What Happens When An Ethnocentric Leech Attaches To A Humanitarian Host?

Answer: The host is liquefied and consumed at leisure.

The Evolutionary Dominance of Ethnocentric Cooperation

Recent agent-based computer simulations suggest that ethnocentrism, often thought to rely on complex social cognition and learning, may have arisen through biological evolution. From a random start, ethnocentric strategies dominate other possible strategies (selfish, traitorous, and humanitarian) based on cooperation or non-cooperation with in-group and out-group agents. Here we show that ethnocentrism eventually overcomes its closest competitor, humanitarianism, by exploiting humanitarian cooperation across group boundaries as world population saturates. Selfish and traitorous strategies are self-limiting because such agents do not cooperate with agents sharing the same genes. Traitorous strategies fare even worse than selfish ones because traitors are exploited by ethnocentrics across group boundaries in the same manner as humanitarians are, via unreciprocated cooperation. By tracking evolution across time, we find individual differences between evolving worlds in terms of early humanitarian competition with ethnocentrism, including early stages of humanitarian dominance. Our evidence indicates that such variation, in terms of differences between humanitarian and ethnocentric agents, is normally distributed and due to early, rather than later, stochastic differences in immigrant strategies.

Every virtue signaling White shitlib should read this research paper and absorb the lessons therein. You can have your harmless virtue signals, or you can have open borders, but you can’t have both, because the rest of the ethnocentric world doesn’t share your moral universalism and will, if permitted to live in close proximity to universalists, ruthlessly capitalize on the latter’s gullibility, trust, and knee-jerk cooperativeness, reconfiguring their virtue signaling into virtual suicide.

If, while perusing the abstract above, you were reminded of a certain ethnocentric tribe exploiting a universalist majority, you aren’t meshugana.

Alexis de Tocqueville Predicts Current Year America

Give the Frenchman credit for having Nostradamus-like power of prescience. He eerily foresaw the primary danger to established democracies like the US, and his warning echoes in the reality that exists today.

Democratic governments may become violent and even cruel at certain periods of extreme effervescence or of great danger, but these crises will be rare and brief. When I consider the petty passions of our contemporaries, the mildness of their manners, the extent of their education, the purity of their religion, the gentleness of their morality, their regular and industrious habits, and the restraint which they almost all observe in their vices no less than in their virtues, I have no fear that they will meet with tyrants in their rulers, but rather with guardians.1

I think, then, that the species of oppression by which democratic nations are menaced is unlike anything that ever before existed in the world; our contemporaries will find no prototype of it in their memories. I seek in vain for an expression that will accurately convey the whole of the idea I have formed of it; the old words despotism and tyranny are inappropriate: the thing itself is new, and since I cannot name, I must attempt to define it.

I seek to trace the novel features under which despotism may appear in the world. The first thing that strikes the observation is an innumerable multitude of men, all equal and alike, incessantly endeavoring to procure the petty and paltry pleasures with which they glut their lives. Each of them, living apart, is as a stranger to the fate of all the rest; his children and his private friends constitute to him the whole of mankind. As for the rest of his fellow citizens, he is close to them, but he does not see them; he touches them, but he does not feel them; he exists only in himself and for himself alone; and if his kindred still remain to him, he may be said at any rate to have lost his country.

Above this race of men stands an immense and tutelary power, which takes upon itself alone to secure their gratifications and to watch over their fate. That power is absolute, minute, regular, provident, and mild. It would be like the authority of a parent if, like that authority, its object was to prepare men for manhood; but it seeks, on the contrary, to keep them in perpetual childhood: it is well content that the people should rejoice, provided they think of nothing but rejoicing. For their happiness such a government willingly labors, but it chooses to be the sole agent and the only arbiter of that happiness; it provides for their security, foresees and supplies their necessities, facilitates their pleasures, manages their principal concerns, directs their industry, regulates the descent of property, and subdivides their inheritances: what remains, but to spare them all the care of thinking and all the trouble of living?

Thus it every day renders the exercise of the free agency of man less useful and less frequent; it circumscribes the will within a narrower range and gradually robs a man of all the uses of himself. The principle of equality has prepared men for these things;it has predisposed men to endure them and often to look on them as benefits.

After having thus successively taken each member of the community in its powerful grasp and fashioned him at will, the supreme power then extends its arm over the whole community. It covers the surface of society with a network of small complicated rules, minute and uniform, through which the most original minds and the most energetic characters cannot penetrate, to rise above the crowd. The will of man is not shattered, but softened, bent, and guided; men are seldom forced by it to act, but they are constantly restrained from acting. Such a power does not destroy, but it prevents existence; it does not tyrannize, but it compresses, enervates, extinguishes, and stupefies a people, till each nation is reduced to nothing better than a flock of timid and industrious animals, of which the government is the shepherd.

I have always thought that servitude of the regular, quiet, and gentle kind which I have just described might be combined more easily than is commonly believed with some of the outward forms of freedom, and that it might even establish itself under the wing of the sovereignty of the people.

