The Problem With Diversity

Besides the obvious problems caused by burgeoning diversity — the inherent differences in group ability and temperament stoking envy and hatred and the loss of trust and social cohesion breaking the contract between citizen and state — there is a less-heralded one that is particularly pronounced in huge, multicultist nations like America: diversity weaponizes intrawhite status whoring.

Whites aren’t a monolith. Broadly, there are North-West European, South-East European, and Asiatic white population groups, and smaller, less genetically distant ethnicities comprising them. In countries with large, mixed populations of whites, such as the US, there are bound to be aggravations and antagonisms that result from this low-level intraracial diversity, which itself is an emergent phenomenon of differing genetic substrates influencing personality and worldview.

In most white, ethnically homogeneous countries like those in (rapidly disappearing) parts of Europe, this intrawhite jockeying for status and self-righteousness bong hits is safely contained and reconstituted for the good of the whole. The rage never spirals too far out of control.

However, when non-white and radically foreign elements are introduced into lands of competing white ethnicities in significant numbers, the minority groups get used as pawns in the everlasting White One-on-White Two war. Vibrant Diversity arms nonlethal intrawhite competition with nuclear-tipped clusterfuck bombs. The white group with the megaphone and the money — at present the Cathedral leftoids — are irresistibly compelled to exploit these social rifts for advantage in their power struggle over out-group whites. White status whoring is then irrevocably altered from a positive force of creation to a sneering, snarky force of destruction.

So committed are the ruling class leftoids to inflating their egos to the maximum p.s.i. at the expense of the putatively less enlightened whites in their midst that they will doom the very nation which provides them the territory, the trust and the laws that have elevated them to their current sinecures. But it won’t last. The pawns, you see, have ideas of their own. If the leftoids who smote the backward whites think they will enjoy non-white gratitude when the day of their demographic displacement eventually arrives, they’re in for an unhappy surprise.

Male And Female Brains Are Wired Differently, Alert The Feminists

Sane people don’t need studies to confirm the bleeding obvious, but it’s nice to reference them when they become available, if for no other reason than to remotely relish the psychological pain such studies assuredly cause the insane platoon of pretty lie pushers. Our latest ♥science♥ shiv is a feminist id killer. 1,000 brain scans were analyzed and averaged and a pronounced difference in the neural circuitry of male and female brains was discovered.

Maps of neural circuitry showed that on average women’s brains were highly connected across the left and right hemispheres, in contrast to men’s brains, where the connections were typically stronger between the front and back regions.

Ragini Verma, a researcher at the University of Pennsylvania, said the greatest surprise was how much the findings supported old stereotypes, with men’s brains apparently wired more for perception and co-ordinated actions, and women’s for social skills and memory, making them better equipped for multitasking.

I propose a meme. Instead of elaborately trolling feminist, cismutant and porksternormative boards to elicit fits and wiggles, or futilely peppering freak covens with hatefacts (you may as well put an algebra book under a retard’s pillow and hope he wakes up fully versed through osmosis), try dropping this pointed, simple meme in every fembot comments’ section you can find, JERKBOY CHARISMA emoji-style:

You could title it the “Salty Feminist Tears” meme, and send it on its way, like an ugly truth vector through a population of immunity-compromised boobarians. More:

State-Level Border Laws

Here’s an idea. Instead of a national immigration policy, why not devolve border control to the individual states? It’s clear that there will be no seeing eye-to-eye among the competing factions of whites who still exercise some control over the management and direction of America. So any national open borders policy, which is currently and has been for some time the de facto if not the de jure law of the land, is really an ethnic cleansing campaign orchestrated by one group, the ruling coastal corridor elite, against another group, the high trust heartland whites, for lack of a better encompassing term.

If it’s open borders the smug coastal leftoids really want, then give it to them, good and hard. Allow states to establish their own immigration laws, complete with state-level border enforcement. In time, what you’d expect to result from this decentralization of the central duty of the national government is an open door policy in leftoid blue states, like NY and CA, and locked-down borders in anti-leftoid red states like NC and OK. Stew for a few decades as the third world funnels into the open border states, and… voila!… Massachusetts is *magically* transformed into Mogadishu. There will then be heard, if all goes as planned, a tremendously loud snapping sound as the cognitive dissonances of millions of open borders cheerleaders finally and fatally tears free from tethering to bloated, self-righteous egos.

Putting this into practice shouldn’t be too hard. Just imagine each state as a separate national entity. Immigrants who stroll into a heavily graffitied Ellis Island — dat schmaltz! — should find no objection from their De Blasioed benefactors. Any complaints on the matter will be overseen by a jury of jurisprudentially diverse peers. Heh. Temporary visitor visas may be issued at the discretion of closed border states, and native leftoid Americans wishing to move away from the hell they unleashed in their home states will suffer no more inconvenience than automatically supplying their proof of citizenship, coded into a pass card, at highway toll booths or their favorite roadside bathhouses. But once in the red state of their choosing, they must abide the local immigration laws, which will be immanentized and permanentized.

