The Randomness Of Polar Bear Hunting

Something totally random happened in Oklahoma yesterday. A white man was randomly shot and killed by three random uruk-hais randomly pointing guns out of their random ghettomobile, and randomly choosing a target upon whom to unload their random fleeting emotions which some might randomly refer to less randomly as a pointed expulsion of hate.

Here are random photos of the random killers looking like any random person would look who randomly decided to shoot a man dead in the back:

In related news, I randomly chose wine instead of kerosene to drink last weekend. I randomly wore shoes to walk outside instead of going barefoot. And I randomly avoided a dilapidated neighborhood known to be full of restless orcs. It’s this randomness of life that makes all of us feel morally superior for avoiding the notice of any non-random occurrences. Three cheers for awful, tragic randomness!

“They pulled up behind him and shot him in the back then sped away,” said Capt. Jay Evans of Duncan Police Department. “It could have been anybody — it was such a random act.”

“It could have been anybody.” Translation: “The shit is going to hit the fan if white people start noticing that it wasn’t just anybody.”

Just how confidently can this police captain claim randomness as a crime motive? Were the three joy-shooters — two nightmare beasts and one miscegenated quasimodo — completely unaware of the race of their chosen victim?

Questions to ask the Captain:

How many people did the perps pass in their car before shooting Lane?
Was Lane the first “random” target they saw that day?
Did they pass up the chance to shoot any blacks before targeting Lane for the kill?
If the shooting was random, why were pedestrians coming toward them spared? The back shot seems especially cowardly and proof of forethought rather than pure chance.
Why, if the violence was totally random, is it two blacks and one mulatto with identity issues who stand accused of the crime in a city, Duncan, OK, that is only 3% black?

Of course, these questions will never be answered. Because the truth is a shiv to the post-modern, post-Western, anti-white posterity cleansing project. The truth is that there was nothing “random” about this morbidly banal killing; three gutter fiends spotted a white man — an iconic-looking white man jogging in that iconically white way — and gleefully took aim with all the roiling envy and hate their black hearts could muster, channeled into the spear of hot metal that would reward them with a few minutes of spastic joy.

Chris Lane was polar beared, just like Matty Yglesias was polar beared in his gentrifying DC enclave, except Lane took a lethal blow while Mattyboy was lucky to endure a flying fist as the weapon of choice of his insta-haters.

Look at that photo above, Mattyboy. Look at it real close. You know it. I know it. This is degeneracy. Human regression to a primitive prototype. Hate Machine in motion. Idiocracy ascendent. Brutish subterranean vessels of rank disgorged id spit forth from the perforating bowels of a diseased culture that has embraced lies and abandoned truth.

The Cathedral isn’t simply a metaphor for the mouthpieces of the mass media; its darkness — its evil — reaches deep into schools, government, entertainment industries, and apparently even local police departments. No mind is safe from its memetic synapse-blasting. Not even the minds of those who are up to their necks in daily reminders of reality and should know better than to spout blatant reality-warping lies intended as much to humiliate the listener as to redirect rage.

In this world, our Cathedral mind prison, media organs credulously accept the word of subhuman filth who claim boredom and random target acquisition for their actions, but will spin spin the universe on its axis to twist a news story about a Hispanic guy shooting a thug in defense who was bashing his head into the ground as a morality tale of white racism against angelic minorities.

Pre-human monsters from the abyss = wide-eyed Cathedral credulity.

Niceguy Hispanic looking out for his neighbors = Cathedral doubleplussmear campaign.

When you lie down with rotting filth, you get up with bad habits of the mind. Excise this stinking corpse of a nation from your mind, it is no longer a part of you and you are no longer a part of it. Time to rebuild something new, better, true and beautiful from the smoldering ashes. People are awakening. A cataclysm stirs.

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Mainstream Feminist Outlets Try To Bury Their Association With Hugo Schwyzer

Hugo Schwyzer, buffoon. Hugo Schwyzer, hypocrite. Hugo Schwyzer, self-proclaimed male feminist leader. Hugo Schwyzer, lover of porn stars, seducer of younger coeds, defiler of the matrimonial vow, potential giver of the herpes simplex Types 1 and 2, self-pegging fap-exposing murder-suicide contemplating part-time homosexing beacon of hope to dumbass feminists and their suck-up allies.

