Wives Should Submit To Their Husbands

This was the advice of an Italian female author of a bestseller book titled Cásate y sé sumisa – “Get Married and Be Submissive”. The book is now a hit in Spain, where the fertility rate of the native Spaniards is very low as one prime fertility generation of women after another squeezes into the crowded and expensive cities to pursue the accumulation of alphas and gadgets instead of betas and cherubs.

Naturally, Spain’s feminists (is there no Western nation safe from the shrieking of the clams?) are outraged, OUTRAGED I tells ya, by the book’s premise, and are, as is the wont of this subspecies of open-minded and tolerant leftoids, calling for it to be banned.

The book, which was a bestseller in Italy, preaches a message of “loyal obedience, generosity and submission” on the part of the new wife and offers nuggets of advice for the newly-wed on how to please one’s husband.

The book currently appears at number 15 on the Amazon bestseller list in Spain but has raised the hackles of modern-minded Senoras who even staged a public demonstration against the tome, where they tore up copies.

Women’s groups are considering legal action to get it banned arguing that it promotes gender violence.

Here is a photo of the Italian authoress, Costanza Miriano, advocating a wife’s submission to her husband:

Here is a photo of a group of Spanish feminists tearing apart copies of the book:

I could drop the mic right here and walk off stage, confident that the argument against the feminist position, such as it is, remains incontestable. But tragically there are still people in the world who believe raw ugliness exerts no influence upon one’s warped beliefs or bizarro worldview, so the shivvings will continue until morale improves.

One passage suggests: “We [women] like humiliation because it is for a greater good.”

The Story of Oaths. Women in traditional marriages are happier than women participating under more “egalitarian” marital auspices. Lovely Costanza is correct; the nature of women… unchangeable, sculpted in the crucible of a millions-year old mating environment that has bred in them an instinctual adoration for the powerful man who by force of will extracts from his lovers a damegeld, i.e., submission to his prerogatives… is a wild beast that needs a dose of loving humiliation to remind it for whom it ploughs and pleases.

Miriano has touched on something important here, something very dark and naturally suited for examination by the learned scribes of Chateau Heartiste. A woman seeks her submission to a better man, belying her own socially greased words to the contrary, and will take the measure of a man in part by his willingness to indulge in humiliations, usually small, sometimes great, as proof of his worthiness.

What does Miriano mean by “for the greater good”? I believe she alludes to an idea articulated at CH in the past: the idea that women’s unbridled sexual nature is wilder and more dangerous than man’s sexual nature, and that leaving women’s ravenous desire to its own devices — that is, giving women the freedom as demanded by feminists to hunt in an endless chase for perfect romantic fulfillment, no matter the consequences — will in the end breed deep discontentment, and the restless queefly quest that can never be quenched will transform the ancient courtship rituals into an acid bath disintegrating the last fibers of social connectedness.

Women, slave to limbic compulsions far beyond the mere abilities of prefrontal willpower to contain, need a man who will stop them embarking on this quest, whether embarking in reality or fantasy (both are caustic to social and familial bonds in their own ways), and the only assurance that a woman will be satisfied leaving the quest behind is if a man wrests her from pursuing it.

The author claims the book is based on the teachings of St Paul and that a perfect wife should be submissive.

Paging Matt King…

“It’s true, you’re not yet an experienced cook or a perfect housewife,” she writes. “What’s the problem if he tells you so? Tell him that he is right, that it’s true, that you will learn. On seeing your sweetness and your humility, your effort to change, this will also change him.

Smart women understand that men won’t move heaven and earth for unfeminine shrikes. Even an ur-leftoid like Maureen Dowd, by way of a fortuitous brush with brotherly reality that would have made her a wiser woman had she heeded the unmissable lesson instead of lied to herself her whole life for status whoring points at her New York Beta Times cocktail circuit, comprehends that feminine niceness, and nothing but feminine niceness, is a balm of which men will never tire.

