Blacks Can’t Buy A Sympathetic Anti-White Martyr

Three cop-shoots-black suspect news stories were exploited by the media and government officials like president Gay Mulatto to incite black rage against the Whitey machine, which culminated in this week’s deadly violence at a Dallas BLM protest, when one black sniper killed five White cops and injured seven more.

It seems that always, upon closer inspection, the blacks killed by supposedly predatory racist cops and held up in the ensuing media limelight as pillars of the communitaaahhh are useless parasites on society and have rap sheets a mile long. Derbyshire has a useful write-up on the three BLM poster dindus, and the banality of black power agitators and their White leftoid enablers continually failing to find a sympathetic anti-White martyr is morbidly funny confirmation of racial reality to those who know the score.

Of the three, Philando Castile was, at least superficially, the best Great Dead Black Hope that the equalist narrative enforcers had to buttress their rapidly deflating worldview. (The cop who shot him wasn’t even White, but you wouldn’t know that listening to NPR.) However, as usual, after some digging by spirited shiv-right dissidents, it turns out Castile was far from an upright citizen. There is some corroborative evidence that Castile was involved in an armed robbery just prior his deadly interaction with the cop who shot him.

Castile also had a lengthy police record for minor driving violations. And he had joined a Crips gang group on Faceborg. In other words, the usual extracurricular activities of your typical American Dindu.

None of this is to excuse an unwarranted police shooting — the inclusion of smaller and more easily intimidated women and asians in our nation’s police forces must surely contribute to trigger-happy over-reactions to belligerent, aggressive black suspects — but it does suggest prudence when these cases erupt in the news, instead of what we usually get: a liturgy on the badness of White cops and chimpouts incited by a media complicit in stoking black hatred of Whites.

The most humorous angle to all of this has to be the crisis acting of Lavish “Diamond” Reynolds, the girlfriend of Philander Castile, who live-streamed her reaction to Facebook from the back seat of the car in which Philharmonic lay dying beside her from gunshot wound. I heard it, and my immediate impression was that she sounded too calm and scripted for me to believe her emotions were real. What normal woman thinks about live-streaming her boyfriend’s last hour on earth in pitch perfect Narrative compliance, as he bleeds into her lap? Something was off, and a few perspicacious rascals pinpointed the disconnect:

Ricky Vaughn ‏@Ricky_Vaughn99 Jul 9

THIS is why Lavish “Diamond” Reynolds lied about her bf’s death. Ghetto lottery! #PhilandoCastile

@CAPSLOCKHUSTLER

GHETTO LOTTERY MENTALITY SO DEEPLY INGRAINED HER AUTOMATIC INSTINCT WAS TO START FILMING HER PAYDAY AS HE WAS BLEEDING OUT.

Apparently, black lives matter more when they’re dead and can be bargained for cashmoney from a credulous audience still clinging to their White devil and numinous negro mythologies.

Freelance Comment Of The Week: Reversing The Sap-Snark Polarity

Tucked in a great thread discussing the banality of White SWPL virtue signaling is this comment from Ricin Beans,

I said in the shoutbox earlier that contemporary society encourages snark about things that should be considered sacred, and sentimentality about things that call for hard headed realism.

It’s all part of the leftoid SWPL’s escape from any reality that would challenge their concocted religion: Equalism, and its core tenets Race and Sex Creationism. In practice, it means a complete turning of their backs on their ancestors and their heritage, and a betrayal of their descendants (what few they leave).

The good news, if there is to be any, is that the SWPL Equalism religion, founded on a falsifiable view of their relationship with the material world rather than on a transcendent view of one’s relationship with the supernatural world, won’t last very long. Factual counter-evidence too conspicuous to ignore or sarcastically dismiss will inevitably, after an initial frenetic burst of indignant piety upon confrontation, hollow out the emotional bond liberals have to their equalism religion and many will drift from the flock, harmlessly neutering themselves and the social damage they’re capable of inflicting.

For the others, those too committed to their virtue signaling and delusions about humanity to ever lapse from their pattern repudiation faith, the stone cold material world they uphold as their malleable Heaven will crush their hopes, over and over, until the will to life abandons them. Something we see already happening in the cratering birth rates of the most zealous Equalism followers.

A Neg Fit For A Hottie

We haven’t talked about negs in a while. A refresher before diving to the chewy center of this post: Negs are backhanded compliments most effectively used on prettier girls as a means of temporarily jarring them from their glowing self-perception and thus raising your relative sexual market status. Negs are, succinctly, jerkboy quips that instantly disabuse women of the notion you might be the typical ass-kissing beta male.

That out of the way, I came across a joke-y chat that happened to reveal a new neg with excellent potential to create bedroom havoc. The man’s replies are on the left.

On any girl under an 8, this neg would be too rough. If you assault a plain jane with it, she’ll be hurt and lash out spitefully or gracelessly exit the conversation. But on a real babe, this is dynamite. It works because the HB8+ knows going in that men think she’s cute. So to be reminded of that – “words can’t describe how cute you are” – just confirms her working presumption that you are a garden variety beta suck-up. Then, as she’s resting in the warm confines of her validated biases and feeling impudent as a result of her rapid vaginal turtling, you crash her comfort zone with the “numbers can tho. 3/10” donkeypunchline.

BOOM, drop the sike. The hottie won’t take it all that personally because a part of her will know, or convince herself to know, that you don’t really mean it. Another part of her will wonder if you do mean it. And in between those uncertainty poles, as nervous internal laughter pacifies her princess id, her vagina will swell with the corpuscular injection of seductive ambiguity.

