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Archive for the ‘The Pleasure Principle’ Category

10s exist. Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise. Their rarity and rarified beauty are naturally cause for disputation among men who bound their egos to their ability to discern exquisite apex femininity, but rarity is not a synonym for nonexistence.

With that in mind, would you consider this meadow minx an HB10? The perfection of woman by the standards of present-day worldwide womanhood?

hb10

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I wasn’t sure whether to put this human interest story (h/t reader A.P.) in a “Shitlord of the Week” or “Alpha of the Week” post, so I decided to skip either option and focus on the lightly embedded moral tale of this Texas man’s life:

The jerkboy may be hated, but he is never ignored nor unloved.

After Leslie Ray Charping died at age 75, his family decided to run a brutally honest obituary eulogizing the “evil” late relative.

The family wrote that Charping “leaves behind two relieved children,” in addition to “countless other victims including an ex wife, relatives, friends, neighbors, doctors, nurses and random strangers.”

The jerkboy may come
the jerkboy may go
But the jerkboy is rarely
if ever alone.

His death came at an age that was “29 years longer than expected and much longer than he deserved,” according to the obituary on the Carnes Funeral Home site.

At least he was remembered. Many boring betas go to their graves leaving no trace of themselves in the collective consciousness.

“At a young age, Leslie quickly became a model example of bad parenting combined with mental illness and a complete commitment to drinking, drugs, womanizing and being generally offensive,” the obituary read.

I bet Leslie left behind a lot of broken hearts. Hearts which still secretly yearn for his love.

The obituary goes on to list his hobbies which included abusing his family and expediting trips to heaven for his pets. He was also interested in fishing, which “he was less skilled with than the previously mentioned.

Now that’s just bad form.

“Leslie’s life served no other obvious purpose, he did not contribute to society or serve his community and he possessed no redeeming qualities besides quick [witted] sarcasm, which was amusing during his sober days,” the obituary read.

Ah, there it is. Did you catch that? The sound of those hurt by Leslie who nevertheless, even in his “deserved” death, can’t help but fondly reminisce about his charming company. The jerkboy is like that; one moment stomping on your heart, the next lighting up your dull life. A force of personality. An anti-hero. A blast of heat in a cold world.

No services will be held for him.

He served himself in life.

“Leslie’s passing proves that evil does in fact die and hopefully marks a time of healing and safety for all,” the obituary concluded.

“Healing and safety”: the words of an alpha widow rationalizing the blessings of her post-Leslie bored, drama-free life.

To all the Leslie Ray Charpings of America: we lovers of women and grabbers of pussy celebrate your life and honor your passing in the hope that your kind will not disappear from weird, wild America at a time when we need you most.

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thetingle

First, can I just say how UPLIFTING (heh) it is to look at First Lady Melania instead of Harambe Trapezius? A guy could get used to this.

Second, every man who’s lived a day in his life knows that look of a woman rocked by a silent, seismic tingle of love rushing on a current of lust. Right at the moment Herr Trumperica assumed the most powerful throne in the world, a barely-contained supernova of admiration and primal desire escaped Melania’s poise. Sex for only her man drips from her gaze in this photo.

If optics were everything in politics, Americans have the distinct pleasure of jettisoning a sooty smoggy reduced visibility for a gleaming, glorious, crystal clear vista that extends to the farthest horizon. The stars shine in all their multitude tonight.

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It’s all about the lack of balls. Les Saunders, Protestant, explains.

In my line of work, I run into a lot of young attractive women and cucks (in addition to old crones). Being me, if an attractive young lady in the workplace drips past, I’ll make a comment about her appearance of something or other. You know, normal guy stuff. These cucks seem just aghast that a male could think of women in such vulgar ways.

I think I’ve figured it all out.

Cucks have never, ever in their lives seen pussy, gone after pussy, and grabbed pussy*. Rather, they are the pathetic losers who have only gotten laid by virtue of women choosing them, instead of their choosing the woman. These are the guys in university who got laid maybe once per semester or year because some drunk girl grabbed them at 2am on the dance floor when Red Red Wine came on. They’ve never chased a woman in their life, save perhaps for some weak, passive aggressive, beta supplicant way which never works by the way. So naturally, they find the idea of men pursuing women “problematic”. Sad!

*it bears repeating. Those of us who’ve ever seduced women in our lives know that grabbing women by the pussy did not and does not mean sexual assault. That’s for losers and Arabs. It’s about seducing and creating that moment with a woman where she totally surrenders to you, and you can take what you wish.