Now we can add one more honorific to Schwyzer’s curriculum vitae: Disgraced, womanly pity whore.

And who, besides Schwyzer himself, helped bring Schwyzer to the depths of the most public of public humiliations? Who was the first to mock his phoniness, ridicule his idiotic male feminist musings, turn him over on the spit for the world to poke with pointed sticks, implicate his supporters and advocates for hitching their fortunes to his ass-kissing self-aggrandizing lies?

Who, indeed.

Schwyster knows all this, too, which makes him a phonyfuck of the highest caliber. The guy spent his early years as a professor cashing in his higher status for the pleasure of fucking his 18-21 year old students. Maybe he is wracked with guilt, and his current ultrafeminist stance is his form of atonement. Or maybe (and more likely, in my view) his hypocritical feminist sycophancy is a ruse to get in the panties of the deluded naifs who take his classes.

Not that there’s anything wrong with that. The difference between me and a lickspittle errand boy like Schwyster is that I don’t go around claiming there’s something psychologically wrong with men for desiring the hot bods and feminine charms of young women. I don’t blame a guy like Schwyster for wanting to stick his dick in his peak fertility students, nor do I stroke feminist egos to earn PC brownie points and page views.

If you want to know who got under Hugo’s skin the most, you need only see which of his tormenters goes missing by name from his meltdown Twitter feed and from his confessionals to less sadistic bloggers than CH.

The reason Hugo doesn’t want to credit the source of his everlasting torment is because CH stuck the shiv in his mottled hide hard and deep, and it’s the twist that still pains him. Unlike many more charitable judgers of Hugo Schwyzer, I feel no pity toward him, nor any incipient feeling of charity. He is a liar, a phonyfuck, a charlatan, and a male attention whore with flapping labia where his mouth should be. He is an enabler of the worst of society, a useful tool conveying the rotten propaganda of assorted losers and misfits and degenerates, singing their off-key tune while he happily cashed in his exploitative scheming for the very nubile rewards his mass of followers tune in to hear him rail against. He is utterly repellent, a lizard in human clothing. I hope that he slices lengthwise, and should he do so, I will dance a happy snoopy dance the likes of which the dark side of the internet has never seen.

But there is a bigger story here than Hugo’s personal twilight, and that is the quickness with which mainstream, widely read feminist media outlets are attempting to bury and conveniently forget their association with Schwyzer. Hugo was, for a long time, a well-regarded paid contributor to such popular feminist and feminism-favoring organs as Jezebel, BlogHer, xojane, The Atlantic, and The Good Men Project. As Chuck noted,

But a few outlets like The Good Men Project, Jezebel, and The Atlantic took a chance on the history and gender studies professor from Pasadena City College who established himself as a male pop feminist by kissing the right asses and having sex with the right people.  Those outlets have avoided addressing their relationship with Hugo.  Jezebel’s editor Jessica Coen wrote a slippery post which was clearly about her former writer, but she wasn’t willing to actually mention Hugo by name. The post was evasive, and many commenters at the site called Coen out for it since Jezebel generally has a confrontational style.  I pitched my conversations with Hugo to The Atlantic as a tale of how two adversaries had spoken about his troubles.  Maybe my low Klout score kept the editor there from accepting the pitch.  And I didn’t go to The Good Men Project with a piece because they’re boring.  Regardless, all of those outlets saw the same person before them that me and many other critics of feminism saw, but they hosted Hugo for years.  Behold the power of telling people what they want to hear.

Funny how that works. You tell an ego-parched fug feminist what she wants to hear, and she opens her legs to your cock and her internet real estate to your cockamamie drivel, believing… oh, so very believing!… .that the male feminist lunacy dripping like honey into her ear palate was the Word of Goddess Herself. Hugo had a niche, and his sneaky fucker strategy netted him the adulation and the blowjobs he craved. Such a niche is not without its merits, but do keep in mind that being a community college professor to dimwits, however lowly in the academia hierarchy, is the lube that greases the coed skids. Playing the male feminist for fun and profit is not likely to work for the man who doesn’t have that hypergamously-grooved prof podium from which to tingle the tangles of thick-bushed queer gender studies acolytes. I don’t fault Hugo for pursuing this snatch-accumulating strategy. But I do shit in his lying face, and I do shit again in the faces of those who took his lies for truth.

