Archive for the ‘The Pleasure Principle’ Category

I loved this comment by TicklingTimeBomb describing the Life Cycle of the White Urban Shitlib (WUS for short).

I live in the urban educated white demographic being talked about here.

If I had to hazard an anecdotally-informed guess, it’d go something like this:

Urban educated whites start families very late. So they spend a LONG time without kids, often with good or great jobs, enjoying all sorts of DINK goods and services that cities can provide. And their views on government are often, mostly, at the level of abstractions and virtue signalling. And a lot of them are in the weird situation that they have quite a lot of disposable income, which means they feel pretty economically secure from one vantage point… which leads them to having lots of moral outrage about the plight of minorities who are their neighbors (from a few neighborhoods over) and who use the failing schools and suffer all the gang violence. So they feel Privileged. [ed: the source of tikkun olam] And yet on the other hand, they also feel incredibly economically pinched, because of insane housing prices, and student loan debt, and the need (down the road) for paying for private schools, which contributes hugely to them putting off family formation, along with social norms from their peers about it not being a big deal to start families late, and to have few children.

If you’re this person, the idea that government should step in and make it easier for you to start a family is pretty understandable. It sucks to be hitting your mid/late 30′s and thinking your life is just on hold for ever. OF COURSE, you’re actually right in this case. You SHOULD be looking to government to step in… because in the places where people can afford houses, like in major Texas cities, government absolutely does play a huge role in setting zoning, tax, and regulatory regimes that are pro-growing-the-middle-class housing supply. Ironically.

What I have seen, over and over, is that white educated urban dwellers have their first kid, weather a year or two trying to make it work, and then either their kids gets too big for their apartment and starts needing school, or the lack of yards starts grating, or they have a second kid, and they end up giving up, and abandoning the city. And then they move out to the suburbs, have their attitudes change, start seeing the other side of policy discussions because they now have kids and so have skin in the game, and they’re now surrounded by neighbors with a different set of social norms about family and government – hell, maybe they even join the local megachurch because they think the socialization will be good for their kids. They might still be socially liberal in some sort of airy abstract way, but at a nuts-and-bolts level, their tax dollars are segregated to people like themselves. And because they’ve moved, the norms of the cities they’ve had to abandon remain basically static. These people’s attitudes and world views change, but they bring those changes with them somewhere else, only to be replaced by younger versions of themselves in the city with their former attitudes. It’s like a standing wave.

This isn’t just purely theory – I’ve watched this process happen with people I know a bunch of times.

It’s tragicomic ’cause it’s true.


The point about cities being essentially “standing waves” of shitliberalism is spot on, and the reason why densely-populated cities will never politically convert to light blue, let alone pink or red. (A good test case of this assertion is to create a new city along the coast populated with only very conservative people bussed in from middle America. Will the city gradually turn blue, or will it be the deep red of the people who moved there and enjoy its hedonistic escapes?)

Cities aren’t just population sinks; they’re shitlord sinks. Any starting population of shitlords in a city won’t be able to sustain itself because the shitlords will “boil off”, leaving for the suburbs or countryside where their values and aesthetic don’t provoke aneurysms in the locals.

Of course, the shitlord sink theory of urbanity competes with the theory of heritable political disposition, but my thinking is that inherited dispositions (and their relation to reproductive fitness) are positively or negatively affected by the Weltanshauung of one’s human habitat; i.e., gene-culture co-evolution.

The one child-per family formation of WUSes mathematically means that their population will halve each generation, eventually meaning their extinction. So how do the cities continue functioning if there are fewer WUSes every year who feel an affinity for the anonymous child-free fucking of city life? (“put condom dispensers in grade schools, BIGOT”)

OPEN BORDERS IMMIGRATION is one method cities are replenished. Another city replenishment program is accomplished through the anonymous urban environment acting as a matchmaking service substitute for what used to be the concern of parents, church, and community, drawing in prime age hotties and high horny level anime aficionados on the promise of endless unencumbered sex and romantic interludes while dining at sidewalk cafes (but don’t make eye contact with the glowering google strutting by!).

tl;dr There’s a reason the anti-White and anti-Heritage America globalists want to herd everyone into dense urban spaygrounds modeled after Calhoun’s rat experiments (which they sell by exploiting environmental concerns about “sprawl”). City life is a shitliberalism factory with a handy expiration date built-in for the hated native stock.

