This is so sad, but not for the reasons ankle-biters think. A Frenchmanlet (you’ll understand the appellation in a minute), lost his wife, a fetching White woman, to the Muslim murderers in Paris, and now raises his infant son alone. He has what he imagines is a dispiriting message for his wife’s killers.

Dear beta males afraid to hate,

CH has a message for you that I hope will stir as many hearts as your message has lulled to sleep:

There is no virtue in denying your hatred of those that would kill you and yours. Cowardly shirking mincing mewling faggot shitlibs think your high-mindedness and your determination, or stupidity, to “not cast a distrustful eye to your fellow [Muslim] citizens” is the stuff of true heroism.

But it’s not. Hate is the yang to love’s yin. Your refusal to allow a healthy hate to course through you, and enliven your spirit to action, is surrender. It is retreat from a vital emotion that, when welcomed as circumstances require, will motivate a man to protect his family, his friends, his countrymen.

Maybe that’s the cause of your descent into hollow calls for impassive stoicism in the face of grave threat from outsiders.

There are no White countrymen with a sense of shared heritage worth preserving in the West anymore. Diversity™ saw to that. And there are no White families anymore. Diversity™ is seeing to that, as well, as native birth rates plummet in reaction to the loss of public space. We have our friends, but they disappear behind blue screens and shut-in lives enabled by internet delivery services. So what is there to protect, besides one’s moral posturing? If all you have is desolate ego validation from faceless, deracinated defeatists on social media, then it follows naturally to throw the memory of your pretty wife under the bus for the reward of the one thing that matters anymore in your shattering world… your grandiloquent moral rectitude.

Necessity is the mother of rationalization.

Refusing to hate murderous aliens in your midst who laugh at your haughty self-righteousness as they draw the knife across your throat is not noble

not heroic

not admirable

not morally superior.

It is the payment of meekness for comfort. Of weak-minded shibboleth for solace. Of saccharine platitude for avoidance of conflict.

White European Man, this is, if you’ll pardon the pun, your Darkest Hour. If there is a light at the end of this tunnel, it recedes to a pinpoint, flickering and threatening to extinguish… or to explode suddenly at its densest gravitational collapse, like a supernova, flooding your eyes and your conscience with the true nature of the war being waged against you.

La haine est aussi naturel que l’amour.


PA explores an angle that has bothered me, too. What was this Frenchmanlet’s wife doing at a death metal disco? Without him, presumably?

I don’t know anything about that man’s marriage but I can say with confidence that most Western men have never known the love of a woman because most Western women’s capacity for love is strangled early and often. In this case, his wife, an ageing mother, died at a disco. How do you love a woman who does not submit herself to you?

Did that French man ever sit on his couch sipping his favorite poison, while she curled up on the floor and snuggled up to his feet? Do you miss a woman who never showed you, with every gram of her devotion, that you own her fully?

If she did that, how would you mourn a woman like that? Would you go mad with sorrow? Would you coldly plot something that would land you in hell except for God’s mercy in this particular case?

She is gone. I don’t know what his wife was like and how he felt about her before she died. But he has a small child, to whom he can’t explain that mama is never coming back.

A wife and mother in her 30s spending her leisure time head-banging at da club, while beta hubby and infant child wait for her at home, is a powerful symbol of Western White decline. The message has to get out, otherwise White women will head-bang their way into race oblivion, and ultimately fulfill the White race cuckoldry fantasies of the degenerate reptile mafia.

Crime Is Going Back Up

Friends living in cities around the country have been talking of crime spikes in their neighborhoods, or ones close by, in the past year.

I don’t know if these “on the ground” impressions are reflected in FBI crime rate data, but I’d say keep an eye on the stats to see if, in the next few years, the official numbers swing upward along with the anecdotal trend. We may be headed into an old-is-new-again era of multicultural bonhomie.

Reader Wrong Side of History has a good question about girls who try to guilt you to do things for them that they claim their beta male orbiters do for them without being asked.

What’s the best response to a bitch trying to guilt-trip you into doing something by telling you how readily one of her beta orbiters would do it?

There are plenty of ways to effectively address this Voight-Kampff alpha male character test, which all more or less involve over-the-top sarcastic agreement, dismissive ZFG, or sly innuendo that her beta orbiter is her lover. Here are some replies offered by readers:

“sounds like you’ve already got an errand boy. you don’t need another one.” (this one was from yours truly)


“A&A that shit… tell her she should def fuck him as a thank you…”

“Sounds like a keeper. You oughta marry him.”