So this is a glorious time to be an anti-male feminist. The wails and the rending of pit-stained t-shirts of the manboobs and the scalzied and the Dumb Hams of the world are the dulcet melodies of soaring symphonies, punctuated by the thunderous cymbal crash of lies being smashed. Ahhh, indeed.

But Hugo is an impenetrable pathological narcissist. No amount of soul shivving, however poison-tipped or torturously twisted to tickle vitals, will bring him the event horizon pain he so richly deserves. A shell entity who lives and breathes publicity, bad or good, will only welcome the psy knife that surgically pries his id. No, Hugo will only feel pain, real pain, when something else, something much more threatening to his ego survival, is presented to him. And that something else is Ostracism Total.

The targets of tender CH ministrations, then, are Hugo’s benefactors as much as Hugo himself. Jizzebel, The Atlantic, Good Men Project… you were duped, but only because you wanted to be duped. You wanted to believe in equalist, man-hating lies that caressed your stunted, shriveled, gimpy souls. You bent over and received the tepid diseased injection of a broken freak who knew how to locate and lick your ascended testes. Losers of a feather…

Jizzebel et al., you are served notice. I have you and your lackeys in my sights, and your filth that spews from the fountain of filth which is your whole stillborn existence is the effluvium I will shove back down your throats until you choke on it and recede from public discourse to clear the shit from your veins. The days when you can hire gutter liars like Hugo Schwyzer, and wallow in his fetid stink free of consequence, are over. Your only hope is to drive the Schwyzerian rats from your manicured harridan shelters, so that your circle diddles may continue under the radar of stone cold soul shivvers like yours truly with an eye and a scalpel for finding and dissecting egoistic neediness.

Then, when you — Jizzebel and the rest of the twisted sisters — have cast Hugo and his fellow castrati to the icy wastelands, will the real howls of pain fill the air to the delight of CH guardians of truth and beauty. For nothing will torment the likes of Hugo Schwyzer more profoundly than the torment of solitude.

Hugo, I know you’re reading this. If my words will bring any goodness and light to this world, your days as a lying sack of shit media token shilling for other lying sacks of shit are over. No one will call you, not even your former feminist allies. No one will publish you. No one will admire cross-eyed your throbbing intellect. No one will talk of you. No one will even think of you. When that day comes, and the barrel of the pistol is nestled in your mouth, lazing metallically on your tongue as your thinning, middle-aged lips glide over the shaft like long-ago unshaven feminist coed lovers used to do to your anti-feminist, patriarchal boner, no one, not even your family, will give a shit.

And that will be the lonely solitary pain from which you can’t escape or repurpose to your craven desires. In that moment, that sweet final moment of true and real reflection just before self-deliverance, you will think of my words, and my reminder that you had a choice to turn yourself against the mountain of lies you willingly embraced as your totem and your fate and your salvation. Sweet dreams, eternal darkness.

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How Women Tool Men

White knights are front page news at the Chateau this week, so today we will examine the myriad ways women tool men and make fools of those duty-bound chowderheads with aspirations to white knighting.

1. Let’s You and Him Fight

This is a classic, and often successful, tooling tactic that women throughout history have employed to great personal advantage (or just great personal entertainment). The preferred subterfuge of drama-craving cunts, the LYAHF method — also known as the “got volunteered” method — typically relies on “harmlessly” flirting with a man to encourage his boldness, and then complaining about his reciprocated flirtations to another man, usually a dopey boyfriend, in hopes of inciting the two men to duke it out for make benefit of her joyous glee and erupting ego. The drama-craving cunt (DCC) is found throughout the world, but its natural habitat is in the US, where she rules the land with an iron clit. She ‘mirin, alright… ‘mirin herself. For what is more exciting to a woman, more validating of her labially-engorged ego, than to watch two men pummel each other for her maiden honor?

The man who falls for the “Let’s You and Him Fight” ruse is truly a dumb fuck, the biggest tool in the toolbag. The only proper (and alpha) response to an obvious LYAHF is one that yer humble host, CH himself, once said to a DCC years ago when confronted with the exact scenario described above:

“Does this do it for you? Are you turned on? Don’t call.”

