That’s Serge Gainsbourg and Jane Birkin. Photo was taken sometime in the 1970s, I’d guess.

As a psychological experiment, its raw unapologetic essence can’t be topped for rudely revealing the fundamental psychosexual difference shaping male and female desire. Both men and women — at least normal, sexually dimorphic men and women and not bitter androgynous blobs — would feel sexually aroused by this photo.

Which really says all you need to know about the sexes. Men are aroused by the sight of a beautiful woman submitting to a dominant man administering disciplinary blows to her backside. Men imagine themselves in the role of the man in the photo, and become excited.

Women are aroused by the sight of a dominant man exerting his uncompromising power over a vulnerable woman surrendering to her punishment. Women imagine themselves in the role of the beautiful woman in the photo, and become excited.

If you could only know one thing about women, this photo, and how men and women react differently to its stimuli, is sufficient to guide you through life.

Reader Mutant Seven gushes,

CH, your trolling of Joyce Carol Oats is one of the highlight of my day! I read your tweets with my morning coffee before work and they put me in a sunny mood for the rest of the day. She just keeps barfing up the same tony progressive cliches, and you just keep swatting them aside one by one. The time you suggested she may be suffering from toxoplasma gondii was a hilarious zenith, but today’s unrelenting rope-a-dope was like a marathon of mirth. Thanks for the good times!

Believe me, the pleasure was all mine. For those wondering what this is about, click here, or here, for representative excerpts of the CH-Joyce Traveling Shiv Show. Unfortunately, it looks like Joyce, finally!, blocked yer magnanimous soul-carver after a year of shiv twists that would have left a sane cat lady yenta reaching for her pills by day two of her Twatter torment.

I don’t have a particular animus for Joyce beyond her service to me as a stand-in for every aging shitlib spinster with the gall to think she can happily waltz into a rhetorical freefire zone without receiving a .50 caliber shiv to the id, and unload a Lifetime Channel’s worth of vapid (((anti-White platitudes))) while operating under the impression her boilerplate liberalism counts as deeply suppressed truths.

For all practical purposes, Joyce was my muse to abuse, as a lesson for the others. That lesson?

Their time as race equalism propagandists shielded from blowback by the media Hivemind and from inside insular liberal cryodomes scattered along the US coasts is over. There’s a new paradigm in town. The front line is everywhere.

Post-Nice, post-Dallas, and post-…well, pretty much every mass killing that’s happened in the last five years, I’ve been hearing a lot of comments from shitlibs bemoaning the “exhaustion” they feel over all these events, and how it’s more important that ever to keep hope alive and tell people to love each other.

This is the classic shitlib retreat to sentimentality, coupled with a gnawing sense that surrender is about to subsume them, that happens when near-daily doses of reality put the lie, bluntly and relentlessly, to their equalism religion. Liberals retreat to sentimentality when inconvenient facts are freely aired, and surge forward with snark when facts are suppressed. As a Twatter reader observes:

Leftists I know:
2009 – happy, hopeful
2013 – angry, gloating, bullying
2016 – tired, confused, afraid

Why are shitlibs exhausted? Because they’re losing their religion. Religious beliefs — and make no mistake the typical shitlib’s belief in race creationism and autonomic White perfidy is as piously felt and immune to contradicting evidence or reason as any radical muslim’s belief in the teachings of the koran — are hard to dislodge without causing extreme emotional distress.

Religious fanatics, when emotionally distressed by an uncooperative reality, double down on adherence to their beliefs. We see this happening all over the West, as shitlibs and the cucks who lap their runny effluvia come to sound more like gibbering lunatics than sensible classical liberals as the mountain of evidence discrediting their kumbaya worldview crushes them into a brainless paste.

But there’s a stage after the doubling-down. That’s exhaustion. It’s when you’ve lost that loving feeling for your Synagogue but you can’t yet let go of everything you’ve believed in since you were a wee shitlib bouncing on your libdaddy’s lap. Exhaustion, the feeling of it or the claiming of it, is how a shitlib reconciles her cognitive dissonance. No more fighting, now. No more raging against the BadWhites. Just sweet release into the long slumber of empty, nihilist, emotional vacuity. Rest your weary head on that inviting id-pillow, sing “Imagine” in a low whisper, and maybe, just maybe, you’ll wake up tomorrow to a fresh injection of ego-assuaging feelz. Usually this ego reaffirmation takes the form of the shitlib clinging to her rare outlier while ignoring overwhelmingly common instances of the opposite occurring.