The sassy, snarky, arch bitch inspires the competitive instinct in men, and weakens their protective instinct. Men won’t feel motivated to change for a woman who isn’t capable of evoking vulnerability and, yes, submission. Men will fuck the invincible modern woman, and then leave her unloved, untroubled that such a woman softly weeps herself to sleep at night.

Granada’s Archbishop Francisco Javier Martinez, who chose to publish the book has defended its content and insists that the furore surrounding it is “ridiculous and hypocritical” in a society that allows abortion, which he argues is a much clearer example of violence against women.

The Fifth Wave Feminist: Keep hacking at those fetal limbs but zero tolerance for awkward nerds committing microaggressions by telling dongle jokes.

The present condition of Western elite thought is unsustainable. Something will give, soon. And then those who always felt the Western world was amiss but were too cowardly to say so without twelve layers of sniveling PC ass-covering will embrace the wrought iron door to the Chateau and enter, imbibing its teachings without apology, without reluctance, and with only regret at having not arrived sooner.

Comment Of The Week: Memento Mori My Little Pretty

Wrecked ‘Em suggests an old Roman tradition could serve well the modern day West.

During a Roman Triumph it was traditional for a slave to ride with the victor and whisper to him reminders of how fleeting is glory and how short is life. In Latin this was called “memento mori”.

I propose that we resurrect the memento mori for the hot young ladies in our society. A coming-out parade, of sorts, where the ladies will ride in cars accompanied by an old woman who will whisper to them things like, “By 40 you will be invisible to men” and “You’ll be over 40 for more than half your life” and “At 55 the only things that will bring you joy are your children and grandchildren; not your career, not your travels, nor your accomplishments.”

For now, the cloaked figures of the House of Heartiste will release those whispers into the ethernettian winds, assuming the duties of the mothers and grandmothers who have shirked theirs.

***

Runner-up COTW is Matthew King, disgorging a wallop of righteous bile,

We elevate the subhuman and inanimate to idol status, like sports, politics, pop-star vapidities, and here especially, masturbating into latex gripped by the dryboxes of disaffected wigger club whores on permanent vacation from daddy. Kakocratic paganism.

The hate is strong in this one. Excellent. To extract such id-ious concessions from a man wrapped in the cloth is, in a word, delicious.

Chicks Despise Niceguys

Horror is a woman’s secret id revealed. Unenlightened men recoil, and even the women who allow the full expression of their deepest feelings are revolted by the specter of their own fallen desire.

I am severely chafed by my gentle, compassionate boyfriend.

I feel sick just writing this, and I don’t want to lose something good, so here goes:

I’m a 34-year-old single mother of a beautiful, sweet, and healthy three-year-old boy. I never imagined having kids, but accidentally became pregnant three months into a destructive relationship. I kept the child and eventually got rid of the man (with the help of a domestic violence counselor and a restraining order), which was a healthy decision.

You see, healthy decisions are not my forte. With a few exceptions, I usually date the damaged bad boy, the alcoholic who needs rescuing, or the tortured artist. I scrapped all that when I had my son, and haven’t dated since removing baby daddy from my life 2 years ago. Until recently.

Five months ago, I met a man at my sister’s wedding (one of the groomsmen), and we connected. Talked all night, laughing like crazy, connected. We hugged briefly at the end of the evening and we both felt it was worth pursuing. He lives 1400 miles away from me, and we began an email correspondence, sharing our relationship history, likes and dislikes, and getting to know each other. We have a lot in common. We fell in love. We made plans for him to relocate to my city and move in together. We decided all this before spending a great deal of physical time with each other. He’s visited once a month for the past five months, and the trips have gone from elated, nervous excitedness to awkward arguing and annoyance. He is sensitive, kind, attentive, and doting. He is so very patient and loving with my child. Because of these traits, I find myself feeling less attracted to him physically. He seems meek. It is truly something sick. I have a hard time looking at him on occasion, because every little quiver, every timid step, every noise he makes while eating makes my skin crawl. He follows me around and paws at me. He is far less experienced than I am in the bedroom, and yet I do not know how to let him know what I like, because he is not keeping up with me in that department.

