Approach Week: Modern Eunuchs

Comments are disabled on all posts published during Approach Week to encourage readers to limit their internet time and go outside to apply the lessons they have learned here. Approach Week celebrates the spirit of the approach, which is, in essence, a celebration of the spirit of assertive masculinity.

In Ottoman Imperial Harems, the palace eunuchs — men who were castrated typically before the onset of puberty — would serve the role of guarding the harem from fully male interlopers who wanted a taste of that concubine freshness. The eunuchs would also directly report to the Queen Mother, who was the mother of the Sultan and oldest of the Sultan’s father’s concubines.

Palace eunuchs were, essentially, the historic version of today’s beta male cockblocker and anhedonic white knight. And like their antecedents, the modern eunuch reports directly to the modern Queen Bee, aka loudmouthed feminist cunt.

At least the palace eunuchs of ancestral times had the excuse of being sold into slavery and castrated against their wills. The modern eunuchs, like male feminist Chris Gethard, willingly choose their psychological castration, a condition which feminizes and usually manifests physically in the putative man as a soft, slackened body and high-pitched whiny voice incorporating aspects of teen girl vocal fry.

Here is male feminist Chris Getpegged chastising, some would say humorously, his personal bogeyman, the “woman haters”.

His video plea is illuminating. The first question that pops to mind… Is Chris Getrammed gay? Survey SAYS…

Unlike Chris the Catcher, the gayometer doesn’t lie. But perhaps Chrissie GayTard can clear the air on this mystery.

like a gay burrito, bursting with fruit flavor

Forgive me. I unnecessarily slander gay men. After all, the gays I know are more masculine than GayTard and exude more sexual vitality. GayTard is the vegetable lasagna of malehood. Ken Doll called. He wants his smooth plastic crotch back.

How ad HOMOnem of me. Shouldn’t I take the high road and refute Chrissie GayTard’s vapid assertions? Fine.

– The pay gap is a myth so thoroughly debunked that to favorably repeat it now is to indict oneself as a lying liar. Or a shitlib. Same diff.

– Noting sex differences or female-biased applications of the law that outrage feminists is not “villainizing” women. It is mocking lying femcunts, which bothers pudding pops like Chrissie Getgerbiled who still feel the sting of that 5th grade atomic wedgie.

– Judging by his girlish giggling, Chrissie thinks “it should be legally bound you never find love” is the height of comedy.

– Chrissie admits he was a high school dweeb. But he promises it will get better, especially if you forswear sex with attractive women.

– “Having sex with your couch” Did this undifferentiated androgyne steal the CH “having sex with your couch crease” line?

The specimen spends the last minute rationalizing his dreary conformity and his obeisance to Hivemind goodspeak. An HDTV and a mortgage will make you a man. I suppose if you set the bar for manhood that low, anyone can qualify. Which is pretty much the fantasy of every sexual misfit and mutant manboob loser throughout history. To set the bar for normalcy and group acceptance low enough to accommodate their wretchedness.

Fellow pragmatists may wonder, doesn’t a veldt teeming with herds of slouching Chrissie castrates reduce the sexual competition to yours truly? Sure. Manlets are universally repulsive to women worth seducing. On the abacus of eros, the more manlets there are, the more women will want to be sexually rescued by a turgidly impudent Heartiste.

But aesthetics matter. Grotesqueries like Chris Gethard who are deformed rejects of their sex and who proudly push their deformities, both physical and mental, onto normal people are like pollution. I don’t want to choke on smog or gaze at a mountain vista obscured by coal dust. I don’t want to drink water slicked with oil. And that’s what Chris Gethard and his ilk are: Oil slicks running down the asscrack of humanity. They are a blight, an eyesore, bad form. They are monsters and diseased cripples who provoke the natural and normal production of antibodies in healthy people, so that their disease is disgorged with extreme prejudice.