(If you’re wondering where to go after ‘3/10’, just change the topic to something random or qualifying of her ability to keep your attention. Her defenses are down, so you have the freedom to set the conversational agenda. Whatever you say next, DON’T backpedal from the neg, DON’T apologize, DON’T say “j/k” and for the love of all that is unholy DON’T assauge her feelings if she puts up a butthurt front. DOUBLE DOWN, and she’ll go DOWN ON THE DOUBLE.)

The New Colossus

Much like the brazen golem of Mosaic fame,
With conquering meme astride from land to land;
Here at our brain-washed, super zip gates shall stand
A crazy lady with a torch, whose flame
Is her imperious virtue, and her name
Whore to Refugees. From her beacon-hand
Glows world-wide welcome; her weepy eyes command
The blue-balled lackeys to their nation betray.

“Keep, ancient lands, your Whiteness pure!” cries she
With fishmouth lips. “Give me your stupid, your poor,
Your mandingos yearning for handouts free,
The vest-bomb refuse of your teeming shore.
Send these, the vibrant, tempestuous, to me,
I lift my womb to their coal-black spore!”

The ‘Attracted Woman’ Myth

A fairly regular bleat from the woe-is-me contingent of hapless beta male romantic losers who’d rather wallow in self-pity than engage the frightening prospect that deliberate effort can improve one’s sex life, is the recurrent assertion that Game – or any of its organic derivatives – will only work on women who are “already attracted to the man”.

This claim is an indicator that the claimant has either

a. no experience seducing women (as opposed to listening to women talk about other men seducing them, or watching women be seduced by other men), or

b. has had the stroke of luck to land Miss Right early in life, settle down, and thereafter be cursed (or blessed, depending on your POV) to view womankind through snow white-tinted glasses, which act as convenient amplifiers that facilitate the projection of male desire onto female sexuality.

First, a tiny caveat. Yes, there will be a particular woman, and a particular time, when a surge of immediate attraction will be powerful enough to propel her post-haste into a man’s bedroomy embrace. These scenarios exist.

Most times, though, a woman’s journey from meeting to fellating is more labyrinthine, less viscerally certain to occur to one or both parties invested in the hoped-for denouement. As any man who’s shivved a day in his life knows, women aren’t wired in the same way as men. Female arousal oscillates on a spectrum from fleeting curiosity to uncontrollable splooging. Fun fact: In the typical relationship, the men that women are dating or have even married will have begun their courtships, unknowingly for the most part, as nothing more than mildly interesting prospects making no more impression than that of a dim speck on the woman’s heart horizon.

The upshot is that in the sexual market, it’s men who have to work harder, and longer, and smarter, to win the love of a woman. Male desire is a rather simpler proposition; it’s on or off, and the switch is pulled within a second of visual inspection of the woman’s face and body.

The lesson here for the average man is that very few women you meet will be “already attracted” to you, and likewise very few women you meet will be instantly and irretrievably unattracted to you. A woman’s attraction is not a switch; it’s a burner that can burn hotter or colder depending on the skill of the man turning the knob.

The majority of women you will date will have felt a little something from the very beginning, but only a few of those women will reach your bed, if any. Dating is not fucking. Pleasantries are not fucking. Kissing is not fucking. Fucking is fucking, and to get there you have to make a woman MORE ATTRACTED to you, which is where the power of Game aka learned charisma, shines brightest, taking you from a dim speck on her heart horizon to a flaming sunRISE announcing a new lay.

Fat Shaming Works: Sealed With A ¡SCIENCE! Kiss

The Chateau is long on record espousing the aesthetic benefits of fat shaming on a mass (heh), coordinated scale to reduce the disfiguring incidence of blubberbutts in the United States of Asstronomical Fattitude. There is no nobler cause than reasserting the primacy of Truth and Beauty and beating back the satanic incursions of Lies and Ugliness.

Many slimlords have taken up the banner of fat shaming and naturally the fatties were upset. (Didn’t matter, because upset fatties can’t do much but weep tears of lard into tubs of ice cream). Now, gay supraheroine Milo has put together a shiv-worthy article speckled with numerous links to studies finding that indeed fat shaming does work, if by work we mean it motivates fatties to lose weight and non-fatties to refrain from ever getting fat in the first place.

Social pressure, peer group management, punitive and targeted taxation, ostracism, teasing, taunting, rudeness, ridicule, and my personal favorite, cruelty, are effective means of containing the spread (double-wide heh) of the obesity epidemic and helping at least some fatties lose weight and look like normal human beings again, complete with the happiness that accompanies the transition. It worked for smoking, it can work for fatties. The key is to get them while they’re young, before bad habits and DGAFism have metastasized. Judging by the number of porky schoolkids I see around, the need for a national fat shaming project — a Svelte Society, if you will — was never greater.

Freelance Comment Of The Week: They Wanted It, They Got It

Commenting on a despicable article of jet-fueled anti-Gentilic chutzpah, BenKenobi writes,

They wanted evil White men. They shall have them.

Do not lament that we have come.

We are the culmination of the entire progressive philosophy.

We are the synthesis.

“You don’t have to believe in backlash, Clarice. It’s self-evident.”

Diversity Heretic adds,

Well and succinctly said, sir! That article absolutely drips with contempt for the white lumpen proletariat. I think the Bourbons had more respect for the peasants in 1789 and the Czar had more genuine concern for Russians in 1917 than our present elite have for us.

It’s a truism that a people who are always having to ask “why do they hate us?” are carried to this contemplation on a windstorm of their own hatred.