Shitlord Of The Week

Via Ricky Vaughan:

Check out the grinning shitlord arguing with some fucking feminist. Look at her distorted face.


haha. A high level shitlord is a master of the shit-eating grin. Nothing better than driving shitlibs to hysterics with a cocky grin and a buzzcut.


SOTW runner-up is this guy who plowed his car through a crowd of BLM terrorists blocking the highway.


PA links to this video of a shitlord wearing a FUCK ISLAM shirt while single-handedly taking on a shriek of anti-Trump protestors. Big balls.

Ghetto Lottery

The anti-Whites are all over Philander Castro’s nuts, the good boy who dindu nuffin when he was shot by a Hispanic/Asian cop during a presumed routine traffic stop. A home-made video shot three days before his death-by-cop shows Philadelphia Castration and his girlfriend smoking dope in their car, while her daughter receives a righteous second-hand high.

Here’s a still from the video:


That’s the look of a little girl who knows that the black communitaaaah is a horror show. Not that it matters. She’ll grow up to be just like her mom, a real class act.

Was Philharmonic high when the cop pulled them over for a driving violation? If so, the cop may have had reason to suspect an out-of-his-gourd black citizen would be apt to do something stupid, like reach for a gun in the glove compartment.

Whatever the fault of the cop (even if this may be a rare case where the dindu really dindu nuffin and a cop overreacted based on faulty situational assessment or misleading prior info), it’s downright funny how often the black victim in these cop shooting cases turns out to be an anti-social loser, a thug with gangsta lord pretensions, in the act of committing a loosely unrelated crime, or saddled with a rap sheet a mile long.

Black lives matter? The evidence from blacks themselves suggests otherwise. How about this slogan instead: the truth matters. And never more so than when it’s suppressed.


My words are proved prescient almost on cue. Evidence has emerged that Philtrum Castlerock was one of the July 2 armed robbers of a convenience store. Perhaps the cop who pulled them over had this information in hand, and braced for an altercation that had the potential to get much deadlier than a simple traffic stop of a random black driver.

I used to hang with a guy who was a natural ladykiller, and a borderline sociopath. He said what was on his mind, and that meant a lot of fights and a lot of fucks. I picked up some valuable lessons in human social dynamics from him.

He married young, before his pickup powers had gained steam and he realized the full extent of his talents. In time, he cheated with better looking mistresses. The marriage was doomed, but it managed to sputter along for a child-less six years. His wife turned into a spiteful witch hell-bent on revenge. When my natural buddy and I were out with friends, his now ex-wife would sometimes call at 11pm just to bitterly remind him of an unfulfilled issue with the post-divorce allocation of funds or assets.

Anyhow, one time his quasi-stalker ex-wife was invited to the same event he was at, along with his friends and myself. The time since hadn’t been kind to her; she had gained a few and looked to be wearing too much make-up.

She approached, and acid started to spit right away. He wasn’t one to air private laundry in public, so she vented for five minutes while he listened. When she paused to take an angry breath, he delivered a shiv so cold it could’ve turned her into a White Walker.

“If we were never married, I wouldn’t look twice at you today.”

The best shivs are the cuts that find our deepest buried fears, and expose them to the light.

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:

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



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.

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!”


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