White Dispossession Is Real

What Identity Europa calls “The Great Replacement” is happening with astonishing speed.

Worse, in London since 2001, 500 church buildings have been converted into private homes. And in America, land of the twee home of the depraved, there were 1,209 mosques in 2000. That number rose to 3,186 mosques by 2016.

For comparison, the number of Christian churches in Saudi Arabia in 2000 was zero. In 2016 it was still zero. Iraq had 300 churches in 2003, but in 2013 had only 57 churches (and a lot more dead Christian bodies).

Whites are currently under attack. They are being dispossessed demographically, racially, socially, geographically, economically, and culturally from their own nations. They are being psychologically evicted from their homelands. For lack of a more precise term to describe the mass scale displacement of Whites, this is genocide in all but bloodletting. And if past is prologue, it won’t be long before the letting begins.

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The recent colonizers have Resting Bitch Face for America. @pen writes,

Bad: When your extended family rules you with contempt.
Worse: When complete strangers rule you with contempt.

Wars of totality have been fought for lesser reasons.

The Great Men On Loosed Women

Cato the Elder had this to say about toxic egalitarianism,

Cato is arguing for the deputizing of a Thot Police.

If you’ve been paying attention, you’ll note that Cato’s wise words eerily mirror the implied threat to high culture and Western Civ in the Chateau Heartiste definition of modern feminism:

The goal of feminism is to remove all constraints on female sexuality while maximally restricting male sexuality.

Corollary: Radical female equalists seek the destruction of the feminine in women and of the masculine in men.

Constraints on female sexuality enable the full flowering of femininity. Absolute license corrupts femininity. It’s a more complicated relationship between sexual restriction and license for men. Constraints on male sexuality channel machismo to beneficial ends in a patriarchal culture, but demoralize men and corrupt their masculinity in a gynarchy such as we live in today in the West. The ideal society is one which recognizes the essential psychosexual differences between the sexes, and abides different standards for men and women that on the whole permit more license for male sexuality and more constraints on female sexuality.

What women want is license, as Cato correctly stated. License is different than freedom in that it grants the recipient a reprieve from personal responsibility and from the consequences of one’s actions. License means basically the removal of moral agency, so when women demand license what they are demanding is blamelessness. This is the end game of feminism: a child-like sheltering from opprobrium and expectation for women, and all duties imposed and consequences borne for men.

Equalism is the ideology of regression past the wean.

Great Scenes Of Realtalk In The Movies

Movies used to be this good. From The Fall of the Roman Empire (1964):

As true now as it was then pic.twitter.com/1yPV0Kgmpv

— Tolerant Fellow (@nontolerantman) September 26, 2017

Are we more free now under our groaning Diversitopia than we were in 1964 when the US was 90% White? This scene wouldn’t make it past the cutting room floor today. There’s your answer.

The Walk Of Triumph

Seeing a passion project through to the end. Excelling at a personal pursuit. Mastering a hobby or skill. Closing a big deal. Earning accolades from respected peers. And, yes, seducing and fucking a cute girl on the same night you meet her. These are a few of every man’s favorite things. The world-bestriding emotions each induces in a man are incomparable. In sone ways, these feelings are better than sex because they are longer-lasting, nourishing soul as well as ego and gonads.

But the greatest feeling of them all is something that only men can experience without regret or an asterisk. You bang a girl to a dizzying state of euphoria and full body exhaustion throughout the night and then again in the morning, delivering a limb-wrapped flaparoscopy so thoroughly destructive of bounds of propriety that you lose sense of where your body ends and hers begins, and you pause just long enough for breakfast before resuming a time-lapsed reenactment of every Discovery Channel rutting caught on film. Her body is a plunderland and you’ve just left her gash ashes to scatter to the winds. She can barely muster the strength to sit up for the goodbye kiss as a long smooth leg flops languidly over the side of the bed. Admiring your ransacked treasure one more time, you grin the grin of champions and strut out her door into the painfully bright sunshine.

Outside, you feel the warm sun reflecting off the sweat and juices that have adhered to every pore. You walk with a sluggish lope, as if in slo-mo, legs more akimbo than usual because a pleasant throbbing ache pulses through your crotch and demands room to breathe and heal. Happily, you acquiesce and every step seems like you are following along on a leash attached to your rolling rollicking reverberating balls. You are a Viking Berserker, carving a swath through the world with your two-handed broadcock.

Every girl you pass on your short journey home you greet with a devious smile and perhaps a finger gun and wink. They can’t help themselves as your conqueror’s testosterone wafts like VajslayerX nerve gas and stiffens their drop-mouthed gaze in your direction. One girl at a cafe table conspicuously uncrosses her legs at the moment you glide menacingly, tail up, through the savannah grass of her placid urbanite existence. Breathe deep the masculine fumes, watch shiny babes splooge their looms.

This is the greatest feeling in the world for a man, to ride in on a storm surge of your validated sexual energy and crest with froth and fury over the mundane lives of women. They can smell it on you and see it coming a block away, and you feel it, and it feels good man, for you know in that moment you could have any one of those girls if you chose to grace them with your attention.

There is no walk of shame for men like there is for women. There is only the Walk of Triumph.

The CH Law Of Unchecked Anti-White Tribalism

Anything that can be remotely associated with White people will inevitably be subverted, perverted, or protested by nonWhites and virtue sniveling white cowards, absent powerful social prohibitions or sufficiently dissuadable punishment to contain the tribalistic and status striving impulses.

Corollary: The rebuke of implicit White symbols is a plausibly deniable proxy for the rebuke of the White race. Similarly, rallying to implicit White symbols when those symbols are under attack is a plausibly deniable proxy for the defense of the White race.

We’re at Peak “This Has Nothing To Do With Race”. Normie Whites are waking up to the anti-White hatred that permeates oh, pretty much the entire world, but they’re still not brave enough to speak plainly, so they’re lashing out at nonwhite ingrates under the rubric of symbols like the national anthem to conceal to others and themselves what they’re truly fighting for…their place in the world.

But as Whites are finally learning, forced unity is tyranny and division is clarification. The time for an honest dividing is upon us.

Start with this rule: Know your primal enemies by the symbols they renounce.

Your Daily Game: A Kiss In Time

On a first date (or first meet), aim to kiss the girl during the middle of the date when she’s emotionally invested and fully engaged in the outcome. Going for the kiss at the end is predictable and desperate. Going for it at the beginning is needy and awkward.

Ignore this advice if the girl is uncontrollably horny for you.

On second thought, even if it’s obvious the girl wants you inside her badly, hold off on kissing her until later in the date. Anticipation is making her wet, is keeping her waiting….she loves the man who keeps her guessing. Giving a girl what she needs means not giving her what she needs when she expects it. Delayed gratification = inflamed vaginal elation.

Featured Maul-Right Meme Artist Of The Month

Meet Francis Dominicus. He’s the memelord responsible for creating instantly iconic and stirring visual memes of Trump.

The Supertrump* smirk on that last one slays me.

*goodbye shitlibs it’s been nice
hope you find your peace of mind
tried to warn you of our memes
hope your tears will salt your dreams…

Joining Dominicus in the pantheon of maul-right street artists (a small but effective cadre of creatives who wield the technicolor shiv better than any leftoid art school phag does) is Sabo. We need more of these kinds of men to take it to the shitlibs’ turf. The triggering should go global, and spare no anti-White virtue sniveler. We attack now with words and art, because we know the horrors that follow when the words and art fail to disarm the enemy. If you’re not keen on all-out war, you make your words and art count. In this sense, men like Sabo and Dominicus are the real humanitarians to which the Leftoid Excrescence can only pretend.