Related, media shitlibs have taken to cooing stuff like “We can’t let fear and anger dictate our policies.” Newsflash, fear and anger are justified responses to endless violent attacks by enemies within. Fear and anger motivate actions to defend oneself from continuing attacks on one’s countrymen. If you aren’t fearful or angry, you’re holding a useless candlelight vigil and hoping the next truck doesn’t run over you and yours.

Snarky, juvenile language allows media shitlibs to emotionally disengage from a credible threat to one of their own. To wit, shitlibs also like to say “let’s not reduce this problem to something simplistic.” No, of course not. Complicating a rather straightforward horror show — muslim aggression against infidel White Westerners — is the rhetorical legerdemain that allows shitlibs to maintain a facsimile of faith in their Equalism ideology. What the shitlib mistakes for simplicity is to the sane mind known as clarity. More clarity, please, and don’t stop with the clarity until every last shitlib is too exhausted to fagslap the shitlord army as they’re assuming control of the main engine room.

Executive summary:

Houellebecq was right.
Powell was right.
Raspail was right.
Juvenal was right.
CH was right.
Modern liberalism is wrong.

France (again)

I predicted on the Twatter that underprivileged muslims would target iconic European landmarks, like the Eiffel Tower. WELP. France is on fire…again.

I wonder when it will be the Western White elite give up on their open borders ethnic cleansing pogrom swamping native Whites in their homelands with third world trash. How many dead bodies have to hit the floor before deluded or malicious leftoids renounce their race creationism religion?

Rhetorical. Too many. The right answer is removing these perfidious leftoids from power. By force, if it comes to that. And the hour is late.

Today I present you with two fairly common types of female shit tests, and then discuss the one guiding concept you should have in mind to help guide you to the best neutralizing, momentum-swapping responses.

The first shit test (and it rightfully qualifies as a legit shit test) is what I call the Snarky Feminist Butthurt by Asshole Boyfriends Past Shit Test. An umbrella term for it is the Dominance or Compliance Shit Test. It takes the form of a feminist poseur, (whom you can tell is just seething with man hatred because some jerkboy throttled her lady thing in 2014 and didn’t call back), who takes out her resentment on random men she meets online with quizzes about their familiarity or obeisance to whatever idle feminist keking point happens to be sloshing through her electric ham. She uses the shit test to exert dominance over the men she has so far failed to control.

Exhibit C(unt):


“Her friends” = her imaginary friends.

Let it be known that every man whom “holly wood” has ever fucked likely had no clue about female authors, had never read a book by a female author, nor any book for that matter. The man she winds up fucking next will likewise have been recused from answering her vapid quiz. In the cock carousel interim, there will be a small army of lickspittle beta males willing to jump through humiliation porn hoops for an A+ grade on her testicle-shredding test.

The feminist poseur shit test has nothing to do with screening for sufficiently craven male feminists; it’s all about virtue signaling — or better, vixen signaling — to her amen chorus of loveless HB5 single bitter girl friends, or to herself to satisfy a too-long un-scratched solipsism itch. Why vixen signaling? It’s a humblebrag. If a girl can slap male suitors upside the scrote with boner-killing feminist demands and still get dates, she’s signaling to other girls her vixen allure is potent enough to surmount her self-imposed handicap.

A response to this shit test that would keep the playing field open (and not automatically and instantly disqualify you from further consideration) is one that conspicuously betrays an insouciant disregard for her terms of debate.

For instance:

“Good Housekeeping”, “Cosmo”, “Story of O”.

You’ve humored her, exhibited wit, and dismissively patronized her all at once. She’ll hate you and love you for it, and that’s a good feeling to put in a girl on whom you have carnal designs.

She’ll probably reply with a version of wow just wow how could you you asshole chauvinist pig it’s the current year haha i bet you think you’re smart. Ignore it. This is license to HOLD YOUR FRAME and add gas to her loinfire. Call her out for being a philistine unable to appreciate good literature.

“cosmo has great style tips. a leader in the field. try reading it, you might learn something”

Inevitably, if you stay true to your amused bastardy frame, she’ll crack and warm to your teasing ministrations.


The second shit test is more properly categorized as “Beta Bait“. It’s very common and it essentially involves a woman ostentatiously showing off her body to get a rise out of any man viewing her photo. The beta bait is her sexy figure, which will invariably incite beta males to praise her beauty, chomping down hard on the chub-swelling chum and thus getting the exit stage left hook.