2. A House Divided/Guilt by Association

A woman’s strength is not in her muscles, it’s in her forked tongue. With well-poisoning whisperings of malicious slander, she turns the group against those members she hates, and hopes to draw white knights looking for an illusory pussy pass to her cause. You can read a  great example of a woman using the “House Divided/Guilt by Association” strategy over at this comment thread. Search for “lucretia”. Many a white knight will be duped by this female tactic, because their reflexive disposition to group loyalty and alleviating female distress will override their good judgment of the individual under attack. If a woman cannot win a direct confrontation with a stronger foe, she will act to enlist white knights to isolate, ostracize and destroy the “iconoclasts” that bedevil her.

3. Appeals to Male Honor

The cunning woman knows that a man’s Achilles’ heel is his sense of honor and stoic duty, virtues that, by nature of their sacrosanct inviolability in the male psyche, are ripe for subversion and mobilization to malevolent causes of the woman’s choosing. A woman who can appeal to male honor is a woman with an army at her disposal. And none are more self-righteously believing of their strict adherence to a code of honor than the wannabe white knights.

A well-known example of a woman using the “Appeal to Male Honor” ruse is the single mom imploring a beta boyfriend to marry her and take on her bastard spawn as his own. With wet eyes and craned neck, the woman manipulates the beta’s wellspring of duty-bound honor to her advantage. Marrying a single mom “for the children” is a form of white knighting to which many beta males will acquiesce and post-rationalize as favorable to their individual circumstance. Similarly, the single mom can marshal the power of a million honor-fueled white knights — the State — to shame, hunt down, and squeeze dry deadbeat dads, or, as is more the case recently, newly acquired live-in boyfriends. For what is more honorable (from the distressed woman’s point of view) than a man who is not the father of her bastard spawn taking up the duty to help raise them without complaint or recompense?

4. Damsel in Distress

Perhaps the most renowned of female tooling tactics, the Damsel in Distress ploy, aka the Wounded Gazelle Gambit, has lured many a man into precarious, and sometimes life-threatening, situations to ostensibly “save” a woman usually from a predicament of her own making. Or, just as often, from a manufactured predicament that serves no purpose other than to redistribute time, energy and resources from the man to the scheming woman. The toolbag with white knight pretensions will not be able to resist the siren song of the damsel in distress, and he will often be lavishly rewarded for his assistance with a strong hug and admittance to the woman’s circle of asexual male feminist friends.

5. Why Did You Make Me Hit You?

Ah, there’s nothing quite as exasperating as the stone cold bitch who makes it seem like her bitchiness is all your fault. While this particular tooling tactic is not gender specific, women are most often the ones to use it. (Violent manipulative jerks are too small a percentage of the total population of men to account for more than a minority of this tactic’s adherents.) The woman relying on WDYMMHY will disparage her boyfriend, reducing him to an incoherent lump of uselessness, and then manage through psychological trickery to blame him for her cuntery. He, being a tool-able white knight, will accept his blame and proceed to prostrate himself even further to win back her good graces. This never works.

6. Self-Harm Emotional Blackmail

A girlfriend threatens to off herself. Perhaps she enlivens the scene with a dramatically and conspicuously placed half-empty bottle of pills, a few scattered on the bedsheet. She turns to you, tears falling from her eyes, begging for your love or your understanding or whatever happens to be her craving du jour. You, being the white knight in training you are, can’t resist her calculated vulnerability, and rush to her aid, promising her everything her heart desires. She cuddles, another victory notched on her id-post.

Arguably the most dangerous of the female tooling tactics because of the limited options to defend against it, Self-Harm Emotional Blackmail draws its power from reliance on total female enfeeblement, manipulating the male instinct to protect and serve to whichever ends the woman desires. Even a man who is an avowed anti-white knighter will find it difficult to resist consoling the woman in the middle of deploying a SHEB psy ops campaign. The best defense is also a simple defense: Call her bluff. Throw the razor blade at her and remind her to slice lengthwise. Naturally, she won’t do this, (if she does, you just lost a perennial headache), and your relationship can then proceed with you firmly in the driver’s seat, owning all the hand.