Our contemporaries are constantly excited by two conflicting passions: they want to be led, and they wish to remain free. As they cannot destroy either the one or the other of these contrary propensities, they strive to satisfy them both at once. They devise a sole, tutelary, and all-powerful form of government, but elected by the people. They combine the principle of centralization and that of popular sovereignty; this gives them a respite: they console themselves for being in tutelage by the reflection that they have chosen their own guardians. Every man allows himself to be put in leading-strings, because he sees that it is not a person or a class of persons, but the people at large who hold the end of his chain.

The great fear de Tocqueville harbored about American democracy was the rise of the Administrative State. He believed a vast, expansive and expanding, bureaucratic regime would spiritually enervate the nation’s citizens by stripping them, slowly and inexorably, of their agency and willpower. We would become consumerist pods attached through dopamine IV drips to an impersonal and suffocating paternalistic directorate issuing countless rules and regulations and codes of social conduct intended to relieve us, as de Tocqueville wrote, of the need to think.

Alexis de Tocqueville if he were alive today would have admired Trump, figuring him for the incarnation of a true resistance against the Administrative State; a man embodying the desperate howl for life from the broken but not yet dead soul of Heritage America.

There’s still fight in us Americans, and we’ll go down swinging if nothing else.

Fake News

ABCNews, a subsidiary of the industrialized “mainstream” Jewish Interest Media, had to issue a clarification on their breaking news story about Mueller charging Flynn with lying to the FBI.

LO fucking L! To ABC “””news”””, “clarification” means “we lied our asses off to you and the truth is the opposite of what we initially reported”.

But hey the Dow only dropped 350 points on ABC’s Fake News, and arrogant puerile Clinton clit sucker James Comey is tweeting Bible verses to the Twatterati blue checks getting the rabble riled up for a Trump impeachment that will never happen, so no biggie.

Can the broadcast licenses of these Fake News agencies  be revoked yesterday?

Human Burrito

In her series of self-portraits set in the New Mexican desert, Laura Aguilar is at once part of the American land, and the viewer’s eye, and apart from them: https://t.co/65RikwtwR3 pic.twitter.com/nsuonvFR4d

— The New Yorker (@NewYorker) November 30, 2017

From the Twatter replies: “not my proudest fap”. 😂

The most absurd aspect of this story is the self-seriousness with which the New Yorker reports on this obvious cry for validation from a morbidly obese señorita as if this is legitimate art rather than the adipose droppings of a shapeless blob. The Fuggernaut won’t stop on its own, it has to be stopped.

We’re not approaching a Singularity. We’re approaching a Nihilarity: Nihilism + Hilarity. I can’t think of a better term to describe late stage America regressing from responsible adulthood to a psychotic solipsistic juvenilism.

***

A big reason the New Yorker lauds garbage like this is because it knows its (((readers))) secretly thrill to voyeuristically feeling superior to their lessers. They signal egalitarianism while enjoying the rewards of human hierarchy. It’s the circus side show updated for a postmodern urban clerisy.

Two Centuries Of US Immigration

Every government policy recedes to insignificance in the crucible of demographic churn created by waves of immigration. If you’re arguing over tax cuts while your country starts to resemble Zimbabwe and Honduras, you’re a fool aka a cuck.

The American settlement and later independent nation was relatively churn-free for the first 200 years of its life. America was never a “nation of immigrants”, not for 200 years. America (and before that the Royal colonies) was a nation of Anglos. A nation of settlers. Of Englishmen.

Then, the dam burst. Not once. Not twice. But three times. And the last time may very well be the killing deluge.

See the full size version of the time-lapsed map of 200 years of immigration to the US, at this link. It’s basically a crystal ball into the future of America (cloudy, with periods of Armageddon).

Two centuries of US immigration is a revealing glimpse at the soul of a nation slowly being rotted out and replaced with new soul parts. It looks like there were three inflection (or defecation) points which irretrievably altered America’s future for the worse: 1840-1860 (Irish immigration bringing corrupt Irish machine politics to American cities), 1900-1920 (Russia = Jews, though some were Germans), and 1971 (start of the Dirt World invasion which has yet to decelerate).

Present-day immigration looks like a rainbow of mystery meat throwing up on America, with nothing but a pot of Danegeld and social strife at the end of it. Every country is sending their worst EXCEPT native White countries. Fucked, we are, if the Trump MAGA agenda is captured and subverted by Chamber of Commerce Recucklicans. Looking at that map, we may be fucked regardless.

Mercenary Valley

"About 57 out of every 100 jobs in Silicon Valley requiring a bachelor’s degree or higher are filled by someone who wasn’t born in the US" https://t.co/hctcitOvK3

— Lachlan Markay (@lachlan) November 22, 2017

Silicon Valley is a foreign entity operating on US soil. SV technopolies that import foreign scab labor by the tens of thousands should be considered enemies of the American people. My fervent wish is that the Trump Administration regulates the internet as a utility.

