Open Borders Logo Contest

Sperglord, or Master Meta-Troll, Bryan “the moral and utilitarian thing to do is open the border to my rectum to any undersexed homosexuals so that Gross Domestic Penis is increased” Caplan is hosting an Open Borders Logo Contest. Naturally, the site was infiltrated with mischievous pranksters (Leroy Krune!). My favorite so far:

I think the funniest thing about the pranksters is how oblivious Team Autist appeared to be to their pet project getting tooled so blatantly. One of the Team Autist members, Rojas, “Liked” Krune’s obvious trolls multiple times.

If I were to design an Open Borders Logo, it would pack a little more visceral punch.

UPDATE

Here’s the Immigration Restrictionist Logo:

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When It’s Alright To White Knight

The white knight used to be an object of admiration, but lately he has become an object of derision and even pity. Urban Dictionary defines the white knight as:

A person (usually a male) who sees the typical maiden in distress, and believes that he can help her. A male version of the “mother figure” that some girls become.

Implicit in that definition is the recognition that white knights are dupes who won’t get the sex they think their heroism is supposed to net them. The change in the white knight’s status can be traced to the change in the Western culture and the functioning of the sexual market. As women have become more self-sufficient, more socially and sexually aggressive, more pampered by the ruling elite and their foot soldiers, and less in need of beta male provisioning, the justification for the white knight’s services has been annulled. What was once a legitimate way to curry favor with women and to uphold traditional social mores for the betterment of the ethnically cohesive whole, has become a pretentious clown show neither desired by its intended recipients nor necessary as a stopgap to preserve social mores that have long ceased their operational relevance.

The subject of the white knight was broached in the comments to this post about a guy who walks away from a one-month slutfriend (“girlfriend” seems too generous an appellation) who had her tit grabbed by a co-worker in a bar, and responded to the feminist ur-violation by laughing and hugging her groper. CH agreed with the emailer’s decision to execute a summary dumping, but some readers were less ready to surrender the white knight option.

For example, commenter Erudite Knight wrote,

You are a joke. It is not ‘white knight’ to defend your property. You are excusing your own cowardice.

This is fairly representative of the thinking of the pro-white knight brigade. Woman is man’s property, and therefore a man must defend her honor no matter how poorly she behaves.

A load of tosh.d’oh, say I. First, it’s been a long time in the West since women were men’s property, either legalistically or culturally. Were we living in such a time, duty-bound male impulses like white knighting and chivalry would make more sense. But today, they make little sense, if any at all. A piece of “property” which can cheat on you at will and suffer little in the way of consequences is not any property encompassing inherent rights of ownership deserving of defense against interlopers. Or: If your property can, of its own accord, welcome squatters, you are a fool for assuming stewardship of such a leaky plot of flesh.

Second, women are not children or dumb animals, They have agency and accountability for their actions. At least, they do if you take a typical feminist’s word for it. (A leap of faith, I know.) You as a man are under no moral obligation to rush to the aid of a woman who has proven herself, by her actions, a loose tramp. If she severs her end of the deal, you are free to sever yours.

Third, acting the cat’s-paw for a low woman won’t inspire the respect you white knight advocates think it will, or think it should. What do you imagine percolates in a slut’s head when she has successfully tooled you into laying down your coat for her as her secret office fling laughs knowingly to himself, his pedestal being polished by her hand? I’ll show you:

All you’ve done is embolden her to pull more of the same stunts in the future. Way to go, toolbag.

Fourth, it’s not bravery to stand in the path of a speeding train, or a serenading slut. It’s just plain old stupidity.

If your goal in life is to feel like a big man through the strange alchemical process of getting tooled by manipulative shrews, then have it at governor. Just don’t expect many men of sane mind to join you in adhering to your quixotic code of ethics.

But this post is not solely about the lunkheadedness of the modern day white knight, a loathsome creature who shares DNA with the manboob and the male feminist. (Pervs of a feather…) It’s about those rare times when it’s in your interest, as a man, to white knight. Specifically, that interest is the preservation of your privileged access to the womb of a woman who wishes you to have that access.

If a guy at a bar grabs your lover’s tit, and she reacts with a look of shock and fury, clearly signaling her displeasure with the molestation, then go ahead and be all the white knight you can be. The benefits in such a scenario far outweigh the negatives (unless the other guy is a house, more on that in a bit). A demeaning titty twister (of your hand on his nipple), a strong shove to entice a fight, or even a sock in the gut, are acceptable measures of recourse. You wouldn’t be white knighting so much as kicking out an invading migrant who crossed your border, a border (and this is important) which you know is inviolable.

