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Archive for the ‘The Id Monster’ Category

The 2015 Sports Illustrated Swimsuit Issue (swolefeed) will feature a fatty fat as one of its “””models”””. (Granted, she’s only in an ad, which should tell you something about the difficulty of wedging fat chicks into what is essentially masturbation material for men.) This kowtowing to the fatty fat acceptance movement is a first for a major glossy that primarily serves the tastes of normal straight men.

Given the obvious fact that almost no normal straight men are interested in looking at the near-naked bodies of ugly or “big-boned” women, it’s a strange editorial choice by SI. Why would SI risk losing customers?

SI, like most contemporary media organs, is likely staffed floor to rafters with leftoids. The Hivemind Narrative — read: equalist, multikult, anti-normal white man — is so entrancing to leftoids that they’ll leave money on the table to proselytize it.

Homo economicus is dead, long live homo hamstericus! Now that the myth of a purely economically rational man is rapidly getting discredited by realtalkers, we can better analyze the seeming counterproductive behavior of megaphones like SI.

The patented CH Profit-Propaganda curve explains SI’s actions.

As you can see, at very low profit margin, most business will engage in no propaganda beyond that which is required to sell their product. Struggling entrepreneurs simply can’t risk a loss of revenue on a quixotic quest to ideologically reeducate their customers.

As we climb the P-P curve, we see that the worst propaganda is streamed with unmatched intensity and devotion by businesses with profit margins sufficiently robust to absorb losses of antagonized customers put off by its anti-human message. Here we find the media, government, and academia.

At the very highest profitability — finance, medicine, etc — we find the propaganda machine winding down. Once a business reaches the level of Fuck You money, its interest in abiding prevailing Hivmind norms wanes. But not totally. Although the very richest don’t spend a lot of the energy on *direct* propaganda, they do spend a lot on *indirect* Hivemind propaganda, such as contributing to charities and lobbying government on their No Non-White Boy Left Behind policy ideas.

The P-P curve is explained in part by the fact that leftoids congregate in fields that are naturally efficient at brainwashing, and most of these fields are — scratch that, have been — comfortably profitable.

Another reason for the shape of the curve is the mentality of people working for businesses that have come into non-struggle money; that is, they work for companies that have “made it”. Once a business has “made it”, the pent-up ideological energy of the apparatchiks working there is released in a bukkake of hope and change. Give a leftoid a little bit of stripper cash, and she can’t help but blow the wad on clothes and cocaine. A little bit of Hivemind-enabling money can be a dangerous thing.

At the extremes of profit are the captains of industry who are far more interested in turning a buck or a billion than in chipping away at their rotund bottom line with Party propaganda.

Finally, the obscenely rich are fairly well-insulated from the clownshirt SJW and race huckster shakedowns. And the striver businesses — the mom and pops — aren’t rich enough to catch the interest of Hivemind zealots. But middling profitable companies are ripe targets, with pockets just deep enough to justify paying the Danegelding instead of telling the diversity whores to fuck off and thereby assuming the risk of a public or, worse, legal lynching by a loudly one-sided megaphone.

Related: How to fight the propaganda machine.

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Attention Whore of the Month, Emma Sulkowicz (Asian-Eskimo), once accused a man of rape. She whored for femcunt fame by carrying a mattress around campus as if she was doing the Stations of the Mattress.

Her victim story, predictably, did not hold up, not even in the Columbia University kangaroo court. Her cry of rape is a lie. A fabrication. A delusion. Feminists wept, but soldier on in the belief that there’s a “larger theme” to tell. Just #LikeAGirl.

A Regret Rape is a rape that didn’t happen. Let’s cut to the chase: 99% of false rape accusations are made by plain janes who shot the alpha male boyfriend moon and missed, and were bitter about it.

They didn’t get the relationship and alpha boyfriend status feels they imagined should automatically result from sex, so naturally they respond by marching around with a mattress on their backs and marching into Orwellian university anti-sex league offices to falsely charge innocent men of a vile crime. Dat 60/40 female/male campus sex ratio is really starting to fuck with the heads of marginally bangable girls.

OH WELL. I figure feminist hearts and minds will change once greedy lawyers with brass balls throw a few of these FRA cunts into prison and sue a few Ivies into premature endowment withdrawal.

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Leftoid Prime Jonathan Chait is feeling kind of nervous about the intensity and target acquisition algorithm of the witch hunts that his Social Justice Wanker allies have been up to these last few centuries decades years. Ross Douthat responded in a gentlemanly manner (and that is why he will always fail), and Steverino Sailerino detailed the intramural derailment on his blog.