Exhibit S(lut):


When a girl posts a photo like this online, or sends it across the chat line, you can be sure of two things:

  1. She knows what she’s doing
  2. She loves assholes

Beta Bait is a type of Fitness Shit Test. It’s how a sexy girl separates the beef from the daft; she wants to know if a man has high reproductive fitness, and one effective means to determine that is testing him for a needy reaction that reveals sexual scarcity. If he doesn’t sound needy, she subconsciously registers that to mean he’s a man with limitless sexual options who can take or leave her, and this is very arousing for the typical prime fertility woman.

The worst response to this shit test is the one I mentioned above: drooling appreciation. “Damn girl, you hot” is not just a failure of imagination, it’s also a one-way ticket to incel. This girl EXPECTS men to reflexively pop wood to her tantalizing physical taunt, so the obviously correct response is to do the opposite. Which means, in practice, ignoring her blatant exhibitionism or challenging her self-perceived sexual worth.

For instance:

“don’t do it. u have so much to live for, even if u can’t see it”

What she hears: “Doesn’t this guy notice my perfect ass? Wtf does he mean?” And BOOM there’s that pleasing alpha male ambiguity that supercharges twatbox tingles coast to coast. The “even if u can’t see it” late addition is extra spicy sauce drizzled on the main course, beckoning her to wonder if the good parts of her aren’t her body at all, but some other ineffable quality that doesn’t matter much to her overall SMV, like her judgment in profile photos.

(Another wag offered the reply “jump u faget”. Noted here for its sweet, outcome independent, jerkboy-compliant misspelling.)

She’ll shoot back something empty-headed and indicative of the confusion you’ve sown in her…. haha wtf *smily crying face*… but all you have to do is refrain from backpedaling off your cock-solid frame and you’ll have a live one on the line.

“who took that pic? your mom?”

Exhibitionists can’t have too much Asshole in their lives, so don’t worry about going overboard. Just remember that effective asshole game is also emotionally distant. Think “devil-may-care” instead of “unstable rage-head”.


So what is the one guiding concept to overcome female shit tests? Is it “Agree&Amplify”? No, that’s a tactic; a very powerful tactic that can substitute for Inner Game in a pinch, but still a tactic that doesn’t offer the deep mental state you’ll need to navigate you through the thickets of the fellating market.

The guiding concept is this: SURPRISE WOMEN.

Challenge them.
Thwart them.
Provoke them.
Elude them.
Baffle them.
Deny them.
Disqualify them.
Defy their expectations.

This is how you set yourself apart from the dully bantering, endlessly appeasing mass of mediocre beta supplicants stuck in a courtship mindset that linearly follows a grooved path from desperate need to impress to stepinfetchit apologetics. Everything you want to be is NOT what most men are; namely, predictable polishers of the pussy pedestal.

Ass pic? Question her suicidal tendencies. Feminist quiz? Mock her pretensions.

The kind of men who surprise women are impudent, self-entitled, sexually privileged, ZFG Jercques Cousteau holding girthright citizenship in Vajhalla. And it’s that kind of man, any shrilly claimed protestations to the contrary notwithstanding, with whom women can’t help but fall deeply in love.


An early 30s woman I know through a lover likes to regale friends who will listen with tales of her sordid sex life. (If you want to know what happens to a woman’s vagina if she’s still single by her thirties, think of a flowering rose…mashed into a slab of ground beef.)

One of her adventures included a break-up with a caddish loafer, followed by a two month-long rebound “””boyfriend””” who was dumped one month after her ex-jerkboy sent her a two word text (accompanied by a thumbs up emoji) at 1am: “wut up”. Sometime during her fling with the rebound, she openly stated when he was out of earshot that he wasn’t a serious contender and that little did he know she was fucking her ex-jerkboy on the side (her ardor obviously reignited by his eloquent late-night text). Oh, and to add colorful detail to the story, since she “didn’t have those kinds of feelings” for the rebound boyfriend, she withheld her pussy from him and only permitted mouth and anal access.

To her ex-jerkboy’s credit, he wisely said no to getting back together in a relationship context.

Let me just preface here that the clearest view of women’s true sexual nature is from the vantage point of a man who has gotten “in”, in every sense of the preposition, with a crowd of attractive young women. You will hear, and sometimes see, and occasionally participate in, everything that the average bumbling beta male does not. If observed patterns at the individual level are indicative of general behavior at the societal level, then the view is a disillusioning one indeed for those who nurture a streak of quaint romanticism.

A thought intrudes: What would the sexual market look like if all men, appeasing betas included, had first-hand knowledge of women’s most intimate goings-on? Women have a vested interest in maintaining a quasi-lockdown on unsanitized information about their sexual behavior reaching the mass audience of potential male suitors. But if men had Pussy-vision — that is, if men could see women’s secret world through the cylindrical scope of their vaginas — how would the sexual market change?

Would, say, the rebound man in the story above, if Pussy-vision pinkly illuminated the world of women for him, have continued dating and investing his time and money and energy into this girl who refused him her vagina but gave it freely and furtively and concurrently to an ex who invested nothing in her that didn’t require more than a perfunctory text solicitation?

What about other female behaviors that most men, especially White men, consider distasteful or even depraved and evidence that the woman exhibiting them is unworthy of marriage, or a carton of Skittles on her birthday? How would the typical White man respond if he suddenly knew that the bubbly HR girl he has started dating once shacked up with a black guy who left her with a bruise and an abortion?I’ll cut to the lace.

These rhetorical questions answer themselves. If Pussy-vision were real, the sexual market would change radically, and not to the benefit of women or of society. You’d see a lot more pump and dumping, a lot fewer engagement rings and $40K wedding circuses, and increased market demand for sexbots, virtual reality porn, and libido-numbing interventions.

Alpha males would hesitate more to commit, greater beta males would kick out the last leg of their pussy pedestal and consequently score with more women, lesser beta males would shy from asking girls out even more than they already do, and omega males would, to women’s consternation, become bolder in asking for raunchy sex, not unjustifiably assuming that skanks who have taken it up the pooper on first dates might not have a properly functioning discretion filter.

These would be the immediate effects. Eventually, (if Pussy-vision were real), the wholesale abandonment of men from the LTR and marriage market would drive women’s behaviors in the direction of chasteness, modesty, low partner count, deference to male prerogative, and vulnerable femininity, (and away from mudsharking, you bet your ass). Hmm, not unlike how it used to be prior 1960 or thereabouts.

So, did pre-1960 American men have Pussy-vision? In a way, they did. No, they weren’t seeing the world close-up through women’s vaginas, but the culture was a healthy one that acted as a proxy Pussy-vision instrument, instructing men in the traits and behaviors of women who are worthy of long-term investment. Men didn’t need to spend years in the banging trenches to learn the true nature of women; they had fathers (and mothers!) and friends and institutions teaching them, forthrightly or round-aboutly, the shapely contours and tell-tale demeanor of the marriage-worthy woman.

What has happened since then is the warehousing of Pussy-vision out of sight of the everyday man. In a way, Pussy-vision is real, but now only for a select few alpha lords who have the key to the secret garden and a peen’s-eye-view of unkempt, chaotic, dizzyingly feral female sexuality. For the rest, the culture has not only jettisoned the concept of Pussy-vision, it actively works to promote the opposite of Pussy-vision:


Which would not be such a mentally handicapping thing if women were, in fact, worthy of investment. Beaver-blindness is the benefit of the doubt women receive when they are truly keeping up their end of the bargain: namely, don’t have an N-count that could rival a porn star’s and don’t delude yourself into thinking ass sex is an acceptable virginity-preserving substitute.

But Beaver-blindness is metadeath to the idealistic man living during an era of unrestricted female licentiousness, either as practiced or as imbibed by a go-girl propaganda machine that encourages and glorifies sexual amorphism and the taking on by women of the traditional roles and behaviors normally associated with male sexuality. Beaver-blindness is wilful castration when pussy is liberated from male expectation and discernment. It’s basically telling women, “Do what you will, I have neither the inclination nor the capacity to judge your worth as a lover and a partner in life.”

Naturally, women HATE HATE HATE nonjudgmental men who let them get away with the farm, (even as they tell social scientist surveyors and gullible male feminists the opposite). The only counter to liberated pussy is donning the Pussy-vision goggles and treating women exactly how they allow themselves to be treated. This will improve the enwhitened man’s love life and may, paradoxically, persuade women to reject the liberation of their sex.

Shitlord Of The Week

Via Ricky Vaughan:

Check out the grinning shitlord arguing with some fucking feminist. Look at her distorted face.


haha. A high level shitlord is a master of the shit-eating grin. Nothing better than driving shitlibs to hysterics with a cocky grin and a buzzcut.


SOTW runner-up is this guy who plowed his car through a crowd of BLM terrorists blocking the highway.


PA links to this video of a shitlord wearing a FUCK ISLAM shirt while single-handedly taking on a shriek of anti-Trump protestors. Big balls.


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