Cucks, manlets, manginas, and reedy-voiced white knights will actually use words like “vile” to describe Trump’s braggadocio about women letting rich and famous men grab their pussies. Les gets it; the manginas’ carefully manicured revulsion of boldly entitled alpha males is a product of their immersion in the shrikeheist of a demasculinized gynecratie coupled with an EXTREMELY slow life history that meant decades in the incel wilderness waiting waiting waiting for subpar poon to fall in their laps instead of sacking up and doing the one thing women really cream for when it comes from a man: busting a move.

The baleful rise of anhedonic male feminism is directly related to the expansion of the incel subsociety and the missing experience that comes from actually hitting on women to know that Consent Feminism virtue signaling dries pussy faster than an accidental Pill overdose.

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You’re expecting a toe-curled encomium to my bedroom prowess, but as satisfying as those coital compliments are, the most flattering words I’ve ever heard from a woman are, “You make me feel like a teenager with a crush.”

Arousing a woman so thoroughly that she emotionally regresses to the state of a teen girl who can’t stop thinking about a boy who’s captured her heart is a worthy goal for any womanizer. A woman’s truest, deepest, rawest, most irreconcilable and primal love strips her ego bare of any mundane considerations of a man’s value to her and leaves her drifting on an ocean of her innocent, uncut desire.

What are the most flattering words you’ve heard from a woman?

whorefinder: “I love your rape”

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Truth serum time. I made a post of this article mostly because I wanted to float that flavortown post title over the center field warning track. It tickles me.

I accidentally slept with a Donald Trump supporter

My name is Diana. I’m a 27 year-old bartender. I met this guy on Tinder about two months ago, a few days after I’d moved from Toronto to San Diego.

On a not-unrelated note, Texas is turning blue in our lifetimes, bank on it if these immigration patterns hold. (toronto is not much better than somalia) The only escape will be TEXIT.

We’d been chatting for all of a day, and we agreed to meet at a bar in downtown San Diego. We were just going to play Big Buck Hunter and have some drinks. It was very short notice. We didn’t even exchange phone numbers.

He showed up at the bar, and he was super handsome. Like, really tall—six-foot-four or something absurd. We were wearing matching leather jackets. His Triumph Bonneville was parked outside. This guy looked badass.

Trumpiognomy.

It turned out he was pro-choice and an atheist, which was good.

A savvy womanizer knows to avoid God and abortion conversational pitfalls that could deep-six pre-sex scheming.

But the night progressed. We went out to some other bars, had some more drinks, and he invited me back to his place. I was super excited, because I was really into this guy.

It’s always dankest before the dong.

We hooked up, and it was incredible. There was a lot face-touching and intense eye contact. He was cool as hell. I was completely smitten.

BEST SEX I EVER HAD – Canadian Maples

At some point I got up and sauntered over to his bookcase, because I wanted to see what he was into. I saw a few photos, and then a David Sedaris book that I love. I asked him about the Sedaris book and he said he hadn’t read it yet. But then, right beside it, I saw a book about Donald Trump. It wasn’t The Art of the Deal or one of his how-to-succeed-in-business books. It was In Trump We Trust, by Ann Coulter. So I asked him about it. I was like, “Ha ha, this is funny.”

How sweet it is to step out with that shitlord strut *after* splitting a slut’s moistened rut.

Meanwhile I’m a Canadian expat who just moved to America. I pointed that out and he went, “No, no. It’s different.” Why? Because I’m white and in my twenties?

Well, yes. But you still have to go back.

He started talking disparagingly about Black Lives Matter. This entire conversation happened in five minutes, while I was frantically getting dressed to leave. I wasn’t there to argue, and I felt deeply uncomfortable.

Amygdala overload.

I got a Lyft home and I thought I was done with him. The next day he messaged me on Tinder. He said, “Hope you’re still not upset over politics LOL.” I explained that it’s hard for me to remain attracted to someone whose views are so different from mine, and who believes in bigotry and xenophobia—which sucked, because the sex was amazing.

Five minutes of shitlord….

Then he said, “Not accepting other people’s beliefs is the definition of bigotry.”

*tips maga hat at her, grabs pussy* “One more to remember me by.”

So apparently it was my fault.

This is womanspeak for “It was my fault”.

He sent me a “hey” message a week later, which I never replied to.