The liberal elite are beginning the phase of cultural decline where they eat each other after having achieved total victory over their enemies (i.e., normal people). It would all be a humorous sideshow if the stakes weren’t so high and marginal realtalkers weren’t losing their livelihoods to mobs of screeching idiots.

Anyhow, a commenter at Steve’s, doombuggy, perspicaciously noted:

Sounds like Chait is just bragging that his side is winning.

For all this winning, they are the most unhappy people in history.

Doombuggy, intentionally or not, revealed a deep truth about human nature, particularly human female nature.

Maxim #105: Women, and leftoids, are unhappy when they have no dominant power to whom they can submit.

Leftoids, and women, ARE the dominant power in late stage Western societies. And this makes them very unhappy. That’s because the nature of leftoids, and women, is submission. The joyous capitulation to a dominant man, or a dominant paternal culture, has the paradoxical effect of relieving women and leftoids of that gnawing feeling of unfulfilled yearning to give themselves over to a truly powerful force of nature.

When there are no dominant men, or no dominant culture, to rein in their worst excesses of mind and habit, women and leftoids become unhappy and agitated, like untethered electrons spinning out of valence, naked nuclei violently colliding. This explains why, even in the moment of their absolute victory, leftoids and women wail and ragepout like toddlers throwing temper tantrums. They really never wanted to win. They just wanted to stamp their wee feet as dad sternly admonished and sent them to their rooms.

Now that they’ve won, they cast around for sturdy support, only to find themselves and their despicable loser cohorts flinging feces at each other. Desperate for a father figure to at once obey and resent, they summon the frat boy or redneck southroner golems, but that horse left the barn a long time ago, replaced by fat pigs and sneaky rats.

Leftoids, like women, will stress-test their objects of dominance. They need to know if the dominant society/men they love are as they seem.

Leftoids, like women, will quickly lose respect for their society/lovers if the former are allowed to get away with murder by the latter.

Leftoids, like women, say one thing and desire another.

Leftoids, like women, will get very angry and spiteful if they are given what they claim to want.

Leftoids, like women, will make life miserable for the society/men who supplicate to them.

Leftoids, like women, are contemptuous of a weak society/weak man.

Leftoids, like women, will work ceaselessly to sabotage society/relationships, and will blame anyone but themselves for their treachery.

Leftoids, like women, are incapable of wisely and judiciously exercising power. A few leftoids and women are comfortable wielding real power for the good of their fellowmen and posterity, but most are clumsy tyrants who secretly hate having the role thrust on them. They grow angrier, more spiteful, and more vindictive with each day they are tasked to possess the monarch’s mace.

This is the nub of it: Leftoids are like women because both crave the calming embrace of a strong, dominant, unshakeable lover.

An alpha society as an alpha male.

But we are no longer an alpha society. We are a beta society into which women and leftoids have filled the alpha male vacuum. And they hate the world for it.

Equalism, multikultism, and anti-white prostration have robbed leftoids of happiness just as assuredly as feminism has robbed women of happiness. But they will never realize or accept this. It therefore falls to men, unapologetic men and their patriarchal goodness, to set them right. What leftoids need is what women have always needed:

A strong pimp hand.

***

Addendum: Douthat asks a rhetorical question in his ChaitFact column:

Is the vocabulary that the contemporary left increasingly uses for this purpose, to condemn arguments instead of answering them — don’t victimblame, don’t slutshame, check your privilege, that’s phobic (whether trans or homo or Islamo or otherwise), that’s denialism — worth embracing and defending?

I have a simple reply to leftoids pulling this indignant condemnation stunt:

“Answer the question.”

Conservatives should try it sometime. If they do, they might find they enjoy the feeling of their testicles dropping.

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Asshole Game Week: Day One is here. Day Two here. Day Three here. Day Four here.

The Chateau has plenty of readers already in relationships and (lucifer help you) marriage. Many of them would like to know how to apply asshole game to the women they love and are afraid to drive into boredom because of legal ramifications.

The rules of the Game don’t change when you decide to keep a woman around for longer than a few nights. All that changes is the frequency and intensity of your tactical assault. Instead of “shock and awe”, it’s more like “surprise and delight”.

On that dulcet note, reader Sentient demonstrates by example,

A few notes on asshole game from the confines of a marriage/LTR. Now while these may not have the the same storytelling value of asking a single girl to hold your drink while fucking another girl in front of her, they do render the desired nuclear effect on a fully pampered princess bride, who has grown accustomed to her beta lackey hubby:

1. She asks you to fill her water glass with a whiney “i’m thirsty… and a wiggle of a raised glass” and you say “No thanks”.