If the girl is not worth a fight, but you want to slake a vengeful thirst on both of them that walking out simply won’t do, you could follow this advice from anonymous,

How about you bring her and him into a bro shoulder hug, start smooching her, keep one hand clenched on the guy’s shirt while you send your hand up her shirt, and while kissing you give him a bro face slap. “You guys will have a great life together.”

YaReally also has an epic comment about handling really aggressive douchebags muscling in on your girl. He, like CH, advocates the “soft next” for any girl who has proved by her behavior that she didn’t mind the intrusion all that much.

As for much bigger men, make fun of them. “Hey, man, you’re molesting the wrong tit. I think you want the boy tits in the gay bar down the street.” Try recruiting allies this way, by publicly calling out his boarish behavior in front of a crowd, preferably with bouncers and bartenders within earshot. You obviously want to avoid a beatdown that is inevitable because of an unfair size disadvantage, but there are other ways to socially ostracize a big man without having it come to blows.

Of course, if women want the world of white knights and chivalry back, they’re free to abandon their feminist principles and equalist agit-prop any day now. Won’t be holding my breath…

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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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The End Game Of Manboobery

Some days you read stuff that makes you think the entire internet is a put-on. A multi-sourced, wirelessly streamed, infectiously emanant theater of absurdity and manipulative schlock, the sole purpose of which is to entertain chuckling elites proud of their Trilateral Council Trollery. This would be the charitable interpretation. Regrettably, souls so blackened with disease that parody would hardly suffice to capture their wretchedness effloresce on the eunuch enabler echo chamber known as the world wide weirdness.

They squawk among us!

The latest specimen of Manboob Totality demonstrates the logical conclusion of the ideology of masochistic, morality whoring, self-annihilation. This is the leprotic gollum that emerges from the bowels of loserdom when the animating impulse to gratifying powerlessness is left unchecked. Behold… the male thing who believes “penis-in-vagina” sex is evil misogyny.

PIV, or penis-in-vagina sex is something that may seem inconsequential to most people, but is absolutely not.

Most people who’d reject the relevance of sex in politics haven’t really understood the concept – especially men.

So this is going to be an article, by a man, for men(and womyn) who find PIV sex to be inconsequential to feminism.

Firstly, understand the concept of female risk(I’ll talk about condoms later) – the fact that PIV is dangerous to women – the fact that it can even kill them. Pregnancy is the main problem, with all kinds of STDs being the side dishes. Now, there’s very little risk for men as compared – it can all but ruin their lives. Now, considering the risk, the patriarchy has created several tools to reduce the dispensibility of womyn – condoms, the pill, and all kinds of fucked up shit. Now take that, and consider the fact that men all over the world just lurve PIV(womyn – would you have PIV if the risks were on the men’s side, if they had to take the pill, if they had to face the consequences of rape? If you’re not as apathetic as most people, the answer should be no).

How many parents are driven to thoughts of suicide by witnessing their children flame out so badly at life?

By the way, as any womon will tell you, PIV doesn’t really feel that good. Most womyn don’t even orgasm with it. But I’m not your bloody sex-coach, go google that rubbish.

“womon” 😆 What, “womyn” wasn’t obsequious enough for it?

Let’s take an example of your average Joe – you’re a straight white guy, horny, love to have sex with womyn. Now, take the womyn in your life, and give them one property – they will NOT let you have PIV-centric sex with them. Does your value for womyn drop? By how much? Why? What’s so important about your right to shove your dick into womyn that lowers your value for them?

Why is it that risking their lives for your pleasure is so damn important? Should the fact that they are human beings who value your existence be enough? But nooo… sex is responsible for fucking god-knows how many ruined marriages, so much drama, I can’t even begin.

Tori Amos on a weepy rape-reminiscing bender would laugh at this dork.

See – that’s where privilege comes in. A man’s privilege to a womon’s genitals, and consequently, her life. Owning a womon.

It’s amusing the mental contortions incels will go through to rationalize their sexual isolation.

Men need to value womyn as HUMAN BEINGS, not as fuck-holes that tell them how great they are.

“A jock gave me an atomic wedgie, and sadly, I didn’t feel a thing down there on account of my very tiny penis and undescended testes.”

I hope that knocked some sense into someone out there.

It was certainly revealing.

PPS – Yes, I’m a “virgin.” Now piss off.

That’s surprising.

Did things like this exist in 1950s America? Yes. You’d have found them in mental institutions, unable to communicate with anyone but a padded wall. It’s time for overly harm-sensitive liberals to accept the reality that the icy wastelands serve a valuable function as a culling ground for the irredeemable refuse of humanity.

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Manboob Utterance Of The Month

I’m a stay-at-home dad to twin 4-year-old girls who are already smarter than me, and my wife is a brilliant doctor who kicks ass and saves lives every day.

From an article by a nominal man who feebly spurts many words onto Slate’s page describing how much his penis scares him.