Of course, none of this will happen. Liberals would never accept it. Their principles extend only so far as their ability to painlessly cash them in for scrumptious status whoring feels. Open borders isn’t really about rescuing the world’s poor; it’s about sticking the shiv in the flanks of non-elite white people by dumping, say, Iraqi Islamists in the middle of Kentucky.

It’s time for an old-fashioned American separation, before the heat builds up and explodes… again. When asked why we need this separation, cite irreconcilable differences. You’d be more right than you know.

How Super Alpha Males Are Similar To Hot Babes

Paul Walker recently offed himself in a high speed sports car race. By most accounts, he qualified as a super alpha male: famous (most important factor), good-looking, well-liked, thrill-seeking. He started dating, i.e. fucking, a 16 year old girl when he was 33. They were still a couple seven years later at the time of his death. She is said to be emotionally devastated.

No matter how you bristle at the concept of men being divisible by their sexual market value into gradations of omega, beta and alpha, you’d have to spin some sophistic legerdemain to believe Walker didn’t have way more options with women than the average man with honor and integrity up the wazoo. He may not have availed himself of all the pussy throwing itself at his feet, but he could have if he so wanted. And that’s the critical distinction.

A funny anomaly in the laws of the sexual market occurs when a man reaches the rarified heights of super alphadom. Rules governing human interaction break down and recombine into strange new polarities, nearly the inverse of the laws that regulate most biocommerce between the sexes. The dating market constraints that almost all men must abide don’t act with the same force on super alphas. These few high stakes male winners are so massively pre-selected by literally millions of women fawning over the texture and aroma of their daily dumps that the value these anointed men bring is no longer a function of their ability to attract women. The value of the super alpha male, paradoxically, resembles more the value that very physically attractive and feminine women hold: that is, it’s the value of the scarce resource trying to maintain its scarcity. It’s the value of perceived purity.

A regular reader with a lot of ideas in his head writes,

It doesn’t seem like sex was a big deal to Paul Walker. He was raised Mormon. He had a daughter.

I just don’t get the sense he planned his vacations or nights on the town based on the women he planned on meeting.

As we’re hearing girls confess, Paul Walker could have done anything he wanted to them. Who knows if he did. [ed: if i had to bet…] They’re now saying he should have been praised like Brad Pitt and we know what women thought of Brad in his prime.

Assuming he’s straight, the fewer number of girls Walker banged, the more power he had over them. Some female fans probably waited til his death to speak out because it’s too risky to give a man that looks like him that much power and ego. In that sense, by keeping his sperm to himself he has more in common with a chaste woman than 99.9% of men.

What this reader is hinting at is unattainability. A super alpha is perceived so unattainable by most women (keep in mind that super alpha males are much rarer than very beautiful women) that without some compensating behavior or signal designed to reduce the perception of his unattainability, most women will studiously ignore him to preserve their delicate egos.

An ordinary man who surrounded himself with women festooning him with adulation would incite intrigue and sexualized curiosity in other women on the outside looking in at his social harem. His flirtatious profligacy would elevate his SMV. But a famous super alpha who did the same would merely confirm what most women already suspected about him. He would be playing to type, and in an odd twist of hamsterfied feedback his predictable alpha behavior would rob him of some power over women. Perhaps at the highest levels of womanhood — the HB 9s and 10s — any desire to have a long term relationship with such a man is dampened. His sexually entitled behavior might even create limits on the willingness of more average women to indulge in alphamania.

Like the crooning boy band singer who wails in the fashion of a beta male suffering heartbreak, the famous super alpha who, purposefully or otherwise, plays against type to construct an impression that he’s more attainable (in the way that women prefer, i.e., more open to monogamous commitment) than he really is imparts to himself a degree of power over women that only mighty kings free of legal consequence enjoy. In this sense, the super alpha male is similar to the exquisitely aloof beauty: his perceived chasteness is proof of his high commitment value.

Jerkboy Charisma Chat Game

What’s the quickest way to turn on a girl with the least amount of effort? Ellipsis game? Yeah, that’s pretty low effort. But this example of what I like to call JERKBOY CHARISMA chat game may trump ellipsis game in the race to the brusque bottom. A reader forwards his chivalrous courtship to a Juliet he hasn’t seen in a month:

This is what it looks like when a woman is chasing a man, and the man is reclining in the chased after position. This is how you want it to look for maximum romantic success. If it looks like this, you’re doing it right.

“But she said she hates him!?!,” wail the women and the men impersonating women.

If you’ve learned anything from reading CH, you know that a woman’s hate is not the opposite of a woman’s love. Indifference is the opposite of love. When a woman says she “hates” you, what she’s really saying is she hates that she loves what you do to her. Hate is just a conveniently accessible word to describe the rush of pleasing emotions, drama-larding cognitive dissonance and twatly ensconced tingles that a woman feels when a man expertly teases her and signals his total disregard for her approval.

I expect a deluge of men running wordless emoji game on women now. Why blab your betatude when a funny picture sends a thousand alpha waves?