“He sounds like a really nice guy.” (the shiv is strong in this one)

“Rape.” Cold stare. Walk away. (one guess who wrote this)

“I always knew there was something between you two!” (also from yours truly)

“sorry, I’ll be busy shampooing my cat.” (ditto yours truly, and I really like this one because it humorously co-opts the ludicrous excuses of girls who aren’t even trying to sound plausibly unavailable)

“Give her the double middle fingers, kick her in the gut, and deliver a Stone Cold Stunner, BY GAWD, KING, A STUNNER!”

“Hey, can he pick up my laundry?”

But reader plumpjack has the best big picture perspective on the “will you be my beta bux chump” venus vaj trap:

if girl has the courage to guilt trip you about you not being her errand boy then it’s a dead giveaway that you’re not being dominant/assertive enough with her.

the best defense is a good offense. Put the bitch TO WORK. She’s practically begging you to boss her around.

be relentless. every time you talk to her is an opportunity to see if you can get her to do something for you.

it can be small and harmless: “hey can I get your opinion on this… [insert plausible prop here]

it can be ballsy: ” hey would you mind dropping me off at the airport at 5am. thanks”

or it can be completely zfg: “hey I haven’t been laid in awhile would mind if fucked you?”

be creative, zfg, and relentless.

guys get their panties all up in a bunch because a girl beta-baits. fuckin beta-bait HER, dude!

girl who’s beta-baiting you like this is INTERESTED. flip the script and see what you can get HER to do for YOU

Compliance hoops are a critical, and criminally under-explored, facet of seduction. Getting girls to do stuff for you TURNS THEM ON. How? Because when a girl invests in you, her wee hindbrain hamster whispers in her fluttering labial cochlea, “This man must be a catch, otherwise why would you go out of your way for him?” And from that moment of inner revelation forward, your journey with her to the bedroom is lubed with the slickest runaway romance rationalizations.

So FLIP THE COMPLIANCE SCRIPT on self-entitled girls. Every fiber of your beta being will protest this microaggressive intrusion into the female safe space (read: asexual friendzone), but know that this is exactly what girls desire. A self-entitled girl is just a girl who hasn’t yet found a man willing to ignore her entitlement and substitute it with his own sexy sense of entitlement.


The great American Benjamin Franklin confirmed the efficacy of Game (via Corey),

“This man must be a catch, otherwise why would you go out of your way for him?”

This is called, “The Benjamin Franklin Effect”. Franklin knew a thing or two about game.

People who hate the idea of Game and refuse to learn and accept its lessons are people who disagree, stupidly, with great men like Benjamin Franklin.

It’s nice to have a guy like Ben on one’s side.

CH’s resident shambassador from Daily Kos, The Spirit Within, is not a Trump fan.

FYI Last week McClatchey/Marist polls re: general election show the Democrat nominee beating the Republican nominee in every conceivable permutation of candidates…

…except one. Carson v Sanders. And the margin was only 2.

Trump is not the savior. In the projections, he lost the general to Sanders by 12 and to Clinton by 15. As his lack of expertise is revealed and as he makes more endless goofy speeches — he’s veering closer to Castro/Chavez/Camacho banana republic style politics — that gap will widen.

Keep pushing that charlatan on your readership, Heartiste. I’m sure you have your perverse reasons.

I’ll save your comment in the data bank for later retrieval, TSW, because I want to enjoy your meltdown squeals when the Trumpening heralds a new age and your words come back to bite you.

Confession: I have a soft spot for The Shitlib Within. Yes, he’s disingenuous and a shitlib (but I repeat myself), and he deploys just about every hackneyed, evasive leftoid rhetorical device in the Alinsky rules for race creationists when cornered by realtalk macroaggressions, but he/she/eskimo has a hokey earnestness which wrests a morsel of mercy from the dark lord. Plus, how can you not root a little bit for a guy who throws himself to the CH wolves here with such oblivious disregard for his dignity?

PS The McClatchy-Marist poll is the most liberal-biased of the polls that have attempted a hypothetical general election match-up. Most polls show a much closer race between Hillary/Sanders and Trump.

PPS I aggravated a nagging injury, which means I won’t be able to lift as hard for a stint, which means my T levels will dip below one million liters, which means I will start writing about the pompitous of love, the hidden beauty waiting to be discovered under gnarly vagina folds, fat acceptance, flavortown, the possibility of good lighting turning around Amanda Marcotte’s dating life, and the endearing hokey earnestness of The Sophist Within for a while. Hope you all can handle this whimsical ride on the feminine side.