Read Full Post »

The woman who was the subject of Trump’s private “pussy grab” bro banter with Billy Bush is seen here in a 2005 interview discussing her time with Trump when he was on the set of her soap opera to make a cameo appearance. Start at 5:30:

“You recently worked with Donald Trump. Did you flirt with Donald?”

“I did flirt with Donald. He is so cute and charming.”

Arianne admitted that since she had gotten married, she became a lot flirtier with other men.

This video puts the lie to those wilting flowers, cucks and manlets and white knights in particular, who think that an alpha male’s locker room banter means he “hates” women. Nothing could be further from reality. The brash alpha, like Trump, is one way in (assumed) confidence with male friends and another way with female love interests. Anyone who doesn’t understand this social dynamic is a shut-in or an outcast. Or a disingenuous fag, like cuckryan.

Anyhow, while fake phony fraud cuckryanistas bleed out of their wherevers lamenting Trump’s “objectification” of and lack of “reverence” for a flirty soap actress who revered Trump and enjoyed his objectifying charms which left her with good memories of his company, normal psychologically balanced heterosexual men and women get that beautiful starlets will throw themselves at a famous rich man like Trump and that this doesn’t mean an oppressive patriarchal rape culture is about to descend on America, nor does any of it indicate that Trump is a misogynist any more than it would indicate that Arianne is a misandrist.

Bottom line, this latest outburst by the betabitch crybullies is nothing but the release of suppressed resentment at alpha male Trump for reminding the cucks what failures they are with women and reminding the feminist cunts what failures they are at attracting men like Trump.

PS Keep in mind these cucks mewling about Trump’s raunchy private sex talk are the same degenerate hypocrites marching in gay pride parades and supporting slut walks. BAKE THE DAMN CAKE, BIGOT.

PPS A massive spontaneous rally of support for Trump erupted today in NYC when the God Emperor himself appeared outside his Trump Tower. thecunt will never feel this kind of love. Never. And it eats her up inside, what little is left to eat up.

PPPS Here’s video of thecunt and gross fatbody lena dumpham discussing Lenny Kravitz’s dick.

Read Full Post »

From personal experience, I can tell you [REDACTED].

Candy is dandy, and liquor is quicker, but for pickup power-ups nothing beats the white stuff.

A commenter at West Hunter tangentially makes the case for cocaine as the premiere Game drug.

Weird thing is, the coke users are also assholes before they run out. Most accurate film depiction of cocaine: the folie a deux sequence in Boogie Nights where two talentless and tasteless porn morons imagine they are promising musicians. Whoever wrote that knows the secret of stimulant-induced mania.

About withdrawal: it’s the alcoholics who die, and to a lesser extent the benzo-ites.

Heroin addicts don’t die from withdrawal, but do when they quit and suddenly go back, thanks to dosage errors.

Coke heads die of CHF and the like…or they get killed by sober people who can’t stand their endless self-absorbed chatter. Think Sheen circa 2010.

Coke abusers are assholes, but as we all know chicks dig assholes. There’s a well-documented and field-proven effect of overconfident men stimulating the sexual arousal systems of women. Imperturbable self-confidence, irrational or justified, is lightning to a lass’s limbic lobe.

PUAs of the worthwhile sort impress upon neophytes the importance of cultivating a “strong frame” or “inner game”, which is jargon for self-confidence, whether conventionally warranted by external achievement or derived from internal mental machinations. Cocaine mimics — quite a lot more quickly — the effects upon one’s behavior and attitude of having a fertile Inner Game brainscape. It can therefore serve as a seduction accelerant if taken at the right dose (a bump’ll do ya, or so I’ve heard), albeit the benefits are a temporary boost that come with a load of bummer withdrawal symptoms.

A soberly developed Inner Game is far preferable, because it’s a self-regarding high that lasts longer than fifteen minutes, and when inevitable down times arrive the crash isn’t all the way to the cortical cellar.

That said, if you’re a frightened beta bunny who can’t quite summon his Inner Bear to approach and dazzle women, you could consider availing yourself of the alpha-channeling benefits of a small pharmaceutical intervention. Just try not to get used to it.

Read Full Post »

The woman in this photo is a robot (aka sexbot, for that inevitably will be her primary utilization).


The uncanny valley — that stage in lifelike robot development when near-but-not-quite-there-yet-similarity to real humans provokes a creeped-out response — has always been an obstacle to nerds designing anime-tronic lovers. We like our cute Wall-E robots; we don’t like our cute fucktoy robots that look a little bit “off”.