Congratulations, Mr. Andy Takes-It-In-The-Hinds, your utterance is event horizon manboobery.

The manboobs have been emerging from their micropeen dens in force lately, poking their cock thimbles into the daylight for a breath of fresh air. There is no depth of self-degradation which they will not entertain to relieve themselves of the burden of being born male.

It’s enough nauseating masochism and putrid suck-uppery to make one wonder if the whole thing, written on the Slate halls and the Salon walls, is one giant schtick. Performance parody art that has somehow gelled organically to coax the mischievous participation of male simulacra from across the media landscape.

If only it were so. But no, the likelihood is that these loathsome creatures are sincere. Blame it on estrogen in the water, the lack of a cleansing apocalypse, or feminist shrikes lashing fat nerds with their six inch clits, the fact is that the sack of America is shrinking and her bitch tits are filling up with ululating manboobs.

Some readers may wonder, if this guy is such a grotesquerie in spirit and mind, how did he manage to get a wife? Well, quality matters. If you’re fishing around the dregs of womanhood, it’s not hard to wife up. The orcas and pasty frumps and stubbly manjaws will practically throw themselves at you. Another thing to keep in mind is that just because a guy can claim married status doesn’t necessarily mean he’s enjoying the marital fruits, if’n ya know what I mean.

UPDATE

A charitable reader suggests that this manboob is actually engaged in a form of psychological passive-aggressive warfare with an intended audience of one: His breadwinner wife. He wants his ballbusting, careerist Asian wife to know he has options, or at least that he has been thinking about having options, and the manbooby way to deliver this message is by puling about how ashamed he is of his lustful thoughts for all the hotties he sees every day. Of course, he wouldn’t have to put on this circus if he wasn’t a stay-at-home castrati married to a Tiger doctor. But he is, and so he finds himself using a warped variant of Dread Game to keep his wife interested.

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Tiresome Hater Schooled To Discourage The Others: A Series

Apparently, the discouragement needs more voltage.

realmatt (who is likely a troll nicking another commenter’s handle) comments in response to an earnest lad asking for a little help on cold approaching girls at college:

You can fake it till you make it until the cows come home but if you’re a big fat Nothing at the end of the day, then your life will stay the same.

Au contraire. In at least one respect your life will be different: You’ll have had sex with cute girls instead of no sex with cute girls.

Your true self will always shine through

Faking it actually creates an improved personality in time. This has been proven by scientific study, not to mention by millions of personal testimonials.

and I suspect that is why many of these famous, set-loving “PUAs” lose their girlfriends.

You’ve got the causality backwards. Most cads “lose” their girlfriends because they want them lost. There’s a certain breed of man who loves variety and the thrill of the chase.

There’s no doubt in my mind Mystery stands there going through all his rules in his head.

Maybe, but it appears to have worked for him. He’s got a kid now with a hotnsexy chick.

The mistake so many people are making is they see the woman as the ultimate prize.

From your gene’s pov, sex *is* the ultimate prize. If you can’t attract women, you’re the equivalent of DNA dead weight. Human dross fashioned in His likeness. Heh heh heh.

You should be trying to dominate in every aspect of your life.

Why herd the cows when you can squeeze the milk for free?

A woman is just an accessory.

Some accessories are more equal than others.

A trophy is just a reminder.

Have you ever been in love?

You have to make a choice.

Sez who? Seduction and careerism aren’t mutually incompatible.

Do you want to be a MAN or some feminized snarky bitch who can insult a woman into bed?

I always suspect the kinds of guys who write stuff like this are guys who envy the snarksters for their ability to score.

Does anyone here listen to these PUAs in their videos and think “God I wish I could be him..”?

Do you wish you could be Barack Obama, President of the United States of America?

Who the hell would want to behave like the PUA Tyler Durden???

TD’s way is not the only way.

he’s annoying as fuck.

Chicks dig men who impose.

Those guys are nothing but gay men who like to fuck women.

Gay men don’t like to fuck women.

They’re worthless beyond that.

Keep telling yourself that.

Leading her to believe you’re worth the effort and actually being someone who is worth the effort are 2 very different things and the truth always finds it’s way out.

So you believe men should work hard to appease women and fulfill their demands for a worthwhile man?

It’s getting to the point where the haters have become so apoplectic and incoherent that arguing with them logically is a fool’s errand. They’ll take repeated hammer blows to the ego, and come back sputtering the same nonsense ad nauseam. So instead, I’ll give them a taste of what they most loathe and fear: A little of the ol’ ultrasnark, delivered sideways gamesta style. It won’t win over the haters, who are un-convincable at any rate, but it’ll sure entertain the crowd, and it’s more fun for me. Poolside life bar: 100%.