Instagram Game (Instagame)

Text Game has been explored in-depth at CH, but not until now has Instagram Game received its due props. Check out this guy’s tight Instagame. (h/t Just Some Guy)

Had to post a picture with my baby, really mad Kaitlyn photo-bombed this. #fresh #stang #hoco

A photo posted by Cole McNamee (@colepm) on

And the coup de gash:

Technically, this isn’t pickup game per se because he’s obviously taking the piss with his girlfriend in these photos. However, it wouldn’t take much tweaking to turn Instagram into a pickup medium for single men.

The obvious benefit that comes to mind is social proof. You can Instagram yourself with girls who aren’t your girlfriend. Female preselection is kryptonite to blasé girls with fully operational bitch shields, and seeing you Game a girl buddy will intrigue plenty of third party observers, even if they know the girl with you is just a friend.

You can chat on Instagram, but not private message, so your chat game had better be good enough to pass the Jumbotron test. If you manage to acquire a lot of followers, girls will naturally be attracted to your Instafame.

Don’t ever “like” a girl’s pic (and don’t follow her before she follows you). Don’t be a thirsty chode. That means no “I’d stick a thousand needles into my scrote and walk across a mile of hot coals for a taste of your moist taint” anti-Game. That has never worked on a non-fatty in the history of the universe.

Neg girls on their own pics, and use your pics and chat skills to demonstrate high social value. If you travel a lot, IG is the perfect vehicle to quickly DHV to adventure whores, either abroad or back at home. (You’ll have to ask for the girl’s location if it comes to a request to meet IRL.) Mark your pics with tags of the city you’re in so local girls searching on them can find you.

Instagram would go well with a Photographer Identity.

NB, face-to-face game is still leagues better than social media game, so don’t elevate the internet to anything more than an adjunct to real life seduction. Online game is meant to be a slow cook crock pot simmering in the background of your sex life. The best advantage of Instagram is that it’s hardly any work at all; a passive, rolling DHV and hook gimmick that draws girls into your world… for you to make dirty with!

Executive summary:

– Use Instagame to pick up artsy chicks and minor fame whores who love looking at photos all day and dreaming of faraway lands.
– Emphasize travel shots, female preselection shots (pawns and pivots are your friends), adventure/extreme recreation shots, and humor shots (if you have the comedy chops). Also, if you are a high-flying businessman, shots of you in a bespoke suit at fancy events are choice.
– Don’t follow. Be followed.
– Leverage IG’s platform to efficiently neg and tease a lot of girls’ photos. This is how you quickly trigger attraction in girls.
– Properly tag your photos to capture the widest female audience possible.
– Avoid puppy and kitten pics, unless you’re using them as props for a one act badboy play. Cuteness makes girls smile, but not tingle.
– Move to chat, and then to RL, sooner rather than later.
– Submit your Instagram field reports to CH for harsh, but unerring, judgment.

America, Then And Now



Thanks, Diversity™!

Obama’s Psychology

CH neither endorses nor rejects this thesis by reader anon2 (but there’s probably something to it):

Everything about Obama’s psychology can be summarized thus :

His father married a white chick and then left. His father had a number of other kids and was ‘alpha’, at least relative to other shitlib manginas his mother knew.

He was unloved by his white mother (she later mudsharked with an Indonesian) and felt abandoned by her.

When he came to the US, white chicks didn’t want him. That bugs him to this day, especially since his father who was jet black still got a white chick, but mulatto Obama with an American accent, at a top University, could not get a white chick.

A predatory, ugly black giantess saw that this introverted, whipped boy could be bullied into marrying her. She proceeded with this coercion and while Barack caved, he resented this his entire life.

Now that he is POTUS, he could certainly get white chicks (status trumps all), but years with Michelle have killed his penis, and it has fully atrophied after having been away from female beauty for so long. Note that being married to the giantess is worse than being a porn-watching single incel.

Hence, his inability to get white chicks = hatred of white people = desire to obliterate white civilization to the best of his ability.

That is all there is to Barack Hussein Obama.

My suspicion is that the half-breed princess is a down low m00-lah-toe. Dirty little secret: there’s a higher percentage of homosexuals among blacks than any other race. (I’ve read but cannot confirm that eskimos also have an unusually high percentage of snowmosexuals in their tribe.)


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