Lindy “Immense” West Got Married…

…to a gay man scouting for a green card. For evidence, see this try-hard article and accompanying photos.

Dat gay face. He’s the one with the thousand cock stare.

She is totally his citizenship beard. They will make traditional love precisely once. He will need mass quantities of drugs to commence the act and fake his completion.

Her marriage is a hog and phony show to burnish her feminist cred. “See, a fat woman proud of her fatness can get married too! Take that, straight white masculine men with healthy libidos!”

Lindy West is a blowhard feminist. Not a colorful exaggeration. You can practically see her blowhole.

The Immensity lies,

I’ve dated [ed: black] men who relished me in private but refused to be seen with me on the street, or who told me, explicitly, that we had no serious future because they were afraid their friends would laugh at them.

shitthatneverhappened.txt. No man talks like this. If a loser dumpster dives to get his rocks off, he won’t deliver a confessional coda like this one to his fat fling. He’ll just stop texting and ghost. Shit that does happen to Lindy West: She falls for [ed: white] guys, they aren’t the least bit interested, she spins it as their fear of getting ribbed by their friends rather than their complete lack of physical attraction.

Fat pigs lie all the time to assuage their hammy egos. Feminist fat pigs with an internet bullhorn lie twice as much and ten times as desperately. The try-hard, butthurt, phonyfuck haggadocio drips like bacon grease from the mouth corners of the Lindy Wests of the world.

I’m surprised by the numbers of gullible “red pillers” who take fat women at their word when they oink about their nonexistent love lives with “studs” and “winners”. Look at Lindy’s “””wedding””” pics. The freak show rolled into town and the only one not getting the joke is Lindy.

Prediction: Lindy West will not get happier nor more emotionally secure as she settles into her marriage. That is because she will know what no one but her and gaycabanaboy know: A circus spectacle won’t save her from the lonely, loveless nights that are the fate of fat women married to effeminate men dreaming of somewhere and something else entirely.

PS The easy shiv: “Lindy + A Ham”. True that.

PPS Why do I come down hard on Lindy West and her ilk? Because they’re degenerate liars. And degenerate liars are bad business for believers in truthnbeauty.

Alpha Male Of The Month: Presidential Hopeful Donald Trump Has Game

But does he have tight game? The evidence gathered to date says… the tightest! For instance, examine closely how well Trump handled his own Realtalk™ charge that could’ve blown up in his face given leftoid Hivemind and GOP (one and the same) hatred of him.

Trump said Juan McCain is no war hero, because, paraphrasing, there’s nothing heroic about getting captured.

I happen to agree, in part, with Trump here. A sure sign of national decline is bastardization of the native language (to suit the needs of ruling class propagandists and, less ominously, to strengthen group identification among the lower classes). As Greg Cochran has noted, we live in a culture where the hero has MOVED ON to the right side of history, becoming a “hero through suffering” rather than a “hero through deed”. This is supposed to be an improvement. It’s not. It’s a dumbing-down of heroism, so the mass of mediocrities can feel like they have a spiritual connection to the hallowed Hero’s Hall every time they fall into a depressed resignation about their miserable lives.

I specify that I agreed with Trump “in part”, because the Merriam-Webster definition of “hero” does include, under line item #2, the description of the hero as someone with “noble qualities”. You can argue that, once captured, possessing the grit and fortitude to stick it out for years until release is a type of heroism.

So there was wiggle room there for Trump to take a legit hit from his enemies to the…. “””right”””. (hahaha i keel myself!)

But did Trump back down when the Hivemind assembled its buzzing battalions to perforate him on a, ahem, trumped-up charge of insufficient patriotism and groveling toward a veteran with a stellar record of lapping up the precum off Vicente Fox’s Spanish-European glans? (A charge, it should be mentioned, not a single member of the Hivemind conglomerate takes seriously in his own life.)

No. Not only did Trump refuse the offer he couldn’t refuse, he struck back with guns twice as big, twice as fast, and ten times as lethal.

This fuckin guy. ❤️❤️

As wags have dubbed him, Trump is a kind of morph of Realtalking internet commenters and Duke Nukem. Here he is on peabrained cuckservative Rick Perry, after Perry swallowed a load of Hivemind jizz and tried, feebly, to oust Trump from respectable GOP circlejerks:

And look what Trump did to that most effete of GOP supracucks, Lindsey “gaypedoface” Graham, (who called Trump a “jackass”). Skip to minute 26:00 to see Trump brandish Graham’s real cell number, asking the studio audience to call Graham for clarification on his past request for Trump’s campaign assistance. It is quite the slashing shiv.

Trump has tight game.

– He reframes his opponents’ attacks.
– He goes on the offense, never allowing himself the womanly comfort of the defensive crouch.
– He never apologizes. Especially not when his accusers are such gratuitous phonyfucks.
– He is socially savvy, and knows how to speak to the common man.
– His upgraded third wife is a hottie. And not just “for her age”.