I don’t have a lot going on, aside from an unsatisfying job, my son, and my love of animals. I don’t have the financial resources to pursue hobbies or interests, and this man offers stability. I love him, but I’m not sure why I’m so uncontrollably moody around him, and why he has turned me off. He is so gentle—the gentle man I always thought I wanted, because underneath it all I’m gentle, too—but I’m pushing away and I don’t know if I love myself enough to make this work. I have tried talking to him about this and he just apologizes and says he feels out of his element. He picks up on my annoyance which makes him feel uncomfortable, which triggers a neediness, which I find unattractive. I don’t want my son to have a bad boy for a father figure, but I don’t want to resent my lover over petty things. Are these petty things? Is love about being able to be annoyed by someone, and loving them anyway? I tell myself that I have a good man—and I don’t want to lose him—but how can I really snap out of this? I feel terrible, ungrateful, and confused.

A woman is as viscerally repulsed by a sensitive niceguy as a man is by a fat woman. If you want to know what a woman feels when a niceguy dotes on her in needy supplication, just remember how you feel when you see a land whale bend over in short shorts to pick up a donut crumb. The stimuli are different, but the disgust reflex is the same. And the reflex serves the same underlying reproductive purpose in both sexes: to avoid contamination of the egg with inferior sperm, and to avoid fertilizing and investing resources in inferior eggs.

Most women aren’t capable of this sort of self-reflection, and with good reason; if women had to grapple with their malignant sexual natures on a regular basis, they might very well go crazy. Or crazier than they already are. From an evolutionary perspective, mental stopgaps (aka the hamster) that block access to understanding of primal limbic impulses is a useful adaptation for ensuring women capitalize when the superior seed of self-driven, aloof, challenging, emotionally distant and often unkind men is available to them.

If you are a gentle, compassionate niceguy… a man of God…, a woman will become, inexplicably to you, cranky and moody if she’s in a relationship with you. You will be confused and wonder why she won’t listen to reason about all the good you do for her, and then you will blame her for your pain, unless you are an emasculated quasi-man, in which case you’ll direct the blame upon yourself. And through all the emotional ups and downs, the turmoil that is out of your control to manage, the cold sexlessness that feeds your spiraling resentment and unfocused rage, the microinsults that pile higher atop your wounded dignity with every increasingly despairing day together, the misplaced guilt that poisons your soul… through all that punishment, punishment that on some days will seem less bearable than the acute pain of physical torture, one demonic truth pulsates at the center of the chaos:

She has as little power over her feelings as you do.

But there is redemption, persecuted niceguy. You just have to know where to look.

Gaming Bitchy Broads

The days of feminine, coy, flirty Western women are coming to a close. Blame fluoride, blame peer pressure, blame evolutionary forces, blame mass female employment, blame Turchinian cycles… the growly aggro-manjaw is now a fixture of the modern mating market.

Men can respond in three ways: drop out, dig in, or desexualize. Dropping out — i.e., perpetual fapping to internet porn and vidjya games — is an admission of defeat that’s easy to sustain via dopaminergic pathways. Not an option for men who love the company of beautiful babies. Desexualizing is psychological self-castration intended to ease the pain of romantic rejection and the sting of failing to live up to masculine norms, while leaving open the possibility of real live interaction with furry-faced feminists who measure success by their collection of manboobed sycophants. cf., John Scalzi.

Digging in… now that’s where the rubber meets the ho. You deal with the mating market you have, not the one you wish existed. And that means, for many American men, a practiced ability to confront and neutralize the bitchy cockblock.

A reader offers a relevant account,

Got this shit test a couple of nights ago in a club. Wondering about recommendations and assessment on how I handled it.

Walked up to a group of girls in the smoking area and opened with “you girls look like you’re having the most fun here”. Immediately one of them replies with “Um, We were trying to have a serious conversation here” with muchos attitude. My response was to address the group “Is she always like this?”

