The Egonomics Of Bitterbitches: Yes, Homely Skanks Are Using Tinder To Get Attention. No, Not From Desirable Men.

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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Sheryl Sandberg, Feminist Icon, Betraying The Sisterhood

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: Where Does She Go From Here?

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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The Body Coil: A Sexual Attraction Giveaway

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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Smarter Women More Likely To Be Romantic Failures

In my years of living, dating, and loving across these United Plates, I’ve come to certain conclusions about women drawn from a wellspring of eagle-eyed observations and red raw experiences. One of my personal observations is that smarter women tend, for various reasons among which female hypergamy must surely loom prominent, to have more difficulty locking down a long-term boyfriend, and to stay single far longer in between relationship bouts, than do women of less Hollywood-sized prefrontal-pectorals. And this romantic failure is worse the smarter the woman.

But, I didn’t have the benefit of ¡scientifical! studies to confirm my observations, so I guess I should have washed my brain of any pattern recognition inputs and waited the requisite fifty years for the scientific consensus to come to a prevailing view.

As I’ve always said, if you keep your eyes open and live not by pretty lies, 80% of the patterns you observe about human nature will eventually be proven true by laboratory analysis (or at least recognized as a real phenomenon by cultural gatekeepers). (15% of the remaining 20% are too difficult to properly measure by social scientists, and the last 5% of your observations can be grouped under conventional wisdom that science manages to overturn, usually by data-twisting legerdemain.)

From the article relevant to this post, the quotes that make feminists choke:

A study conducted with 121 British participants reported findings that females with high intelligence in male/female relationships were seen as problematic.

Their intelligence were predicted to cause problems in the relationships. Whereas, high intelligence in the male partner was not seen as problematic, but desirable. […]

Why don’t men want women with whom they can converse and who challenge them? [ed: spot the false premise] When did the aversion to strong and intelligent women become a code orange? When did everyone just want to go to the Bahamas and lie around?

In an article by “The Wire,” financial reporter, John Carney, gives one explanation for this phenomenon, deducing, “successful men date less successful women not because they want ‘women to be dumb’ but rather because they want ‘someone who prioritizes their life in a way that’s compatible with how you prioritize yours.’”

Basically, they want someone who isn’t ever going to let her career come before making dinner and pleasing them first.

My take is that men, especially smart men, instinctively recoil from very smart and/or educated women (in the same way women instinctively recoil from needy niceguys) because men know that a woman of equal or greater brainpower or academic achievement is a high risk for future relationship instability and a latent threat to paternity assurance. Men are aware, consciously perhaps, subconsciously definitely, that female hypergamy is real and therefore it’s personally advantageous to find women who aren’t too much more gifted in traits that double as male mate fitness cues.

In short, it pays men to date up in looks and date down in everything else.

The inverse is also true. It pays women to date down in looks and date up in everything else.

Everyone’s happier all around if they abide the above two Heartistian precepts.

A reader contemptuously adds,

Nearly schizophrenic incoherence, self-loathing, generalized rage, sexual frustration, pride that she can’t admit that a life has been spent believing pretty, stupid lies and making irretrievable mistakes, contempt and hatred for men on one hand, yet demands and pangs of hopeless desire for their attention and affection and love on the other hand, unabashed hatred for women who are young and attractive and willing to make love and devotion to a man a priority in their lives.

This hamster wheel is spinning at 10,000 revolutions per second. The axle is going red-hot from the friction.  The spinning wheel is making a sharp, high-pitched, painful screeching sound, which sets your teeth on edge. If you listen carefully millions just like it are audible all over America.

This can’t go on much longer.  10 years, maybe. But not 50. Probably not another entire generation.

Future generations will look back on the women of this era with disgusted amazement.

Before then they are going to spend the second 50 years of their medically extended lives alone and filled with a despair and a hatred for their own lives and for the lives of those around them who have managed to be happy which is going to poison our society for many years to come.

If they weren’t so vicious and destructive you could almost feel sorry for them.

I do think we Americans are living through a period (heh) when women are at their absolute worst. Porn addicted manlet men aren’t much better, but this dystopia is largely a female-centered implosion.