***

This is a list of the most common female tooling tactics. Men tool women, as well, the most obvious example of male tooling being the cad who makes promises of commitment. But tooling as a form of art was perfected by women, and it is women who are quickest to resort to tooling for personal gain, and who possess the greatest tooling acumen. Women can do this because there is a ready and willing supply of white knighting men who welcome their own tooling, usually in the misdirected hope that it will advance them to the pudendum gates of pussy paradise. So ignorant of the role the white knights play as the chump and so dumbly prideful of their histrionic savior complex, that they don’t realize they are kissing cousins of the manboob and the male feminist, two specimens of quasi-men privately loathed while simultaneously publicly lauded by women for their self-castration.

Not every woman with the means (i.e. the prettiness) is a tooling maestro. In fact, the majority of women aren’t. If I had to put a number on it, I’d say 30% of women regularly tool beta males men. This means, if you’ve been in three relationships in your life, odds are one of those women tooled you, with or without your awareness. If you plan to make any sort of career out of seducing women, or, conversely, if you plan to settle down in high-risk matrimonial bliss with one woman forever and ever, you had better get up to speed on the dark arts of emotional manipulation that are regularly availed by women if you want to avoid getting taken to the soul cleaners. A stay at Chateau Heartiste is a first step to clearing the mind.

UPDATE

Folks, here’s the main drawback with following “manly”, “honor-bound” codes of masculine conduct regardless of the particulars:

If you never hold a woman accountable for her actions, she’ll keep doing what she’s doing. And if that means tooling you, that’s what she’ll do.

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The Wickedest Links

1. “So there’s really nothing that can be done about the decline of the Republican Party. As virtue and ability decline in the electorate so does the republic.” Randall, and Reihan, are right. Demography and character are a nation’s destiny. And right now, the US of Gay is going down the crapper on both counts.

2. Do you have a palette of tissues handy? Because feminists are about to weep their last bitter tears. Satoshi Kanazawa is back in the news with a study that concludes the maternal instinct decreases by a quarter for every fifteen extra IQ points. Smart and over-educated lawyercunts are a dying breed. Literally. I believe it was the Audacity of Huge who once tabulated and correlated GSS data to find that smart men have more children than dumb men, while smart women have fewer children than dumb women. I call this the “Alpha Male-Cute Secretary Assortative Mating” theory. You may know it better by its street handle: Female hypergamy. And… wait for it… it will be the salvation of the white race in multicultural miasmas.

3. Study shows girls commit dating violence as often as boys. If you’ve ever dated a drama whore, you know that they can get physically aggressive. It comes with the hot sex territory. You’re banging the bejeezus out of her one night, and the next day she’s pushing you into the knife rack. Now of course, owing to inherent size and strength differences, this sort of physical violence from women carries less risk than the same violence would from men. Men are also more unwilling to admit they get pushed around by their girlfriends and/or wives. Which may be why girls resort to physical violence more often, because they know they can get away with it. The study authors also looked at “verbal violence” — which in CH terms is known as psychological warfare — and this too, is one area where women excel. Now I don’t believe verbal violence is nearly as bad as real violence, but if you take feminists’ and leftoids’ words for it — that bad words are trés hurtful and on a par with stabbings and shootings, and therefore their expression ought to be regulated by the state — then a lot of women should be thrown in jail for nagging and needling their men. #feministlogic

4. “[T]he West began to diverge from the rest long before the Growth Revolution.” Why did the West rise? If you look at GDP per capita, instead of total wealth, it becomes clear that the West diverged from China long before the 19th century. Conclusion: The North Sea diverged from the rest in 1,000 AD. Why? Outbreeding is one answer. Whatever the precise answer, it appears that genes are more and more becoming the obvious candidate for explaining Western greatness. #equalistpain

5. Chicks dig violent jerks. #hohum

6. Suicidal libertarianism. In multiracial, open borders societies, libertarianism is nothing short of a death cult. Any time sperglord Bryan Caplan is owned, is a time to

The inevitable logic of their Rainman ideology that libertarians don’t get (or pretend not to get for tribe-scoring subterfuge) is that, although open borders to the world’s riff-raff may bring short-term proximate benefits like cheap strawberries, it also brings longer-term costs in the form of sacrificing ultimate interests, like one’s ethnic genetic continuity. But perhaps that cost is what the open border libertarian traitors really want. In which case, all that needs saying to them is

7. Sex video exonerates men who were falsely accused of rape by a world class cunt. It’s ironic that the feminist push to enlarge the domain of legal rape and to make it easier for women to accuse men of various sexual improprieties is also creating an incentive for men to videotape every sexual liaison they have with women that feminists would hold up as cultural heroines fighting the patriarchy. But, that’s what you get when you follow #feministlogic.