There aren’t enough shivs in the world to lance the pustular ids of the Chris Gethards. But this blog is a start.

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Wordless Lamborghini Game

Vitaly rents a Lamborghini and picks up girls without saying a word.

I laughed. Some of you cried. Is it staged? Maybe. Is it plausible? Yes. And did you see the cameo appearance?

If you have a son about to enter manhood, and you want to impart a quick lesson in women, you won’t go wrong having him watch this video.

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Alpha Male Game In The Wild

Reader IHTG forwarded this funny gif of a dude teasing a girl right up to the line of sexual harassment, holding his frame, and then defusing the tension with yet more teasing. Any formal context is missing (which is obviously true for short gifs), but you can figure it out by everyone’s facial expression.

This is a nice little demonstration of the cocky/funny alpha male attitude.

The (one-sided) courtship opens with the male’s exaggerated pose of neediness requesting acknowledgement from the female.

The female responds with a “who, me?” gesture, as most women would to a man brazenly beckoning for them. The rarity of such a thing among the males of the genus westernius Manboobii is what provokes the submissive female auto-response.

The courtship enters the “shock and awe” stage, when the alpha male “air swats” the female’s buttocks.

Now that the pair are fully engaged with one another, the female expresses anger and indignation toward the alpha male for his surprise advance on her posterior. In lioness terms, she evades the male lion’s mounting and wheels around to make a threat display. But we all know how this ends.

The alpha male does not appease the female nor attempt a reconciliation. Instead, he grins sociably, points at the female as if to declare her facial expression the height of comedy, and faces the crowd of onlookers to enlist their support and preempt any move by the female to ostracize him.

Turning back to the female (her hands perched on her hips waiting for his apologia), he extends a handshake of friendship to defuse the escalating sexual tension, only to once again befuddle and arouse the female by pulling his hand away from her just at the moment she prepares to accept his peace offering.

Finally, the courtship reaches the apogee of its first phase, when the alpha male’s cocky antics elicit a smile and a flurry of lighthearted punches from the female, who has been awakened to a state of sexual receptivity and has begun the second phase of the courtship where she “presents” to the alpha male for a continuation of their mating ritual.

In related news, Elliot Rodger never faked out a girl with a phony handshake.

 

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Fat Chick Drops Load Of Blubber On Louis CK, Fatty Apologists Mysteriously Rejoice

E’rebody not in da club getting tipsy over this blubbery fat chick scene from a recent Louis CK episode.

For reasons that cannot be explained by the established laws of logic, a great hue and squeal from the ungulate freak parade has arisen to rejoice over this scene as a breakthrough for Realtalk™ about the lives of fat chicks.

“As brilliant as the speech is, and as brilliant as Baker’s performance is, what makes this work is Louie’s willingness to just stand there and take it,” Forbes contributor Allen St. John writes. “He makes a few lame gestures in self-defense, but even if Vanessa largely refuses to judge him, we don’t. Louie is a jerk.”

Baker told EW she thought the scene “was so beautifully written.”

“My interpretation of it was that she’s (telling Louie), ‘You saying, “You’re not fat,” is like saying, ‘The worst thing a woman can be is fat, so I’m not gonna call you that,’ ” Baker said. “Whereas she’s kinda like, ‘Yeah, I’m fat. You know, I’m nice, I’m funny, I’m cute — so who cares?’ “

Writing for the A.V. Club, Libby Hill applauded Louis C.K. for starting the conversation.

“No matter how sad it may be that the only way many will start to understand this maligned populace is if a white guy explains it to them, the fact remains that through the platform of his critically acclaimed show, Louis C.K. has given voice to the fat girl,” she writes.