How did I do? How would you handle this situation better?

On paper, there’s nothing you did wrong here. That line — “Is she always like this?” — is straight from Ye Olde English pickup manual. But like all pickup tactics, there’s an ideal time and context in which they are maximally effective. I suspect, based on your abridged replay of events that night, that you deployed the line too soon and too jarringly. That line is a classic because it works, but the implied understanding is that the line works best embedded within a conversation that already has some legs under it. The girls are already open to talking to you, even if all they’re doing is shit testing you or giving you an opportunity to spit your pitch. In that state, they’re more receptive to your divide-and-conquer tactic.

It appears you cold approached, lay down a line that can sound corny if the girls really *do* look like they’re having a lot of fun, received an immediate and debilitating auto-bitch reply, followed up with the neg, and then went into a holding pattern waiting for a positive group reaction. That is, assuming you flamed out. You didn’t specify what happened after you said “Is she always like this?”.

If you were successful, then I’m not sure why you’re even asking the question. Carry on, soldier of furrow. If not, all I can recommend is that you promptly segue into a new conversational thread after delivering your neg. It’s much more effective that way. A neg that wafts unanchored into dead air will quickly land with a thud at the feet of the perplexed girls. But if the neg is bookended by unrelated chatter, it has room to work its subconscious magic. You ever notice how the best salesmen will chew off a customer’s ear until the point that he’s hooked, and then ease off to let the customer ask questions that rationalize the purchase to himself? It’s similar with picking up girls, except the product you’re selling is yourself.

If you want alternate suggestions for how to handle this scenario in the future, here are some replies that would work.

– “I can tell. You have steam coming out of your ears.”
– “Great! I love talking about Miley Cyrus.”
– “This is a weird place to have a debate team meeting.”
– “Damn, you hurt my feelings.” (exaggerated sad face)

etc. The concept is the same: charming condescension coupled with unflappable state control. But the difference in the details amounts to teasing the bitch without blatantly making a premature attempt to turn the group against her. Most bitches are queen bees; their loyal subjects won’t turn on her until they know it’s safe to do so. You have to earn some value first before you can drive a wedge between a cockblock and her posse.

A Fool And His Money

A rich man traded in his old wife for a less old pole dancer. Burned by the $7 million bonanza payout to his ex-wife, the man drew up a pre-nuptial agreement with his stripper girlfriend before marrying her.

He married [the stripper] Ms Stelzer in October 2005, but not before a pre-nuptial agreement was signed, stating that Ms Stelzer would receive $3.25 million if the marriage broke down in the first four years.

I bet you can’t guess what happened.

They separated after two.

I used to be amazed how unbelievably stupid smart men could be when dealing with women who make their dicks hard. Obviously this guy was smart enough to amass a small fortune. Also as obvious, he was stupid enough to sign over $3.25 million to a glorified slut with a pre-nup loophole so big she was practically preordained to waltz through it.

Mr Wallace fought to have the pre-nup deemed invalid, claiming that Ms Stelzer behaved fraudulently by making “false promises of love and desire for children”.

“HOW COULD SHE DO THIS TO ME?!?”

Money is not necessarily a marker for alphaness. Many rich men are complete betas. These are the kind of head in the sand romanticists who’ve been spit-shining women’s pedestals since birth, and who really REALLY believe a pole dancer when she tells them she loves them, as the ink is drying on the deal that amounts to a lottery win for her if she bails within four years, with eager assistance, of course, from the anti-male divorce industrial complex.

There are two — just two — safeguards against the insidious predations of women: celibacy, and love. No, not phony declarations of love paid in full with baubles and trinkets. I mean real love, the kind of uncontrollable love women lavish on charming jerkboys. If you have game… if you can play a woman’s heart like a harp… she won’t need to be bought off. She won’t WANT to be bought off. The only scheming she’ll do is convincing her friends and family that you’re really a great guy underneath the rough exterior.

