indication of potential interest.

I first learned this long ago when I was a college kid who knew nothing and was traveling on my own in Europe. I spent a night in a youth hostel in the Netherlands and approached an attractive German woman (5+ years older than I was) who was taking a vacation bike trip on her own across Holland. While I had taken only one year of German and her English was just a bit better than my German, it was easily less than 2 hours from me saying hi until I was finger fucking her and she was giving me a hand job, all of this in an open-air loft above the hostel’s dining room with some people milling below us.

It was only the next day when we met up to take the same train to Köln (her to go home and me to crash for a few days with a girl I had approached, made out with and address-closed in a park in München who was studying and living in Köln) that I paid attention to the fact that the ring she was wearing was on her ring finger and I realized that she was married. She told me that her husband traveled a lot and she felt that he had been sleeping around.

I can still see in my mind’s eye how affectionately she embraced her husband who was waiting for her at the train station (never mind that she had pulled out my cock again on the train ride). A couple of years ago I Googled her and discovered that decades later she’s still married (with the same name and close to the same address so presumably to the same man) and has three grown children.

If a wife is traveling alone without her husband, there’s often a reason.

Three lessons:

1. A wife or girlfriend who does not make pained efforts to avoid circumstances rife with illicit sexual invitation is by default a woman seeking them out.

2. The average woman is very good at hiding her infidelity from suspicion. Much better, from what I’ve seen, than the concealment the average man is capable of summoning when guilt is ripping at the soul. I conclude that men feel guilt and loyalty more palpably than do women. The exception to this rule is the accomplished cad, whose years of deception and nurtured sociopathy have honed in him a jewel thief’s skill at evading detection.

3. Even with the best intentions, a taken woman is still human, and an abundance of charming men in her social or work environment will test her limits of self-abnegation, much like a convention of 19-year-old lingerie models with daddy issues will test a devoted husband’s and father’s vows. It’s no coincidence that female infidelity rose at the same time as female participation in the workforce, and hence female exposure to alpha male movers and shakers, increased.

My suggestion: If you want a guarantee that your beloved won’t stray, get her off the cock grid. Rural Montana perhaps. Facsimiles of cock grid escape used to be simpler undertakings, but that all changed with [X], [EX], and [XXX].

The next best option? Game.

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