Funny, all I saw was a fat girl bitch about how tough it is for her to date and have happy relationships. This is news to anyone? No, of course it isn’t. The keepers of GoodSpeak want this scene to stand in for a “national discussion” about yet another loser cohort of society so that they can mold the direction the ensuing “discussion” takes. And you can bet the direction the Hivemind keepers want to take it is toward more and more proselytizing about how wonderful it is to be a fat girl (fat men get a media pass from this supposed wonderfulness) and how easily fat girls can get men when they aren’t demanding that men stop ignoring them and love them for their inner beauty.

Frustratingly for the Hivemind, Chateau Heartiste exists to jam sand in their sophistic gears. For example, here’s the true message of the Louis CK fat girl screed with all the tears and passive-aggressiveness and barely concealed entitlement stripped from her big-boned frame.

FATTY: Why do you hate us so much?

That’s not hate, Ms Wideload, that’s disgust. Fat chicks are like wet dog shit. You don’t hate the dog shit, you just don’t want to step in it.

Now if the dog shit starts making a nuisance of itself, say, by getting in your face and demanding you accept its under-appreciated beauty, or by organizing dog shit advocacy groups to change culture and law to better accommodate the feelings of dog shit, and to persuade others to become more like dog shit, then one may feel actual hate toward the dog shit.

FATTY: What is it about the basics of human happiness, feeling attractive, feeling loved, having guys chase after us, that’s just not in the cards for us?

To ask is to answer. Romantic attraction is biological, which is ultimately genetic, which means it is unalterable by weepy protests to the contrary or by reeducation camps masquerading as sitcoms. Most men are as repulsed by fat women as most women are repulsed by weak men.

FATTY: How is that fair?

Fairness has got nothin’ to do with it.

FATTY: And why am I supposed to just accept it?

Because you don’t yet have the legal recourse to force men to bed with porkers.

FATTY: You know what’s funny? I flirt with guys, all the time.

The uglier the woman, the more actively she has to communicate her sexual receptivity.

FATTY: And I mean, the great looking ones, like the really high caliber studs, they flirt right back, no problem.

They know they have a better shot with your hot skinny friend if they’re magnanimous with you.

FATTY: But guys like you never flirt with me, because you get scared, like maybe you should be with a girl like me.

More like, they’re worried that flattering a fat chick will give her the wrong idea.

FATTY: You know, if you were standing over there, looking at us, you know what you’d see? That we totally match.

Fat chick projection. Physically a fat man and fat girl match, but men’s SMV is more than the sum of their fat deposits.

FATTY: Have you ever wooed a fat girl?

I’ve mooed a fat girl.

FATTY: Go ahead, hold my hand. What do you think’s gonna happen? Do you think your dick’s gonna fall off?

No, it’s much worse than that for the fat girl. His dick won’t do anything.

FATTY: You know what’s sad? That’s all I want.

Lack of options = low standards.

Some mush-headed liberals, though, are unhappy with the message.

But not everyone is a fan. Writer Dan Weiss explored the episode for The Concourse, noting that “there’s zero representation for actual FAs (‘fat admirers,’ which is admittedly a voyeuristic term; I prefer the classic ‘chubby chaser’) on TV.”

I prefer the term fatty fucker. And if the wailing of fat chicks is any indication, there aren’t nearly enough desirable fatty fuckers to feast at the porcine troughs of America’s fatties.

In this putatively “groundbreaking” Louis CK scene that has the Jezebel hags dizzy with the possibility of careening down a fresh semantic path that defies the mirror, Louis is no more a jerk than is any woman who turns down a man for insufficiently meeting her attractiveness criteria. But since the lamentable is a fat chick instead of an awkward beta male it’s socially acceptable to sympathize with her loser pain and revile the man who presumptuously clings to his outmoded sexual preference.

Conflict, and unfairness, are intrinsic to the sexual market. Attraction is innate and impervious to cultural campaigns to alter its algorithm. If fat chicks resent that, there is a solution…

Push away from the table.

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Duke Porn Whore Belle Knox Interviewed By Chateau Heartiste!

The recently outed Duke porn whore Belle Knox (real name MIRIAM WEEKS) was interviewed by an intrepid CH reporter.