There’s a gene-culture co-evolution process that describes how groups have self-balancing mechanisms, so that when one type of organism within the group becomes too numerous, a competing type will start to have greater reproductive success to “bring balance to the force”. I forget the term for it, but the classic case is the “cheater-cooperator” evolutionary strategies, in which cheaters prosper (and hence reproductively prosper) in cooperative societies, but then lose ground to cooperators when cheaters become too numerous and start poaching each other.

Well, a similar thing could be happening with SMRT women. The more smart over-educated over-credentialed women a society has, the less reproductively fit they become at the same time women with average smarts become more reproductively fit. The group shifts its evolutionary strategy toward smarter or dumber women as each becomes prominent. Maybe this is why human IQ hasn’t continued upward into the stratosphere…. smart men get tired of the haranguing from smart women and smart women get locked out of the dating market because there aren’t very many men smarter than them who can satisfy their hypergamous urgings, and they resist settling for dumber men.

Related, the supply of beta males in a group could also fluctuate according to some cosmic balancing mechanism that favors or disfavors betas depending on their numbers. The rise of pathologically altruistic white beta males in the West is producing blowback as their ranks swell with self-abnegating ankle-biters. Ultra violent thugs or ultra charming cads are starting to increase in impression, if not yet in number, and women are turning to them for relief from the effete beta male masses.

It’s a spitball, I know, but maybe it’s high time for the patented CH BOSSS strategy to invigorate our culture to take center stage? Maybe it already has and we’re just now waking up to the fact?

PS Really smart women fuck like demonesses. They love their contraceptively-enabled fucking as much as any sub-mensa slut.

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The Shitlib Face

Pleasureshivvers draw copious blood in an entertaining thread titled “Shitlib-faces.png“. Do shitlibs — aka leftoids (the CH nomenclature crafted to draw attention to the essential anti-human ideology of SJWs) — have a distinguishing “look”? Why, yes, they do.

It’s physiognomies all the way down.

I leave it as an exercise for the reader to find the shitlibbiest face of all time. Here’s my contribution:

I think I just lost five years worth of boners.

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The Measure Of A Man’s Alphaness By How Much Crap His Woman Will Tolerate

Although CH prefers the more direct means of measuring a man’s degree of alphatude, there are proxy methods for coming up with a ballpark figure for the Alpha Within. One such proxy is the amount of shit a woman will put up with from her man. The more crap she happily tolerates, the higher her man’s alpha male rating.

As commenter WillBest explains,

Women are far and away more pragmatic about men’s affairs. I know of several couples that have survived a man’s affair and none that have survived a woman’s affair.

You could probably plot your relative alphaness against what your wife will tolerate.

brothel outside country < … < discrete mistress < rumored affair < open mistress < claiming bastards < having your wife assist in selection of your harem (as seen on Marco Polo).

It’s funny ’cause it’s cruel.

A marriage can survive a husband’s infidelity because the real risk, from the wife’s gene’s POV, is the redistribution of his resources (of which love is a proxy indicator) to the other woman. As long as the husband remains primarily devoted to his immediate family’s finances, his oat-sowing won’t much affect the future of his children or the guarantee of the mother’s “maternity assurance”.

But a wife’s infidelity is much more dangerous to her family’s cohesion. She could get pregnant on one of her slutcations, and saddle her husband with another man’s spawn. (And this would’ve been more likely in the contraception-free environment of evolutionary adaptation.) This is the worst thing that can befall a husband from his genes’ POV. And if he finds out, the whole family may be nuked from orbit.

Naturally, a man’s affair isn’t automatically forgivable. Women aren’t totally inhuman; they will feel the sting of romantic rejection. But it’s true that the more alpha the man, the more tractable his woman. Hell hath no fury like a scorned wife… if her husband is a beta male. Heaven hath no angelic forgiveness like a scorned wife of an alpha male.

This post cries out for a handy dandy chart.

There’s a reason for the exponential trajectory. Observe closely, and you’ll notice most married men are betas whose wives won’t even tolerate their wandering eye without stirring up a storm of martyrdom. But once a man begins taking on the penumbras and emanations of alphaness, his woman’s toleration curve skyrockets. Each increment of alphatude results in a drastic expansion of the scope of caddish misbehavior that a wife or girlfriend will tolerate. At the extremes of male alphatude, their women are complicit in helping their men achieve the limits of sexual and romantic pleasure that are particular to the male domain of desire.

I hope this post has been instructive. May it guide you to better days in your own relationships.

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