2. She asks you to run downstairs and get her xxxx from yyyy and you say “I think you can manage that, it’s good for your glutes too”.

3. She informs you that her BFF has arranged a play date for the kids and you and her an hour away from home at some place you have zero desire to go to, and she expects you to be the driver, as always and you say “Have a good time, not interested”.

4. You make a move for sex at 10 PM on a Wednesday night, she gives you the cold shoulder and something like “we just had sex [fill in the blank] days ago”, and you say “Ok, have a good night”, kiss her on the head and leave the house “not sleepy, going out for a bit” your departing words… a furious litany of hamsterese lighting up your phone for the next hour, which you ignore.

5. and the coup de grace, when she wants to have a BIG TALK ABOUT THE RELATIONSHIP and she says “I don’t like how you have been acting the last [fill in the blank]…” and you look her square in the eye and shrug “you don’t have to”.

BOOOOM goes the dynamite. Relationship reset activated. #winning #welcomebacktestes #tingles

“Relationship Reset” is a good way of putting it. That’s precisely what you want to do. Reset your girlfriend’s or wife’s impression of you. And there’s no hotter button to push than the one that activates a tingle torrent. A million things about you can anger a woman, but if her anger is accompanied by a stirring in her snatch she’ll rationalize your flaws away as if they were puffs of girlish illusion.

Commenter newlyaloof adds a few more Relationship Reset strategies,

#6 Dress/eat differently (adding variety to your life). When wife notices the switch and comments about it, say, “Yeah, I’ve moved on.”

#7 Mention the young, cute girl at the office whenever possible (commute with her if possible too). Instant wife motivator.

#8 Can’t remember who stated this, but if your wife questions anything that you mention, say “Because the words left my mouth, that’s why.”

#6 is thermonuclear, and the blast radius enlarges the longer you can maintain an air of opacity concerning the meaning of your explanation.

I hope everyone enjoyed Asshole Game Week. If popular demand warrants, I may feature another week devoted to the craft of cleaving clefts by psychological axe.

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The Hag Lag

As men get older, or as their social circles enlarge to include women of various ages, they’ll encounter a particular breed of aging beauty who at once provokes pity, annoyance and fascination. She is the eternal ingenue who has aged out of her most intoxicating years, but hasn’t aged enough to realize it. That window of time when awareness hasn’t yet caught up to reality in the Ingenue’s mind is what I call the Hag Lag.

There isn’t a man who has lived a day in his life who won’t recognize the eternal ingenue, or that moment in time when she is stricken by Hag Lag. At her prettiest and most coltish, she weaves allure like Rumplestiltskin did gold. Flouncy, bouncy and announce-y, she knows how to make an entrance, cast an entrancement, and devise an entrapment. She is usually petite, lithe, and ultrafeminine, so few men can resist skipping the LP on their mental pabulum straight to the triple X track the ingenue wants them to hear. (Naturally, she will deny deny deny ever inciting men in this way… it’s just her being her!)

Her female friends hate to love her. They envy her super female-ness and the ardor with which she expresses it, but they love the side benefits of being around her (more high value men). Her taken friends are especially cautious in her company. They see the laser eyes their boyfriends make in the ingenue’s direction.

It’s high drama until, one day, after something relentlessly wicked has crept up on her, the ingenue’s antics assume the maniachromatic tinge of undignified desperation. She has aged, and the graceful lines of her face, so delicately drawn with the sole intent of arousing men to stupendous idiocy, crater against the onslaught. She has none of the physical fortitude of earthier women to withstand even the first ticks of the tock. Her surrender is quick and merciless.

This age of Wall approach roughly corresponds to the late 20s-early 30s, give or take a few five-mimosa brunches in her past. The ingenue parties hardy, and swoons ecstatically, so you might say she has a fast strife history.

But, mentally, she doesn’t know it, or accept it. The eternal ingenue is nothing if not self-confident. Many years can pass and mock her as she struggles to cope with the loss of her only, definitive, power. This is what makes the Hag Lag a concept in tragicomedy. There she is, still doing her early 20s act, but the body and face betray the ruse. She dances and prances, kicking Klieg lights in her direction, and the wet joyous eyes once framed by delectable plush skin now strain in sad sockets, sunken, dry, and a little deranged.

She will eventually come around to her loss, but not before she has humiliated herself to the delight of romantically settled friends. God save her. She bears this punishment as penance for her short, glorious stint filling the world of men with desire and longing to merge with her larger-than-life feminine soul.

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Asshole Game Week: Day One is here. Day Two here. Day Three here.