Is Humanity Becoming Androgynous?

girls will be boys and boys will be girls
it’s a mixed up muddled up shook up world except for Scalzi
Scal-scal-scal-scal Scalziiiii….

CH has long been on record decrying a perceptible increase in masculinization of Western women and feminization of Western men. Mangan tackled the subject recently, and there are stirrings among the realtalkerati that a strange psychological, biological, or both, convergence of men and women to a creepy androgynous norm is occurring, and that this secular sexual convergence — a global gelding, if you will — is most pronounced among populations in the developed world.

Tally the evidence:

Sperm counts are down, way down.

Violence is down. (Though some of this trend may be attributable to the chill-inducing disincentive of nuclear annihilation.)

The facial structures of women and men are converging.

Sexual dimorphism may have decreased since caveman times.

Grrlpower may be masculinizing women.

Every which way you measure the health of America, she is declining, except for the stock portfolios of the 1% ruling elite. One is tempted to draw a connection between the flowering androgyny of the Anglosphere people and the loss of confidence and faith in the historical Western project. The ubermensch is not a Nordic warrior; he is a doughy whiner and a shrieking termagant begging for annihilation at the hands of the uruk hai.

There may be upsides to reduced sexual dimorphism, but the costs are real, and dispiriting to lovers of beauty. A world of ballbusting manjaws…

and pudding pop nancyboys…

is about as far from divinely inspired beauty as fallen man can sink.

What is the end game of mass androgyny leading toward a human unisex? One shudders to contemplate.

Comment Of The Week: Butt Out Edition

RappaccinisDaughter (sock puppet alert) imparts a valuable lesson,

Hey, Greensleeves!

Check this shit out.

So I was just out hunting last weekend, and I got a shot on a nice doe. Lucked into it, really—I was late heading out to my blind setup and the sun had already risen, but lo! she walked right out in front of me. Now, I had to take the shot freehand because my sticks were still slung over my shoulder, and fuck my life, I was doing it with iron sights. But I have a nice .50-cal inline muzzleloader, and they’ll reach out as far as 200 yards, so if I can see it in the iron sights, I can hit it. Brought it up to my shoulder, focused on the front sight, and KA-FUCKING-BOOM!

I don’t know if you’ve ever shot a muzzleloader, but they make one hell of a smoke cloud. Even if you’re not in a blind, it can really make it hard to see how the shot went down. I knew I’d hit her, but by the time I came out of recoil (I didn’t even feel it at the time, but I had a nice bruise flowering on my collarbone by the next morning) she was gone, daddy, gone. You wouldn’t believe how strong a deer really is until you experience it firsthand; they can travel up to a quarter of a mile just on the oxygen that’s already in their muscles. Amazing creatures, really. And I was going to have to track her through some pretty heavy brush.

So the first thing you have to do is, you have to let the bullet do its work. If you start trying to track them right away, they’ll keep running. So I lit up a cigarette—mmmm! tobacco!—and smoked the whole thing, just standing there. Then I put it out and put the butt back in my pack (because I’m eco-friendly like that), and went to work. Luckily, there was a light snowfall, so when I got to where she’d been standing, the tuft of tawny fur was really easy to see. So was the blood trail, which thankfully started right there.

I wound up actually finding her about 45 yards away, piled up at the base of a tree. I like to follow the old German hunting traditions, given that it’s half my heritage, so I plucked a little twig and put it in her mouth, for her symbolic “last bite.” It’s kind of bittersweet, that moment, knowing that you’ve ended the life of this beautiful creature, but when I opened her mouth I saw how ground-down her teeth were. She was in good shape, but she was pretty old. Who knows if she’d have lasted out that winter?

Then, I had to tag her and start cleaning her. Gross, but necessary. Piece of advice—you really cannot beat the “butt out” tool for getting that part of the deer out of the way. I’d heard coyotes howling all the previous evening, so I figured I wouldn’t need to bother burying the gutpile. The ‘yotes would have taken care of it by sundown.

The bitch was hauling her out. I usually have this little sled-like arrangement that I use, but I’d been in such a rush that morning I’d forgotten to bring it along. So I had to grab her by her hind legs and drag her, because I’d ALSO forgotten to bring my blaze-orange engineer tape. There’s no way I’m going to try to haul her around on my shoulders without it…that’s a great way to get shot by another hunter.

I took her back to the cabin and wondered if I should finish butchering her, but then I remembered that I was the one who brought the handle of Knob Creek, so I figured I could cozen someone into doing it for me as long as I shared. (I’m still learning the butchering part—I tend to waste meat by accident.) But I did go ahead and get the backstraps out, and by the time everyone else made it back in, I had them going in the broiler for everyone’s lunch. Hooray! The End.

TL; DR for Greensleeves: If you’re going to write 500 words that have nothing to do with anything the original blog post is about, at least try not to bore everybody to fucking tears.

I laughed.

PS The reason I don’t think this is the ORD is that the writing, stylistically as well as substantively, sounds like the voice of a man. But bell curve tails exist to add a little spice to the patterns of life.