But recent rapid advances in sexbot tech hint at a future that is not far off when the uncanny valley is ascended and sexbots are almost indistinguishable from real (Playboy Centerfold) women. When that future arrives — and it will, barring a cleansing patriarchal cataclysm — millions of romantically unsuccessful or unsatisfied men living in Obesitopia and Androgynopolis and Sheryl Sandberg-La will face a choice:


Their choices will be easy to understand, even if it is the final choice civilization makes before its disappearance from the earth.

Houellebecq chuckled.


Reminder that Le Chateau was the first alt-realist to bring you news and opinion of the impending sexbot revolution, and how its arrival would radically reconfigure the dating and marriage markets.

Read Full Post »

A word on power.

Most men won’t experience the rush of having real power and so are apathetic to the pursuit of it, but the few rare ones who get a taste of power never stop chasing it. Familiarity, in this case, breeds intense longing.

It’s akin to youthful beauty for women. The has-been model knows what she has lost better than the never-was plain jane knows what she has to gain.

Read Full Post »

Porn for women is an overlooked phenomenon, partly because the type of porn that stimulates women isn’t as visually arresting as the porn that consumes men. The pink and moist pyrotechnics we associate with the online porn that readily captures male attention does little for women (though recent data suggest more women are turning to online porn for sexual relief, the numbers are still low, under 20%).

Female porn utilizes a different medium of arousal delivery, but the effect on the female libido and ability to form healthy relationships is just as profound as that of online porn’s effect on men.

So what is female porn? It’s pulp romance — in the form of books, movies and TV — that caresses lady limbic lobes to sprout slick clit dick. In a word: words.

More wokely, a lot of that female porn is rape fantasy porn.

The premise: women are different than men, in the most fundamental ways imaginable. Evolution as old as time has resulted in a sexually reproducing species that has inherited sexual, mental and psychological traits differentiating the sexes.

If you can’t accept this premise (self-delusion is a widespread affliction in post-America), then you won’t understand how it is words can have the same power over women’s horny levels that graphic crotch-slapping close-ups have on men’s horny levels. Nevertheless, it’s true. Women are turned on when they read salacious stories that allow their hindminds to fill in the sticky details.

There are hundreds of thousands of self-published ebook authors, but according to Amazon, only 40 of these have managed to make a profit by selling over 1 million copies of their ebooks over the last five years. Ms. Wild happens to be one of them. What is her secret? […]

So let’s look at what Ms. Wild writes about in her novels. Her first novel, Hardwired, is about a young woman’s encounters with “an array of sexual kinks.” Her subsequent novels are along the same vein. At the end of the article, a writer for Ms. Wild’s new publishing house says she is happy to “focus on writing sex scenes” because: “I just want to write wicked hot books.”

And here the light begins to flicker onto the truth. Under the euphemism of “romance,” Ms. Wild peddles erotica, the literary equivalent of pornography. While her books are not filled with nude photographs or graphic video, they contain the same drug reconstituted into another form: words that translate into pornographic images which burn into the minds of their readers (to see for yourself, excerpts of her novels are available on her website).

Ms. Wild, it turns out, is the female equivalent of Hugh Hefner. She is a verbal drug pusher, shoving words as potent as cocaine at her own gender.

And droves of women are clearly addicted. In an industry that is insanely competitive, where most authors earn below the poverty line, Ms. Wild’s first novel, published in 2014, was making $500,000 in royalties per month soon after its release. Ms. Wild sold a total of 1.4 million copies of this book and agreed to a $6.25 million advance for five books. She also started a new publishing house, which has already sold more than a million copies and hit the New York Times Bestseller list with one of its first titles, Calendar Girl.

The bottom line on the numbers of female porn consumers:

But according to Laurie Kahn, producer of the documentary film Love Between the Covers: “More than 70 million people in the USA alone read at least one romance novel per year, and most of them read many more.”

The US Census for 2015 shows there are 100 million women between 18 and 64 years old living in the United States. If Kahn’s number is correct, and assuming that the majority of those “70 million people” are women, then up to 70 percent of American women are covertly consuming literary pornography.

Pleasureman wept.

Does any of this matter? Parents want to shield their kids from visual porn, but they don’t feel nearly the same protective affront when a woman is reading a pulp romance novel in public.

You are sitting on a bus during your morning commute. In the seat next to you, there is a male passenger reading Penthouse. Chances are you may feel upset, perhaps disgusted. You might even demand that he stop.