FaceSavingThatNeverHappened.txt

I couldn’t do it again. It feels taboo to sleep with a Trump supporter.

“If this is taboo, I don’t want to be virtuous.”

But here’s the thing: I’ve slept with a lot of people in my life.

#SlutsWithHer

This guy ranked in the top five.

The other four were Putin fans.

Btw, if she’s mounted enough cock to assemble a “top five”, it’s a good bet her total cock count numbers in the hundreds. Marriage material!…….for a beta.

I thought maybe I’d try him again one night at 3 a.m., when I was drunk enough to overlook his political views. But I couldn’t bring myself to do it.

This is womanspeak for “I did it”.

I don’t want to wake up next to a guy who blames Mexicans for his woes and thinks “bigly” is a word, no matter how handsome he is.

And yet she wrote about that “uncomfortable” evening from two months ago. She can’t stop thinking about him.

Everything she wrote is typical female hamster rationalization for loving a charming Trumpboy. She wearily and half-heartedly hunts for his flaws to absolve herself of personal responsibility while simultaneously craving the invading force of his Trumpenrod. Betabitch BernieBros and mangina Hill shills wept.

This man’s MAGA Game is tight. He wins a green Pepe condom. Feels good man.

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Trump seems to be prescient. His Twatter timeline going back years is filled with quasi-predictions that have come true. Twatline 2013: Trump tweets that thecunt’s lesbian lover Huma Abedin (IT’S HABEDIN!) is a national security risk because her husband is the notorious “pervert” Anthony Weiner who would have access to State Department emails through Huma.

Fast forward 2016: FBI reopens a nation-wde, multiple-office investigation of thecunt’s emails and the Clinton Foundation, based on a treasure trove of auto-synced emails that were stored on Huma’s husband’s HAZMAT classified faptop. All information gathered so far points to a Clinton crime syndicate so vast and brazen it may go down history as the greatest political scandal in American history.

Is Trump a prophet? Maybe. More likely, Trump knew all this shit would hit the fan because he was an insider who remembered the garbage hour secrets that party guests would spill to him. A charming, New York real estate magnate and international playboy who golfed with Bill Clinton and attended (and hosted) soirees with various high level political functionaries would have the scoop on a lot of dirt. I’ve no doubt Bill himself leaked a few juicy tidbits about the corruption going on at the Clinton Foundation to Trump. They were buddies, then.

PUAs have a term for the world of women that most men (read: beta males) never see: the Secret Society. In this world, a few crimson pilled alpha men with social connections and a raging sense of ballsy self-entitlement have no-strings-attached sexual access to the hottest and tightest pussy. Trump is, or rather was until he decided to cash it all in and take on the entire rotten system as one man on a mission from Kek, a member of the elite secret society, an eyes wide shut club of billionaires, movers and shakers, and powerful politicians.

In this Bilderburgian, Bezosian secret society that Trump inhabited, a trusted, happy-go-lucky, superficially buffoonish insider like Trump would be privy to the whispered intimations of fraud, venality, and graft by tipsy (and flirty) scions of the ruling class.

I guess what I’m saying is it could only have been Trump, or a Trump-like figure, for this moment. A reckless, zero fucks given, brash, BALLS TO THE MEXICAN WALL secret society billionaire with a true heartfelt affinity for salt of the earth Americans, and a lifetime’s cache of perfidious dealings drunkenly confessed by self-satisfied elites that, if revealed to the public, could take down the most corrupt political dynasty in history. God protect him, because he has pierced the heart of hell….and hell never gives up quietly.

***

whorefinder writes that The Trump is The Batman.

It just hit me: Trump is fucking Batman.

Why? Simple: the common portrayal of Batman he is in his Bruce Wayne persona is that of a stupid, impulsive, thoughtless, carefree playboy. In all incarnations (except the fabulous 1990s Animated Series version, which gets a ghetto pass because fucking awesome), Batman deliberately cultivates the air-headed drunk frat boy persona to throw suspicion off himself and to get his party mates to spill the beans to him without thinking he’d remember or understand.

It’s only as Batman does he use this information to plot cold, calculated, very intricate and long-term plans to take down the evil. Because Batman’s real superpower is always planning more and harder than the other guy.

Trump’s buffoonish TV persona is Batman’s Bruce Wayne persona. And as Batman is the savior of Gotham, Trumpenking is the savior of America.

All hail the Dark Knight of America rape!

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