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Serial Killer Or Omega Male?

“…other worlds where your dad still sees you as his own… i dunno, not shaming myself in the basement getting drunk off tiny wines…”

As many readers know, omega males are the sexual market dregs of malehood. Unlike beta males, omegas can’t get laid with any woman. Even the land whales have to have their renaissance faire turkey leg arms twisted to consider dispensing a pity fuck to an omega male.

What you may not know is the sociological intersection between the more deranged specimen of omega male and the serial killer. It’s a short stutter from counting paper clips and sniffing a chick’s hair when she’s not looking to performing mouth love with a butchered carcass.

Strangely enough, some omega males aren’t half-bad looking and can be quite intelligent. But their social awkwardness is so acute that any compensating positive traits are rendered useless, as we can see in the above video.

Chick needs to do something with her hair. Looks like a mangy red fox fainted on her head.

CH would like to thank the faggot striver boars at MPC for this find.

UPDATE

Evidence has surfaced that this could be staged. If so, it at least serves as a well-acted study of real omega male behavior. Though perhaps the giveaway here is the scripted nature of his soliloquies. A real omega would be hard-pressed to string together a single sentence in the company of a semi-attractive girl without losing his lunch or pausing to pick his nose and eat it.

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Funny Shit Fatties Do

In my travels far and WIDE, I have seen fat people do some really funny shit, usually unintentionally, or have funny shit happen to them on account of their abnormal size, weight, girth and texture. Can’t forget texture.

– Unknowingly dribble food bits and drink down their chins. A fatty completely oblivious to the organic particulates accumulating outside his mouth is a comedic sight to behold.

– Knock over chairs and rattle tables as they were shimmying into seats at restaurants. I once witnessed a fatty so humongous and ill-equipped to navigate her own circumference turn over an entire four-seater table in slo-mo, as her massiveness rounded the bend and she settled her planetary obstruction into her pitiably undersized chair. The table came crashing to the ground, spilling dinnerware and a sad candle onto the floor with a loud clatter.

– Fart with the slightest exertion at the waist. No matter how uptight you are, you won’t be able to restrain a chortle when you hear a fatty rip a sonorous cheek-flapper as she’s bending over a mere inch to straighten a wrinkle on her tent pants. And lest you think you can politely hide your amusement, remember that a fatty’s fart is ten times as loud as a normal weight person’s fart, given that the fatty’s back draft has multiple zones of blubber to travel before final release. You’d think this would act to muffle the offending blast, but instead, like a geothermal well, pressure builds until the equivalent of a refinery’s worth of gas has parted the outer ass layer, and the slapping of cheese-cleaved butt roasts produces a ten-piece trumpet tremolo worthy of the Philharmonic.

– Break a chair. Yes, despite its clichéd nature, I remember clear as the day the time a fatty sat her bulk on a chair and one of the back legs gave out, flinging her backwards like a post-breach whale. She landed with such adiposity that… and I swear this as Lucifer is my unholy mentor… she bounced a little upon impact.

– Take a direct hit from an out-of control bicyclist and barely nudge as the guy on the bike goes flying in the opposite direction. A particularly overgrown specimen of fatty — a man weighing in the arena of 400 pounds, mostly confined to the belly and, steatopygially, to the buttocks — was winged by a bicyclist who, inexplicably, didn’t see the fatty before it was too late to avoid collision. The fatty took the brunt of the front wheel’s tangential blow to the bull’s-eye on his hanging midsection and fell back two steps, still miraculously on his feet, while the bicycler, and his bike, ricocheted like a bank shot pool ball at a tidy 45 degree angle from point of contact, finishing their macabre pirouette in a heap on the ground, front wheel futilely spinning in the air, grasping for asphalt that wasn’t there. The fatty did eventually fall to his feet, but only well after the dust had cleared, ostensibly to catch his breath from the blow’s radiating shock waves of pain, thirty seconds post-crash, that were just reaching his delicate innards. Bystanders rushed to help the bicyclist but assistance for the fatty was, of course, beyond anyone’s ability, given that no witness appeared able to deadlift 400 pounds of dangerously shifting weight.