If Trump is President, no one will have to humiliate himself pretending that a First Gorilla is a highly fuckable beauty.

Trump is such a BAD BAD RACIST EGOTISTIC MAN that he currently sits atop the Republican polls. Game can get you laid, and it can help you become leader of the free world.

President Donald Trump.

Isn’t it about time the Presidency was occupied by an alpha male worthy of the office? You know, alpha males like we used to have with the Founders?

If nothing else, Trump makes what would have been a tedious, insipid non-race with no import besides greasing the skids to national dissolution into something interesting to watch. Trump has pushed the Overton Window so wide, its gaping hole resembles Andrew “RawMuscleGlutes” Sullivan’s prolapsing rectum.

Trump fucks with the status quo, and the fucking is good.

******

PS This guy…

…wins a distant runner-up AOTM for boffing a decent-looking chick in an alley and submitting a shit-eating mugshot in defiance of good taste, but Trump is a force of nature who won’t settle for less than absolute AOTM glory.

PPS Just as indicative of the droogie’s alphatude in the mugshot is his fucktoy’s expression. Is she ashamed? No. A happy smile pushes hard to come out of hiding, ready to betray a deeply satisfied post-coital contentment.

The Incidental Squirt

Thumping, throbbing, pulsing… a sinuous dolphinoid stroke through crisscrossing waves of briny, grinding flesh, arrive at destination: a ramshackle tropic-themed auxiliary bar. I wave, regally, in the vicinity of the bartendress, to order a stiff one. To my left, propped lordotically on a stool, a slim blonde in slimmer dress squeezes a lime wedge into her love potion. She thinks (incorrectly) a stray sour squirt hit me; I feign injury.

Blondie: “Oh, I’m sorry about that!”

Left hand up to left eye, I execute a grimace with great gusto. “Aagh! My eye! It burns.”

She gawks for a beat, I spread two fingers slowly apart, revealing the abstractly-afflicted eye, peering at her with my miraculously and expediently cured vision through the finger gap, smiling with same orb a reprieve from a personal injury lawsuit. I leave the scene, pressed in equal measure by physiological necessity and the advantages of calculated absence. Her friend, almost as attractive, says “bye” loudly as I set off.

The right inflection can flip a “bye” into a “why not stay for a longer ‘hi'”?

Re-trace my dolphin migration, arrive at bathroom to discharge the blowhole. Too many pissers. The walls bulge, Matrix-like, with the teem of testosterone. Zipping and careful to avoid slipping in the slosh of urine accumulating on the floor, I contort my return way through the crowd to the bathroom exit, as a crescendo of primate chest beatings alerts my early warning detection system. A stygian mutant standing in the doorway prognathously bellows, “That’s rude, man. That kinda rude can get a man killed”, at a retreating Topper pretending to ignore the taunt. He repeats his threat in staccato bursts of gumfire three or four (thousand) times, a menacing series of war cries intended to evoke the fear of an inevitable eruption of normalcy into sudden, violent, pitched battle. I raise my arms into a preparatory garrison as I snake around the rapidly intensifying black hole of gravitational incivility.

Escape velocity achieved. One hundred paces between chaos and rapture. Back at dryland Bar Tiki, the blonde, still seated, still smoldering, shifts to make room for my adjacent insertion. I accost her.

“You know I’m practically blind in my right eye now.”

“You mean, your left eye?”

“Oh, yeah, my left eye. Blind as a bat. At least your right side looks good. I hope your left side makes the grade.”

Her face energizes for gratifying combat. She sparkles, I toggle. Everything is gonna be alright.

Our Acute Discernment Of Age

A perceptual puzzle. I was idly watching, from a height and a distance that would approximate 80 meters along the hypotenuse, a woman mount a bicycle. She was clothed in long pants and long-sleeve shirt, and wearing a hat. Her face was open for inspection, but at the distance my eyes were trained her features were nothing but a formless conglomeration of four russet blobs — the top, sides, and bottom, meeting in a very vague oval shape, and smeared with fat brush strokes by a drunken painter.

Yet, from that distance and inconclusive physical details, I was able, subconsciously at first and quickly percolating to my conscious consideration, to gauge the bike woman’s age to be in the range between late 40s-mid 50s. When she biked nearer my location, my opinion was confirmed.

I thought, how could I know her age so accurately with such clarity of judgment and such paucity of particulars? What gave it away? I pondered, loosely, the various betrayals, and struck upon multiple hypotheses — the play of ocular shadows, the refraction of light off wrinkled skin, the subtle cues of motion tainted by a distressed body in decline — but could not settle upon a winning giveaway.