You can watch the interview here.

Ok, so she’s not much for words. Her mouth is busy doing other stuff. And yes, she really is a women’s studies major. Like millions of other women with useless degrees and six digit student loan debt, she had no choice but to turn to facial abuse porn to survive.

At least one member of her immediate family will self-deliver before the year is out, count on it.

ps MIRIAM WEEKS. She wants the publicity, she and her family will get the publicity, good and hard. I’m sure she can accommodate.

pps This story is less about MIRIAM WEEKS than it is about our leftoid, pozzed media who love to jam stories like these down everyone’s throat. I dunno, but I imagine in halcyon days of American yore a stone bold slut like MIRIAM WEEKS would be shunned by everyone, including the media, to live out her diseased days alone and isolated from normal human contact. She might not be a changed person, but the culture that enveloped her would be different. And what worse fate for the BPD attention whoring sociopathic slut than being utterly ignored?

pps I love that porn whores and obese monstrosities are the only real allies feminists have left.

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Matt Yglesias And Ezra Klein Are New Media Manly Icons

Fed up with public perception of new media “journolism” as a bastion of blushing hermaphrodites opening up about their day to day experiences having sex with themselves, Matt Yglesias and Ezra Klein have teamed up to inject a healthy dose of raw masculinity into the discourse with their unique brand of confident swagger. Check out the introductory video at their swole SWPL venture, Vox.

The days of “vegetable and spinach” news are over. These men (and one manlike-woman) are ready to tackle the challenges of regurgitating liberal opinions in a fresher font. Vox’s headquarters in Washington, DC, like Ezra’s suit jacket, are oversized with room for muscular growth. Matt Yglesias dresses with a dash of panache, a talent he honed after years of feedback from admiring Logan Circle homosexuals. His proudly nasal vocal fry resonates with the spirit of ancient valley girl warrioresses, and practically demands your attention, like nails on a chalkboard.

This is alpha male territory you’ve entered. There’s a new kid on the vox, and he takes no guff, and will do as he pleases, including plaster stickers all over his Macbook in a show of countercultural defiance. The Vox Man is a gender nonconformist man of principle; if you don’t like the news he gives you, he’ll break all the rules and give you the news you want. Yeah Matt! Titty bump!

Ezra Klein… do the men get any realer? Here’s a big swinging dick crashing your stale news cycle. So big, he has to cross his legs for decorum. Eyes up here, right Ezra? Say goodbye to getting only 24% of the news; News Team Vox can actually just put the information there for you. Confused? Don’t think too much. Just take a sip from Vox’s juice box of testosterone. Rest easy that Ezra is signaling to the right sort of white people — people like YOU — with his standing workstation.

And when you’re all done getting the unfiltered opinions of rugged Ivy Leaguers with a worldly perspective that can only be gained from living in whitified urban neighborhoods where a new Pan-Asian restaurant opens every week, you can send a thank you to News Team Vox for their trailblazing balls-to-the-wall approach to taking on the old media dinosaur of aggregator hyperlinking:

You stay classy, internet!

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There’s A New Kunt In Town

The infamous lawyercunt is an archetype first identified (and happily ridiculed) by CH artisans of the hairy oyster. But the lawyercunt has gotten a little long in the fang. It isn’t that she’s grown mellower with age, or that her occupation has started attracting a less lizardly class of humans. It’s just that times change, and new opportunities for leeching off productive society attract the attention of master class attention whores with a taste for gratuitous drama and lying through their teeth.

Enter the social media consultant, aka Twittercunt.