– Absorb a sunburn in a perfect circle on the abdomen. A fatty female who, incomprehensibly to those with sense, was wearing a bikini and sunbathing on her back, stood up to reveal a bright red spot that circumnavigated the entirety of her yeast-risen belly. The perfect geometry and smoothness of edge was astounding, and gave her front the look of a red-rumped baboon in heat.

– Smoosh flip-flops into micron-thin atomic layers. Take a look at a fatty’s flip-flops sometime. Notice how wafer-thin the soles are. Then laugh as you wonder if the flip-flop’s atomic lattice was pressurized into a new periodic table element.

– Push seven large, sweating and grunting, adult men to the breaking point during the Horah. No further elucidation needed.

– Since this is a non-denominational shaming session, I once saw a fatty with tits so grossly inflated completely bury her Madonna-esque crucifix in folds of breast blubber. Jesus wheezed.

And my favorite fatty funny….

– Listen to a fat chick expound at length about her “great catch” boyfriend, only to watch her unscripted surprise when he showed up, apparently uninvited, at the social gathering we were attending, and thereby proved without a doubt, by evidence of both his notable lack of swagger and blank personality, just how far he actually was from being a “great catch”. But the best part was when, later, she asked for a sip of his beer and then proceeded to chug nearly half the bottle, leaving him with a sorry puddle of dregs at the bottom, which he stared at forlornly for an uncomfortably long spell.

Some people, probably fat asses themselves, with a constitutional aversion to the idea of mocking fat fucks for fun and aesthetic profit, have forwarded CH a study* which claims to show that fat shaming doesn’t work as a method to persuade fatties to slim down. To that, I say, that’s not shaming! You want shaming, I’ll give you shaming. Real shaming, not this pussyfoot crap based on an amorphous concept like “discrimination” favorable to Narrative guidelines.

*There is a major flaw with the “fat shaming” study. Specifically, the researchers relied on self-reporting questionnaires that asked whether participants had experienced discrimination. Anyone who is familiar with the hamster rationalizing of assorted losers in life, such as fat grotesqueries and chisel-chinned feminists, will tell you how adept those people are at blaming anyone but themselves for their wretched wretchedness. So it should be no surprise that a bunch of fat shits waddled into a quiet study to fill out a form with cheetos-stained fingers blaming the equivalent of THE MAN for their love of wolfing down greasy fried food and pints of ice cream.

Now, if you want real shaming that actually BITES, try shaming fat shits with methods proven to work. Charge them more to use public transit. Laugh openly at them. Make a spectacle of them. Flay their souls for the mirth of the cheering, howling mob, a la Chateau Heartiste. Sneer at, belittle, and viciously mock them. Or, if you prefer the crueler, subtler art of soul shivving, converse with them in innuendo and sly entendre that lets them know, forever and ever, how repulsive they are to normal people.

If, after years of this psychological torture, most fatties don’t find the fortitude to push away from the table, then you may say that shaming doesn’t work. But I suspect, rather strongly based on real world observation, that many fatties would discover in themselves a hidden untapped well of willpower, and lose the weight. For those fatties who prefer to abandon all hope under the social shaming onslaught and retreat to a dank bedroom to eat until they explode, well, consider it culling the herd. Evolution in action. The untimely dispatch of a species’ deformed members gets a bad rap, but it’s a good thing for the species’ survival as a whole. And the slim phoenix that rises from the rendered ashes will be a good thing for lovers, such as CH, of truth and beauty and sexy babes who can inspire authentic boners.