On the other side, there is a female passenger holding a book with a very plain cover, entitled Into the Fire. With a mysterious title like that, this book could be about anything. If you ask, the passenger will tell you that it is a “romance” novel by Meredith Wild. The passenger has always loved these kinds of books, she tells you, ever since she read Jane Austen as a teenager. Innocent fairy tale, you conclude.

Both passengers are consuming pornography. But the woman is doing it so discreetly that almost no one recognizes it—often, not even the statistics.

Here’s the thing: the woman reading Into the Fire on the bus is popping a public lady boner just as assuredly as a man scouring Pornclearinghouse on his iPhag is jutting impudently into the public space. From five feet away, typeset is harder to discern than a streaming PIV video; that’s the only difference between the porn-consuming man and woman and the social norms they are violating.

Among those who admit that romance literature is pornography, there is a tendency to consider it “soft-core” (some also downplay it as “mommy porn“). This implies that it is less potent and less dangerous than the “hard” visual stuff that fries the brains of men.

When viewed from a male perspective, it makes sense to classify “pornmance” as “soft” pornography. Men are more visual than women, so they respond more strongly to photographs and video. To men, images are like crack cocaine, and literary pornography is mere marijuana.

But for women, the opposite is true. Women are less visual, and so less attracted to the internet pornography that is irresistible to men. For women, visual pornography should be considered a light beer while the emotionally charged “pornmance” novel is 70-proof liquor, hard-core pornography.

100% truefact. This is something that tradcons don’t get.

And there are many “romance alcoholics.” Women get addicted to romance books in the same way that men get addicted to photographs and videos. In 2011, one psychologist reported that she was “seeing more and more women who are clinically addicted to romantic books.”

Time for a NO DIDDLE movement.

Like other addictions, “pornmance” novels mess with women’s brains and wreak havoc in their lives. According to therapists, these books can cause women to become dissatisfied with their marriages, to become “dangerously unbalanced,” and according to a pornography addiction counselor, to have affairs.

A smarmy white knight would never finger a cause for the high divorce rate that didn’t apportion blame entirely on men. In the pussy pedestaler’s worldview, only drunk, abusive, layabout men end marriages. To them, women aren’t capable of crass sexual escapism driven by primal insatiable lusts.

Is it mere coincidence that nearly 70 percent of divorces in the United States are initiated by women?

The authoress of this article, Lea Singh, must be a CH reader. Little spoon?

If online porn is a problem for society, then so is word porn. If you argue that online porn is causing men to “drop out” and deep-six their marriages and relationships, then you have to also argue that word porn is causing women to do the same.

I’ve said it before to obstinate tradcons and their ironic bedfellows, the man-hating feminist cunts:

It takes two to tango. Especially if that tango two-steps to the metagrave.

Read Full Post »

A reader can barely contain his (her?) excitement.

Holy cow, CH! Do you realize what a smash a “rise of the sex robots” movie would be? How prophetic, how powerful,  how promotional of shiv-right values? I hope you’ve got something in the works, or at least a treatment copyrighted. Nobody has foreseen the dystopian ramifications the way you have,  as far as I know. Nobody is better talented to tell the tale. And certainly nobody deserves more to profit from his unique insights. Get scribing, my man!


I preen. It’s funny you should mention this now, M7, because I’ve recently been mulling the idea of a dystopian fright-fi book about a lovelorn beta male who genuinely falls in love with his Class Sharapova sexbot, and whose satiation tragically compels him to spurn the surprising affection of a flesh and blood plain jane who yearns for a family. My idea was for the story to focus on the uncanny intimacy that develops between the two main characters as their love (or maybe just his love, as the AI would not have yet progressed to undetectable emulation of human emotion), disturbing in concept yet tender in execution, pulses against a backdrop of civilization rapidly yielding to a cataclysmic sex market disruption that dwarfs the schism online porn and obesity had caused the prior generation.

It’s not like the real world isn’t serving up daily reminders that sexbots are coming, sooner than we care to think.

Certainly there have been a few movies that have tackled this subject, if tangentially or farcically. Her, Austin Powers, Blade Runner, Cherry 2000, The Stepford Wives, and the underrated indie psych-thriller Ex Machina come to mind. But none of these movies, except maybe Her and Ex Machina, really explored the sensual and psychological possibilities of sexbot love in context with the cultural upheaval that sexbots would doubtlessly unleash on advanced hedonistic civilizations. That’s where I hope to fill the gap, so to speak.

Read Full Post »

Older Posts »

%d bloggers like this: