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Coal Burners Vs Oil Drillers

PA drops a pithy insight into the differing societal dynamics of coal burning versus oil drilling.

From the standpoint of aggregate eugenics, White male mixing with others is more pernicious than the other way. A typical WF mudshark’s children drift black and they have no paternal investment to push them in status among Whites. Conversely, White fathers of mulatto children can be the most fanatical anti-racists.

Anyone who’s spent a few minutes perusing Twatter’s mudlover’s row of White male media and politician cucks who have adopted one (or four) kid choculas will quickly confirm PA’s observation: race-mixing or African-adopting White males are the cuckiest of cucks, full-on propagandists for the race creationism anti-White equalist narrative.

Mudshark mystery meatballs invariably “drift back” to the depraved black culture, or in some cases become rabid mulatto mouthpieces for blaming black dysfunction on Whites (see: the Gay Mulatto himself). The mixed children of oil drilling White men (or the adopted African children of Evangelicuck/Mormon universalism virtue signalers) tend to drift upward into White culture, where it can be argued they do more, by there mere presence, to promulgate the Anti-White Narrative Hate Machine.

White devil’s advocate: Because women are the reproduction bottleneck in the sexual market (and thus in the civilization market), one can argue the opposite of PA by hypothesizing that every White woman womb removed from circulation imposes a much larger cost on the broader family of Whites (aka the pre-Diversity nation-state) than would White man sperm, which is nearly inexhaustible in supply and capable of impregnating multiple White women despite a brief plunge into the tar sands.

***

Mudsharkery doesn’t just pollute a White’s genetic lineage, it also subverts the extended White family’s psychological health. The effluvium of the mudshark presents an endless hurdle to the family to betray their pride-of-heritage and desire for aesthetic continuity. If the technicolor toddlers of coal burners eventually drift out of the extended White family’s community, then the psychological stress of the family is reduced and their clarity of mind improved. If it’s a White father who brings a mixed-race kid into the family, it’s likely (as PA has alluded) that kid will remain within the family’s fold, forever putting the metaphorical ball-gag on the unfiltered thoughts of the rest of the White family.

Trump recently delivered an “apology” that stands out as a pristine demonstration of an alpha male using vulnerability game without giving away too much testicular credibility.

Sometimes in the heat of the moment you don’t choose the right words. I’ve done that and, believe it or not, I regret it.

This is a classic alpha male apology. So much reframing goodness.

“heat of the moment” = “I’m a passionate untamed man”

“don’t choose the right words” = “the substance of what I said is essentially correct”

“I regret it” = “I’m not apologizing to you; I’m apologizing to myself”

All of it delivered with a cheeky, insouciant self-knowing smirkitude that yields no ground to his enemies, and ends with a sincere, reassuring, intimacy-building promise.

Trump just did the equivalent of blowing through a girl’s player-wary anti-slut defense and making himself attainable.

Trump is a master of improvisation. He connects with the people. His Game is tight. He will win in November and, I’m going on record here, it won’t be close.

NOWAG? Try SWAG, Friendo!

Every once in a while one sees the exceptional couple who together smash realtrue stereotypes. I saw one such recently. A very striking, tall and slender blonde White woman kissing her asian boyfriend adieu. I’ve seen White woman-asian man couples before, but usually the woman was nothing to write home about, which is how this particular couple managed to jot a tittle in my limbic ledger.

No one wants asian guy? Not her. She wants asian guy!

Naturally my forensic Eye of Shivron whirred into gear to assess this violation of the cosmic biomechanic laws. The asian guy wasn’t a Keanuiac half-breed. Full-blooded from slope to slant. He did have some physical advantages which set himself apart from the usual ant people test-cheating hordes. He was average height (which adjusted to asian standards meant he was tall). He dressed like an A&F frat bro: crisp knit shirt, plaid shorts and sockless docksiders. Muscle-wise, also average (which again adjusted to asian standards meant he was buff). Facially, inoffensive enough to make a few asian-american girls rethink their opposition to dating inside the nippon tribe. Jawline was acceptably uncucked.

All in all, he looked completely Americanized (I’d guessed he was Japanese-American, but could easily have been Korean). Still, his alabaster lady was a White hard HB8 topping to a model-esque 5’9″ or so. And clearly, unmistakably, in love with him. (When he turned to leave her behind, I caught her staring longingly at his retreating figure for a few seconds. Those rovebirds!)

He could’ve been loaded, sure, but I think it was something else. Something that this man —

Dennis “pussy magnet” Kucinich

the fairy godmother of manlets, has similarly exhibited in photos with his hotter, tighter, younger wife who is at least three standard deviations out of his league (if we define “league” solely by the draw of a man’s physical appearance).

Wondering what that something is which our SWAG roverboy had? Look at these Kucinich pics and see if you can figure it out:

kucinich1

kucinich2

kucinich3

You’d be hard-pressed to burden a man with more physical and ideological shortcomings than Dennis “The Kuntroller” Kucinich — short, weird looking, skinny, old, liberal kook — yet here he is married to a genuine red-headed hottie. His unicorn horn stands taller than many nü-Aryan shitlords’ war pikes.

Yet the photos of him with his beauty reveal his secret. Notice anything missing?

That’s right, NO HOVERHAND.

Kucinich holds his lady tight and right, drawing her into him and pressing her flesh into his feeble old mannery that does not even lift. Notice too he doesn’t lean into her; if anyone’s leaning adoringly, it’s her.

Kucinich’s alpha male body language transmits a loud and clear message: “I take complete ownership of my woman”.

Ownership, aka men’s prerogative, is a vital ingredient in romantic relationships. Feminists and manlets swoon with hysteria, but TruGirls love it when a man doesn’t mince his meat. Declaring ownership of your woman, especially in public, is a powerful signal not only to other women that you have the mysterious “he’s got it” goods, but also a reminder to your beloved that you don’t live in apprehension that she’ll someday soon withdraw her love. Body language ownership is the opposite of the appeasement and fearfulness that the hoverhand betrays of a man’s character.

Returning to our SWAG, that’s what he had. In spades. During the kiss goodbye, he drew her by the waist into his chest and squeezed her ass in full view of NSA surveillance cameras. He winked at her before turning to depart, and didn’t look back to assure she was still tailing him with her gaze. There was no hoverhand, no leaning, no awkward pigeon footing, and no tender salivary pecks and canoodles so common among beta males who think a woman’s bosom is a security pillow to nestle their weary cuckheads.

Lesson of the lovingkindness: The right attitude and an unflinching assgrab will more than compensate for a man’s physical imperfections. If only more men would learn this lesson instead of projecting the contours of their visual-centric desire onto women.

PS Anecdotally, I don’t feel nearly as much aesthetic repulsion to WW-AM couples as I do to mudsharks. Maybe my hindbrain swiftly calculates that the genetic distance, physically, behaviorally, and mentally, between a White woman and a northeast asian man is a relatively small one set against the Saharan expanse between a White woman and a black man, and therefore my disgust reflex is comparatively dampened with the sight of the former. One is taking a piss in the White gene pool while the other is dropping a steaming deuce in it. Alternately, it could be that the extreme rarity of the former makes it more of a curiosity to me, and thus less noxious, while the relatively higher frequency and, especially, propaganda-fueled essence of the mudsharkers provokes a stronger emotional response (tied up as these coal burning couples inevitably are with their anti-White Narrative sponsorship).

Thanks For The Memories

Had ya going there for a bit, didn’t I?

There are four types of long-term memories that men lock into their amygdala amber and take with them to the grave.

  • childhood memories
  • sex memories
  • adulation/victory memories
  • first love

A Twatter reader (presumably a pappy) asks “What about kids?” I’d classify kids as both an adulation and victory memory for men, if you can take fathers’ claims about their feelings for their kids at face value.

Why is a man’s first love such a powerful long-term memory formation facilitator? A man’s first love is like his first ejaculation; it may not be his best, but it’s his freshest.

A reader can barely contain his (her?) excitement.

Holy cow, CH! Do you realize what a smash a “rise of the sex robots” movie would be? How prophetic, how powerful,  how promotional of shiv-right values? I hope you’ve got something in the works, or at least a treatment copyrighted. Nobody has foreseen the dystopian ramifications the way you have,  as far as I know. Nobody is better talented to tell the tale. And certainly nobody deserves more to profit from his unique insights. Get scribing, my man!

M7

I preen. It’s funny you should mention this now, M7, because I’ve recently been mulling the idea of a dystopian fright-fi book about a lovelorn beta male who genuinely falls in love with his Class Sharapova sexbot, and whose satiation tragically compels him to spurn the surprising affection of a flesh and blood plain jane who yearns for a family. My idea was for the story to focus on the uncanny intimacy that develops between the two main characters as their love (or maybe just his love, as the AI would not have yet progressed to undetectable emulation of human emotion), disturbing in concept yet tender in execution, pulses against a backdrop of civilization rapidly yielding to a cataclysmic sex market disruption that dwarfs the schism online porn and obesity had caused the prior generation.

It’s not like the real world isn’t serving up daily reminders that sexbots are coming, sooner than we care to think.

Certainly there have been a few movies that have tackled this subject, if tangentially or farcically. Her, Austin Powers, Blade Runner, Cherry 2000, The Stepford Wives, and the underrated indie psych-thriller Ex Machina come to mind. But none of these movies, except maybe Her and Ex Machina, really explored the sensual and psychological possibilities of sexbot love in context with the cultural upheaval that sexbots would doubtlessly unleash on advanced hedonistic civilizations. That’s where I hope to fill the gap, so to speak.

Sam Hyde, funny guy and Trollocaust survivor, has taken his ballsy street theater — punking shitlibs on their turf — to the airwaves. His show, “Million Dollar Extreme Presents: World Peace“, has premiered on Adult Swim. It airs Fridays at 12:15AM, Eastern Time. (I haven’t watched it yet, but plan to. Anyone who has, chime in with your thoughts.)

Here’s Sam asking an asian girl about her asian privilege:

Sam Hyde earns CH’s Shiv of the Week. He sets a good example for aspiring shitlords everywhere.

(One reason Sam effortlessly trolls shitlibs into self-mockery is that he’s a sturdy dude. Most of his targets are smaller, and this disparity would reduce the risk of a prompt physical altercation while increasing the odds of a tempered humorous exchange.)

Scott Adams seems to think so.

Cartoonist-turned-pundit Scott Adams, of Dilbert fame, told Breitbart News in an interview on Sunday that the mysterious “Godzilla” of persuasion, to whom he ascribes Hillary Clinton’s polling success, is behavioral psychologist Robert Cialdini.

Cialdini, who refers to himself as the “Godfather of Influence,” is a professor and bestselling author who specializes in the art — or, perhaps, the science — of persuasion. In 2012, he was part of a “dream team” of behavioral psychologists that advised President Barack Obama’s re-election campaign, and helped propel that effort to victory despite slow economic growth, high unemployment, turmoil in world affairs, new terror attacks, and a motivated (though IRS-crippled) Tea Party opposition. […]

Adams told Breitbart News that he believes that Cialdini may have sat out the Democratic Party primary — or perhaps worked for Sen. Bernie Sanders — then joined the Clinton effort once it became clear she would be the party’s nominee.

While Trump had been more effective at using persuasion techniques, he said, “the Clinton persuasion game went from non-existent, which I reported on for months, to solid-gold, weapons-grade, almost instantly, as soon as Bernie Sanders dropped out.”

Sanders had been outperforming expectations, and Clinton had been underperforming expectations. “Wherever you see somebody exceed expectations by that much, either they are a persuader, like Trump is, or they have somebody helping them,” Adams concluded. […]

Adams explained: “Clinton stopped talking about her boring policies, and details, and her experience, and she went to pure persuasion. She went to the bigger scare,” which was the image of Donald Trump with his finger on the nuclear button.

FYI, this confirms my suspicion that Scott Adams is a reader of Game websites, and has probably stopped by the Chateau for a visit or ten. Robert Cialdini is an intellectual father of early Game principles that have withstood the test of time, (a substantial body of Mystery’s and Tyler Durden’s work and in-field experimentation exploited Cialdini’s knowledge from his book Influence: The Psychology of Persuasion).

I won’t put too fine a point on it: If Cialdini is now working for TheCunt, like he did for the Gay Mulatto, then The Trumpening is imperiled. Game is an awesomely powerful seduction tool, whether used to bed women or bed voters, and Cialdini would be a presumed master of the craft. I’ve no doubt that his input could very well have been responsible for recently shifting the polls so dramatically in TheCunt’s favor in such a short time. Game isn’t called accelerated seduction for nothing.

Trump is himself no slouch in the Game department, but he has a tendency to get mired in the thickets of interpersonal affront, and can be sloppy about message discipline. Trump needs to nail down his state control. These are the classic flaws of The Natural, btw, so I’m not surprised by their evidence in Trump whose biography provides ample evidence that he is a natural shitlord, aka the social hub alpha male who did well with the ladies from the get-go.

Trump’s strong character suits are an earthy humor and an honest, straight-shooting conversationalist style. These are big pluses that nonetheless can be easily twisted by the media hate machine into meanings completely at odds with what Trump intended to convey. We see that happening more now, as expert persuasion artists like Cialdini are beginning to inform the globalists how to effectively counter Trump’s strengths.

Trump has to know that the foes he is battling now are not trifling betas like ¡Jeb! or Rubio or spergy try-hards like Cruz or shell-shocked cuckservatives who just can’t even. He is up against the most lethal psy ops campaign I believe we will witness in our lifetimes. (Because if it gets any more lethal than it already is, the rhetoric will yield to hot lead).

Cialdini and the persuasion techniques that he and others have written extensively on may very well have been a lynchpin in the Gay Mulatto’s election wins. Game is all too powerful. It frightens manlet newbs, cucks, tradcons, and feminists for good reason: it’s a refutation of mortal MUH GENTEEL CONSTITUTIONAL PRINCIPLES and MUH SEX EQUALISM, replaced by the immortal God of Biomechanics.

If Cialdini has now brought the accumulated knowledge of the Game community to Hillary’s campaign operations, it bodes ominous for a smooth Trump Train ride to victory. Although it would serve as a jarring confirmation of Game principles and stroke my already tumescent ego to greater heights, it saddens me to think Game forefathers may have vaulted Obama (& perhaps TheCunt?) to the Presidency. Sadden, because those Game principles are rightly the property of the alt-right and the sundry shitlords who are currently engaged in a winning meme war against a century-old enemy drunk on entrenched power.

Some shiv-righters in this fight may not like it, but those tail-blazing original PUAs were far more shitlord than shitlib, in practice if not in their personal politics or their dress code. You have to be to have bucked the reigning equalism ideology and feminist fuggernaut so flamboyantly, and to take what you want without politely asking for it first.

This is why the alt-right needs to reclaim Game for its movement. They are the natural inheritors of it, and they prove that daily as gleeful practitioners of Game tactics (whether they realize it or not) in their rhetorical slash and burn of decades-old shitlibboleths. TheCunt may have put together a “dream team” of seduction experts, but even a player with tight Game can be defeated in the field. You either have tighter Game than him, or a stone cold taste for sadistic — some might say un-Christian — mockery.

Hillary herself is no threat. A sickly, black-hearted, corrupt old lady who can’t finish a sentence without lying and whose Parkinson’s has robbed her of the ability to think on her feet away from a teleprompter can be cowed into submission by a mighty Trump blow. Those puppetmasters who surround her are the real threat; notice how Hillary has faded from making news herself, as psy ops surrogates do all the bidding of Cialdini & Co. Trump’s real fight is with them; Hillary is merely their shell entity, their cipher.

Knowing this, Trump has to take the Game to them. This means more self-discipline than maybe he is comfortable undertaking. But the prize is great — the political equivalent of bedding an HB10 — and I’m confident that Trump’s love of winning beautiful women, and beautiful voters, will convince him to sharpen his shiv.

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