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Leftoids Fear Themselves More Than They Fear Redneck Bogeymen

An anonymous commenter at Sailer’s left this interesting remark about the psychology motivating the lords of lies:

“Some of the virulence… stems from an underlying chain of logic in elite thinking that I find scary: If young black males really do tend to be more crime-prone, then…oh, no, the Nazis were right! So if Americans ever become embarrassed by the insipid political correctness we instruct them to spout, they will immediately thaw out Hitler’s cryogenically preserved brain and elect it president. Or something.”

I’ve noticed this for a long time. I can’t claim to have a perfect explanation, but keep in mind that most American lefties tend to embrace (at least implicitly) two key ideas: Utilitarianism and Utopianism.

Look at all the hip SWPL charities that swear their mission is to “End ______ forever!” (Insert “poverty”, “child abuse”, “racism”, “gun violence”, etc.) In contrast, dour conservatives (whether religious or secular) tend to agree with the Gospel warning “the poor you have always with you“.

Similarly, lefties in the USA tend to be basically Utilitarian on most issues- the idea that something should be avoided simply because it is intrinsically immoral strikes most of them as rather quaint, except for issues that don’t really affect them personally, on which they can afford to be high-minded (In fairness, too many conservative Republicans have the same problem, just for different issues). A woman got knocked up by mistake? Sure, abort the pregnancy for her convenience. Dad’s taking too long to die and running up big medical bills? Euthanize him. A jury failed to make an example of an innocent man as instructed? Screw double jeopardy and bring him up on “hate crime” charges.

When you believe (at least implicitly) that 1) Society can be perfected by human means, or at least come reasonably close to perfection, and 2) any practical means to achieve that objective should be seriously considered, the progressive dread of politically-incorrect Hatefacts starts to make more sense. If “genetically inferior” blacks are all that is standing in the way of turning every city in America into a hipster SWPL paradise, what can’t be justified? My theory, then, is that, despite what they say, progressives are not really worried about what crotchety conservatives and religious zealots out in flyover country will do if frank discussions of race become commonplace- they’re worried about what they themselves will have to consider doing. Already, most urban progressives aren’t bothered much by the NYPD’s institutionalized racial profiling, the disproportionate abortion rate of blacks, or sex-ed programs clearly targeted at black teens. How big of a leap is it to, say, forced sterilization? I don’t presume to speak for progressives, but it doesn’t seem like much of a leap to me.

Projection… it’s what’s for dinner!

This commenter is onto something. The progressive aka leftoid (a term of art CH coined to fully capture the anti-human, hivemind quality of progressive psychology) harbors deeply troubling thoughts. Dark intimations swirl in his heart when solitude and a time-out from status whoring allow the full range of his true feelings to command silent attention. These discomfiting brain betrayals of RealThink which flit in and out of the leftoid’s conscious awareness truly upset him. He’s supposed to be The Good Man. Why does he feel so much unease when reality and his rectitude collide?

For some leftoids, self-flagellation cleanses the impure thoughts and offers redemption among peers. But for most, gargantuan egos unable to tolerate pointed self-abasement direct their discomfort outward to animus-bearing stand-ins, i.e. racial cousins, who have been caricatured and, in a way, enshrined as moral infants in need of the leftoid’s divine guidance. It’s in his act as the bringer of phony salvation and the dispenser of righteous judgment that the leftoid maneuvers around his own dangerous crimethink, and continually postpones the day when his superego must reconcile with his id.

When the moment of reckoning arrives — as such moments will when reality weighs down so heavily upon internalized propaganda that its sustenance is no longer possible — don’t be shocked at the depravities the leftoid is capable of summoning. He is a perfectionist, a utopian, and a moral supremacist: A psychological trifecta hitched to a constitutionally unhappy person that can unleash immense evil and even immenser rationalizations for that evil.

So, down in the carbonized core of his arhythmic heart, the leftoid knows he is a Grendel, a monster of the misty night who can’t stand the sounds of normal humanity. His twisted compulsions drive him to meddle in everything that seem not up to the standards of his fantasies, and he suspects he would do monstrous things if the moral winds ever shifted and opened up new utopian opportunity. He suspects monstrous deeds are his tomorrow because he thinks monstrous thoughts today.

A prediction: The first large-scale, mandatory “sterilization for welfare” program will be proposed, framed skillfully in the garb of slippery sophistry and blame redirection, by a SWPL leftoid, and advocated by a SWPL leftoid message machine. You read it here.

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