Pijama Wearing Ninja provides a clinic on how to pick up sexy girls at the gym with nothing but a devil-may-care recklessness and a honed talent for segueing every subject into one with sexual overtones.

I went to the gym today and the only girl in there with both a cute face and body was doing squats and I complimented her on not being a cardio girl and told her that soon she will squat as much as me. We talked about guys who don’t train legs for a minute and how they’re the equivalent of cardio girls in the gym. She asked me what happened to me (as in to my knee) and I told her penis reduction surgery. She laughed and asked me why is my scar on my knee then and I told her that the surgeon was very clumsy. She giggled so I told her that I don’t like girls who laugh at injured people. I told her I have to go and told her my name and she told me hers and extended her hand and I told her that she probably has calloused hands from all the squatting so kissed her cheek and took her number.

That was… fuckin poetry. There’s a lot going on. Let’s unpack it.

PWN’s opener is at once a fronthanded and a backhanded compliment. congrats for eschewing cardio in favor of squats… oh and soon you will have legs like strong masculine man.

He moves into humorously DLVing his competition. (this is pua jargon for “tearing other guys down”).

Then there’s his refusal to give a straight answer, opting instead for the flirty, sexualized tease of “penis reduction surgery”. (Beta males are notoriously bad at answering women’s questions with anything but logical, tingle-killing coherence.)

He punches up his momentum with a sterling disqualification: “I don’t like girls who laugh at injured people.” Push-pull is the metronome of seduction.

He exits the conversation first, but not before delivering a final, asshole-caliber taunt: “I told her she probably has calloused hands from all the squatting.”

And then, of course, the physical escalation at the end is a move no non-asshole would dare attempt.

PWN follows up:

I think I’ll invite her for some minigolf this weekend or next week and the loser would have to buy the winner an alcoholic drink of their choosing*. Mine will be a glass of wine. I like good wines so that will also give me something to DHV with and girls love wine. The minigolf place is really close to a winebar and both are 20 minutes away of walking from my place, which has a pretty good skyline. Too bad it’s winter and I can’t just have a walk with her due to the cold and the skyline will be blocked by the fog. FUCK WINTER!

Pickup during winter is probably the lamest, especially if the girls will bond to you and expect gifts on Valentines, another similar day we have here, 1st of March and 8th of March. Back in the days of abundance, I always fought with my girls on purpose and rekindled or found new ones after this month of financial carnage. I seriously prefer buying my mother lots of flowers than wasting my money on silly tarts. lol

*used to teach girls if I was beating them really bad, which was good excuse to kino. Rusty now so not sure I’ll get to do it.

What kind of man but an asshole would deliberately fight with girlfriends as a con to get out of buying V-Day gifts and dinners?

By Asshole Game standards, PWN’s gym pickup marginally qualifies, but inclusion into the world of sexxxy assssssholes is relative to the competition. The marching mass of mediocrities known affectionately as beta males wouldn’t talk this way to a girl even in their Casanova-conjuring dreams. And that is why they fail.

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Unkempt, slovenly, fat women aren’t just boner killers. They also kill group morale. From a story about four Secret Service executives demoted in the wake of repeated failures involving White House intrusions.

Look, Secret Service always had a mystique about them. Looking good and being fit. Physical appearances mean something. Female director, whatever. She wasn’t attractive, she was overweight and [governmental and public affairs chief] Jane [Murphy] was worse. Jane was sloppily dressed, never a good physical appearance. Jane was a terrible dresser, Janet Napolitano was commissioner and it is what it is, people look the way they look. To me, Brian Stafford was director. Eljay Bowron. These guys were statuesque, decent looking, fit guys who prided themselves on appearance. I think Julia did what she could with what she had but if you look at who she brings to the Hill and meetings, they really didn’t represent the Service well.

Beauty is truth, in more ways than are at first obvious to the naked eye. A nation that has swallowed the swill of LGBTWSUQCOCKSUCK crassness and diversity bullshit will glorify cranks and degenerates under a banner of faaaairrrrness, as competence and group cohesion suffer because winners don’t want to be associated with losers.

The Secret Service had pride of purpose, then the freak parade gained power and stuffed their ranks with grotesque bulldykes and flaming fairies and trash world mystery meats, and… surprise surprise!… the white alpha male core of the Secret Service lost their esprit de corp. As morale eroded, random drunks began waltzing through the front door of the Selma House.

This is the real world. The losers had better know their place soon, before the whole structure collapses under the weight of their plus-sized grievance whoring. Because when the shit really hits the fan, the winners may decide it’s not worth saving the spotted asses of the misfits who spent their whole lives chainsawing the institutions the winners built and successfully manned.

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