UPDATE

A commenter writes,

God I hate this expression:

“Faking it” or “Fake it until you make it”

Why not just call it what it is, PRACTICE

PRACTICE MAKES PERFECT

Branding is half the battle. If the haters started calling game what it is — practice —  they would then tacitly admit that game is just like any self-improvement endeavor with a learning curve. Then they’d have nothing left to foam about.

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An Alpha Daddy’s Letter To His Little Girl (About Her Future Husband)

Dear Cutie-Pie (I call you this pet name because I subconsciously know how important your cuteness will eventually be to your future reproductive and marital success),

Recently, your mother and I were searching for an answer on the government spy agency known as Google. Halfway through entering the question, GovGoog returned a list of the most popular searches in the world. Minutes later, my tax return was flagged for auditing. Perched at the top of the search list was “How to keep him interested.”

It amused me. I scanned several of the countless articles about how to be sexy and sexual, when to bring him a beer versus a sandwich, and the ways to make him feel smart and superior.

And I got a knowing look.

Little One, it is, has always been, and always will be your job to “keep him interested.” Just at it will be your future husband’s job to keep you interested. Everyone knows this is true, despite loser mafia protestations to the contrary, and that’s why this search result, the culmination of millions of user search entries, is the first one returned.

Little One, your only task is to know deeply in your soul — in that unshakeable place that isn’t indoctrinated into feminism and resentment and mass media bromides — that you are judged for your worth. (If you can remember that everyone else is judged for their worth also, the battle of your happiness in life will be mostly won. But that is a letter for another day.)

If you can assess your worth in this way, you will be attractive in the most important sense of the word: you will work hard to stay fit and sexy and feminine and attract a boy who is both capable of self-assured masculinity and who wants to spend his one life not secretly despising you for giving up on him and disrespecting his normal, natural desires as a man.

Little One, I want to tell you about the man who doesn’t need to be kept interested, because he knows you’ve given up trying to be interesting:

I don’t care if he puts his elbows on the dinner table — because it’s worse when he puts his eyes on the way your nose scrunches like a walrus sniffing rotten fish in the air when you smile, and starts to hate you. And then can’t stop hating you.

I don’t care if he can’t play a bit of golf with me — because his short game suffers when he’s pissed off his children are ingrates trained by your passive-aggressive style of parenting to despise him and he’s not quite sure one of them is his. Sadly, his daughter is taking after you lengthwise and widthwise and you’re doing nothing to stop it because GRRLPOWER and PATRIARCHY.

I don’t care if he doesn’t follow his wallet — because the money just goes to buy you bon bons and cheesy poofs.

I don’t care if he is strong — because if he were strong he might trade you in for a woman who’s still interested in maintaining an hourglass figure and a sweet heart.

I couldn’t care less how he votes — because the sitting White House occupant is not the one who has to wake up every morning and see your flabby carcass rolling over to refuel with a strategically placed bowl of chips on the nightstand first thing in the morning.

I don’t care about the color of his skin — because your shelf butt is so stupendously grotesque my objections will only fall on deaf ears when you discover your own men don’t want to paint a canvas of your lives with brushstrokes of patience, and sacrifice, and vulnerability, and tenderness.

I don’t care if he was raised in this religion or that religion or militant Islam — as long as he was raised to value the sacred and to know every moment of life, and every moment of life with you, is deeply sacred assuming you wear the hijab and cover your bloated porcine face.

In the end, Little One, if you stumble across a man like that and he and I have nothing else in common, we will have the most important thing in common:

Your physical and temperamental attractiveness.

Because in the end, Little One, the things you should have to do to “keep him interested” are to be sexually experimental, fall within a 17 to 23 BMI and a 0.65 to 0.75 WHR, and treat him like the king he truly, deeply wants to be for you in your lives together.

Only then will you and he be happy and loving and patient and vulnerable and tender with each other.

Your eternally interested man (no creepy incest),

Daddy

***

This post is, of course, dedicated to my daughter, my Cutie-Pie. But I also want to dedicate it beyond her.

I wrote it for my wife, who has courageously held on to her slender figure and has always held me accountable to being that kind of “man” that women love — i.e., a man who doesn’t apologize for his desire.

I wrote it for every grown woman I have met inside and outside of my therapy office — the women who have never known this voice of a Strong Father.

And I wrote it for the generation of boys-becoming-manboobs who need to be reminded of what is really important — my little girl finding a loving, lifelong, alpha male companion who demands the best of her is dependent upon at least one of you figuring this out. I’m praying for you. No, seriously, I’m praying. Don’t let me down. I don’t want little manbooblets jerking off into furry costumes or little cuntlets blowing my savings on useless grad school Gay Studies degrees and bowing out at age 38 with an apartment full of cats and a womb drier than Death Valley (apropos).

***

This article has been featured on Huffington Post. CH is going mainstream!

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