Our ability to accurately discern age from a parsec must rank up there with the wickedest riddles of human perception. We must have this ability for a reason. A very, very good reason. #ThreatAssessment #RottenEggs

Update

A commenter mentioned weight being the dead (weight) giveaway. While it’s true people tend to fatten up with age (until at a great age when they start to lose weight), in this case the woman was slender and shapely (as far as that can be determined under concealment). So while weight can cue age, I think it is not the sole, nor even a major aid to our perception of a person’s years on earth. There is something more profound signaling to us the walk of time over a stranger’s facescape.

Is There A Shared Extinction Path Between Neanderthals And Modern Westerners?

No one knows for certain how the Neanderthals went extinct. There are many theories propounded — climate change, resource competition with newly arriving anatomically modern humans, megafauna population declines, etc — all of which are plausible, and some of which are supported circumstantially by recent genetic evidence.

I’ll suggest another, uncomfortably familiar, extinction mechanism for the Neanderthals: Diversity™ killed off the loveable brutes.

I don’t mean, exclusively, Diversity™ in the usual senses — warfare, rape&pillage, territorial disputes, food shortages. I mean it in the Calhoun rat “behavioral sink” sense. That is, the flood of Vibrant AMH Diversity™ arriving from points south, who may or may not have mingled peaceably with Neanderthals in the latter’s homeland, (and occasionally shared beds), by their mere proximate presence and cultural dissimilarity induced immense psychic pressures on the locals until their native fertility rate plummeted to levels…

…not unlike what we are seeing today among white Westerners living in homelands rapidly populating with millions of alien world migrants.

Diversity™, itself, is what killed the Neanderthals.

Arguing against my speculation: Contraceptives, the Japs.

Neanderthals didn’t have the hedonism aids of condoms and Pills. If they were “secularizing”, relative to their race’s historical norm, and choosing to forfeit childbearing in favor of extracting the last bit of fun from a shrinking playground, they’d have a challenge trying to do all this to the beat of the rhythm method. Not that it couldn’t be done; Neanderthalettes might have stiff-armed a lot of horny men if they felt that conditions weren’t optimal for raising a family.

The Japanese. They have a very low TFR at the moment, and last I checked there wasn’t a ton of Diversity™ in Japan. But, it is an island nation, and there are a lot of Japanese living on it, living a neon-colored and optically-wired version of the Western lifestyle. Here, the mechanism is entirely raw numbers, rather than raw numbers + clash of cultures.

The Neanderthals, it now appears from genetic analysis, have gifted White Europeans with just enough of their DNA to make something of a difference to the trajectory of white history. Did Neanderthals also gift us with a warning for our own race’s future, or lack thereof?

The Measure Of A Man By The Women He Keeps

Women serve as an exceptionally accurate barometer for the measure of a man’s attractiveness and social standing. The hotter, sweeter, and more feminine a man’s girlfriend or wife, the likelier it is that man is charismatic, beloved, high status, and possessing those traits and achievements which other men admire and set women on fire.

Reader james1 draws a parallel between this truism and current events, in a comment reprinted from a Steve Sailer thread.

From steve sailor comment #27:

I know love can be a fickle thing, but I am sorry, I just can’t have much respect for Jeb over his choice of a wife. The guy was a wealthy man from a prominent family, not some nouveau riche slob. He went to the finest prep school in the nation. Yet according to his mom, Columba was the first gal he dated. From her bio it appears she might even have been an illegal. Yet Jeb fell hook, line and sinker for her. I wonder if it was the extreme differences in their social positions which allowed him the confidence to think him worthy of her? If so he probably couldn’t deal with any woman in his same social level or even a few levels beneath. No, it took an illegal woman for Jeb to feel comfortable.

I’d like to see Heartiste delve into this one.

Columba is powerful evidence of ¡Yeb! Bush’s intrinsic beta maleness. She is homely and culturally antagonistic to the once-majority anglo-germanic country Jeb presumes to lead. Yes, it’s true, given Jeb’s social status and great wealth he could have done a lot better. A LOT. But he settled for a squat inca who can’t even speak English and looks like a rock troll from the movie Frozen. And she was illegal. I absolutely believe Jeb feels like a worthless beta male in his soul and has horrible inner game, and this is why he only felt comfortable dating an illegal alien housemaid who made him seem like a DOMINANT JERKBOY GOD in comparison.

Do you trust a man who has horrible taste in women, and a lack of confidence in his ability to get and keep better women he truly desires? Do you trust a man who, in his choice of woman, lies to himself every second of every day he must gaze upon her apparition?

Do you want a low self-esteem, dumpster diving beta male with zero confidence in his appeal to English-speaking white American women leading your nation back to greatness?

Or an alpha male who, for all his flaws, has proven he knows how to get the job done when it matters?

No further shivving, yerhonner.

Heh

Cruel, sadistic mockery will defeat the degenerate freak mafia. Do you know what won’t defeat them?

Cuckservatism.