If anyone can usurp the lawyercunt in cuntishness, it’s the Twittercunt. I was reminded of the Twittercunt’s foul ascendence up the social status ladder of our declining American empire whilst perusing the musings of the Lead Sadist over at MPC (My Patriarchal Cocksmanship):

real talk all the social media consultants I have met, which is a few, have been amoral opportunistic scumbags

I’ve also seen a few partners of mine stung by them, where they’ll bring in a social media person who will then shmooze the client and steer all the business to him and his friends

really they make used car salesman seem like altruistic do-gooders

It’s funny because around the time of reading that I was retelling a salacious story to a friend about a past lover of extraordinary wantonness who transmogrified into the very thing we both assumed she was fated to become: A social media consultant. I’ve known in the French way five or six Twittercunts (all women), and all but one were sociopathic sluts, capable of lying to their mamas’ faces if it meant an extension of family credit to shack up with a bike messenger. (The one exception, ironically, happened to be one of the sweetest, kindest girls with whom I’ve had the pleasure to share pleasure. I do fondly recall her on occasion.) I wouldn’t be surprised to learn that some of them amassed cock counts in the triple digits.

Not that I’m complaining. If you have game, a challenging demeanor, and an asshole attitude (to which she deeply relates), the social media cuntsultant is a sure thing, and down to submit to just about every degradation under a harvest moon. Just don’t expect her to make even empty gestures toward fidelity. She’ll fuck around on you, but as long as you go in knowing what she is, there’s poon gold to be mined until the bloom wears off the romance (three months, tops).

We now live in the age of high-tech, field tested, focus grouped, multimodal mastery over human perception, and the social media cuntsultant is its most psychopathically committed avatar.  You think I’m exaggerating? Take a look at this list of occupations which attract the most psychopaths. Number 2 is Lawyer, and number 3 is Media (TV/Radio). If you add number 4 (Salesperson) to number 3, you birth the social media whore anti-christ.

Oh well. A declining nation gets the middlewoman, amoral, self-promoting parasites it deserves.

(Good rule of thumb: If your nation has a lot of engineers working to put a man on the moon, you live in a golden era. If your nation has a lot of hucksters spinning gold out of carts of dung, start thinking about early overseas retirement.)

So here’s to you, Twittercunt, ouster of argumentative lawyercunts. You’re just as untrustworthy, slutty and good to go as your sophistic sisters, but at least you don’t make a federal case out of every minor disagreement.

A song for the new kunt in town:

There’s talk in the bars it sounds so familiar,
great expectations everybody’s watching you.
Players you meet they all seem to know you,
even your old friends treat you like the town screw.

Twittercunt maven,
the new ho in town,
everybody bangs you,
so chug your Pill down.

You look in her eyes the crazy is on display,
sex in the bathroom, here we go again.
But after awhile you’re thinkin’ she’s gonna stray,
it’s those restless muffs that always spread.

Twittercunt maven,
the new ho in town.
Will you catch VD
from her sideways frown?

There’s so many cocks she went and holstered,
but night after night you’re willing to bone her,
no rubber,
pray you recover.

There’s jive on Facebook it’s there to inflate her,
doesn’t really matter which client she sucks.
She’s LinkedIn and buzzed, creating nothing of value,
they will never forget her ’til her boobs are hitting the floor.

Where you been lately?
There’s a new ho in town.
Everybody bangs her,
don’t they,
and she’s SEOed
every penis around.
Oh my my
There’s a new ho in town
Just another new slore in town

hooooo, hoooo
Everybody’s banging out
hooooo, hoooo
the new ho in town,
hooooo, hoooo
Everywhere she’s walkin’ like
hooooo, hoooo
the town pound.

There’s a new ho in town,
(and you’re gonna hear it)
There’s a new ho in town,
(you just wanna hit it)
There’s a new ho in town,
a social media clown,
Her life’s a PR campaign.
Everybody’s talking
There’s a new ho in town
Players start to working
There’s a new ho in town…
and she gets passed around…
like her padded CV…
people say she’s easy…

It would be great if the reader who performed The Wreck of the Beta Male Cuckold could do a rendition of There’s a New Kunt in Town. He has a good voice.

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