George Zimmerman, Beta Before And Alpha After Photos

Beta George Zimmerman’s wife when he was a nobody neighborhood watchman trying to do some good for his community:

Alpha George Zimmerman’s girlfriend after he killed a thuglet, endured a mass media circus, became infamous, earned an army of wannabe vigilantes, got that cold thousand yard stare from his ordeal, armed himself to the teeth, and took off on a cross-country journey while picking up a couple of speeding violations and domestic abuse charges:

Lesson #1: A significant rise in male social status and perception of badness will allow a man to trade up a full 4 to 5 SMV (sexual market value) points in girlfriend quality. Zimmerman took advantage of his increased mate market options and dumped his UG2 fat wife for a 6.5 girlfriend with admirable titties.

Lesson #2: Women with higher SMV want infamous badboys. Women with lower SMV must settle for invisible neighborhood rent-a-cops.

Lesson #3: Fat chicks who claim that their beta schlub boyfriends are proof that there are plenty of men who love fat women don’t comprehend the nature of the sexual market. Options = instability. When tragically sad beta or omega males experience a sudden rise in status or desirability, it’s Bye Bye Fatty! The very few exceptions to this rule (Hugh Jackman, possibly gay) are cleaved to fat women’s pendulous breasts like cherished infants, swaddled talismans against the suffocating encroachment of ugly, hopeless, relentless reality.

Lesson #4:

George Zimmerman’s girlfriend — who authorities said accused him of pointing a shotgun at her — no longer wants him to be prosecuted, and wants to resume their relationship, according a new motion.

A sworn statement made by the girlfriend, Samantha Scheibe, was attached to a motion by Zimmerman’s lawyer seeking to modify the conditions of Zimmerman’s bond in his domestic violence case.

In the statement, Scheibe says she felt “intimidated” when police questioned her about the Nov. 18 incident that led to Zimmerman’s arrest. She adds that she “may have misspoken.”

“I want to be with George,” Scheibe says in the statement, adding later: “I do not want George Zimmerman charged. I make this decision freely, knowingly and voluntarily,” and without coercion, she says.

If a woman thinks you’re an alpha male, however flawed, she will move heaven and earth — and even deny her own words — to be with you. What’s a little shotgun-waving tiff between two lovers?

Microalphatudes, The Sequel

Remember Ice Cream Guy who jerked his ice cream cone away from his girlfriend when she reached over with a spoon to take a scoop? The good and the great were offended by this raw moment of microalphatude, but CH guests of honor knew better. This guy had his girlfriend wrapped around his finger. So wrong, he could do no wrong.

Well, Ice Cream Guy is back in the news. The couple was on TV recently as “Fans of the Week”, and the pre-game hosts were giving Jake — he of ice cream guardianship fame — a hard time. He was ribbed “when’s the wedding?”, and in true alpha style he responded, “Ohhh, shit.”

Another quickie microalphatude dropped like a daisy cutter on his Daisy, and naturally she reacted by… waaaiiit for it…

… can you guess?

…yeah that’s right, by gazing at him adoringly.

His “oh shit” reaction was spontaneous, but neophytes to game should know that alpha spontaneity comes with practicing the behaviors that distinguish alpha males. What was once canned will, over time, start to spill from your presence unbidden. Fake it till you create it.

There are other alpha male tells in this video, which the learned reader should be able to easily identify, so I won’t belabor them here. (Ok, here’s one: notice their body language. She is turned slightly toward him, leaning into his body, while his torso is pointed straight ahead, neither rejecting nor obsequiously receiving her feral affections. He is a rock, upon which she may lay her loving submission.)

The amoral tale of the tape is that you can get… and keep… a cute girl by acting like God’s gift to women, by doing the opposite of what conventional society advises, and by remaining unapologetic for your JERKBOY CHARISMA. You can even do all this while insouciantly announcing that you’re “too broke” to take your girlfriend to a basketball game. She won’t mind, because she’s in love.