A reader writes,

This has less to do with Silicon Valley and more to do with the fact that foreign students get charged more for tuition, so universities have an incentive to enroll as many foreigners as possible even at the expense of native students.

That’s part of it, but no I really do believe SV prefers warehousing mystery meat code monkeys on its campuses because 1. they’re cheaper and 2. they won’t question authority. The solution is canceling the H-1B program and ending all foreign student allotments in American universities. All we need is the will and the shaming of virtue signaling single White women to make this happen.

The Nailing Railing

There’s this bar/nightclub that has two floors, the second floor extending about 2/3rds of the way out from the back of the venue, so that those on the first floor near the front of the club can look up and see people on the second floor. (it’s great for boning up (heh) on your upskirting skills.) An iron railing about waist high protects dancers and drunkards from falling over the edge into the crowd below, though I can’t fathom how there haven’t been topplings that I know of, given the nature of drunkards to fall over just about anything that isn’t a brick wall.

The club gradually morphed from a Chad-White bro-scene to a Dindu savannah, but it never completely de-gentrified (bixnoodified?). A given Saturday night could be 50/50 White/black. Many of the blacks were hardcore ghettolanders bused in from duskier parts of town, so the 50/50 ratio felt more like 10/90 if you were a wypipo. One street creature carries the menace of one thousand of Shaun King’s threatening tweets.

The night would quickly humidify with the influx of MUH DIKKING and jungle musk, and White Privilege at that time never felt more remote. But it was still fun to stay despite the risk of a massive house riot because of what would eventually and inevitably transpire on that exposed second floor. The nubian ladies would line up along the edge, two-handedly grab the railing, bend over and jut their steatopygian buttocks out as far as possible, rhythmically swaying and bouncing and jiggling their leopard skin tights-clad, dimpled posteriors with a ferocity that would evoke a post-monsoon reproductive dash for ass among Africa’s red-butted fauna.

Then the real show began. The brothers in their knee-high sweatpants would lope into the buoyant backsides of these Nail Rail sisters, making a big show of judging the asses for quality — some nodding their heads and licking their lips in vigorous approval, other stroking their chins in phony discernment — before channeling Al Frankenstien on Viagra and pressing their tighty-whitey-strained boners into the gluteal abyss of not one, but two, three, or ten event horizon booty cracks.

The Bump n Grind commenced, howls and hoots and screeches that startled birds and sent them flying out of the canopy would echo off the walls of the club. Spilled drinks, sweat, spit, and possibly semen would rain down on the first floor denizens who were staring upward mouths agape in unbelieving laughter. After a short while, the tribal “music” having sufficiently worked the participants into a copulatory frenzy, the fertility dance would move to stage three. Already ten to fifteen sassy girls were displaying along the Nailing Railing, and the woefully underprivileged and eternally victimized gentlemen of color would begin the musical chair part of the mating ritual, swapping girls between each other, slapping asses with an air of perfunctory ownership as they entered and exited ass cubbies.

Usually the buckiest of the daggering brothers would hog (heh) the preponderance of booty, overstaying his time with each ass, choosing the finest ass (as he saw it) from among a murderer’s row of gargantuan globularity, and grabbing two asses at once, one glued to his pelvic region, the other tickled into a spastic froth by his outstretched hand. It was at this time that the scent of sudden mayhem was strongest, and the possibility of a violent resolution bristled through capillaries and engulfed the room, electrifying the senses.

This is when the smarter Whites leave, (the smartest Whites never arrive), but for one time the crowd remained in full as a climactic scene unfolded that stunned the gallery before a great laughter ensued. At the mating dance’s peak excitation, a tall scrawny nerdy White man with “I’m a shitlib Virtue Signaler” practically tattooed on his fivehead stepped confidently into the tush pit, smiling goofily, full of wonder and joy at his chance to bond with the natives, and bounced heavily at the knee near an open black behind, waiting for a cue from one of his hued heroes to enter the Dark Incontinent without a safari guide. The Flummoxed Flava took one long incredulous look at this Supreme Dork, promptly cackled in unison, slapped his back, and pushed him into the booty dead center at the rail.

Below, the crowd erupted in cheers. Gangly and spindly, our brave sinfiltrator jerked his body like a broken marionette to the smooth gyrations of his amour, nearly disappearing into the sea of butt blubber. Slipping on the wet floor, he almost dove headfirst over her back and the railing, but steadied himself by planting his paw in the thiccness of her shoulder padding, and it was at this moment that his other hand swiped right….toward her giant tit mashed into the iron bar. He leered at the crowd as he gave it a lusty squeeze, at which the girl turned to look back at him, stood up, shook her head in that OH NO YOU DINT way, and slapped his face. He rocked backwards from the force of it, and the gathered brothers released gales of knee-slapping, tongue-wagging laughter as they resumed their spots in the tar pits.

There is no moral to this story except don’t go looking for love in the bush.