Category Archives: reactionary bullshit
I‘m beginning to wonder if Chateau Heartiste isn’t so much a “Game” blog as it is an elaborate unannounced contest to see who can say the worst possible things about women in the most pretentiously incoherent prose. My evidence? Heartiste’s latest choice for “comment of the week” from an aspiring ladykiller (hopefully not literally) who calls himself burke.
Burke’s grand insight into the female of the species?
if you could grind a woman’s entire being to dust with your dick, like a mortar and pestle, that’s the oblivion she is searching for
Well, that’s pretty good, as far as pretentious douchebagginess goes, but it’s almost coherent. I mean, dicks are roughly the same basic shape as pestles, and it’s not hard to visualize one grinding away in a little stone bowl. Hell, there’s probably some porn video out there featuring just that.
But then Heartiste comes along and offers his own comment on the comment, and shows burke just how it’s done. And by “it” I mean “awful, pretentious, incoherent misogyny.”
Insight elevated to sheer poetry by the breezy lack of punctuation. Women secretly desire their oblivion at the insistence of an imperious man. As the vessel sex, they must be filled with the life force of another — a powerful man, or a child — to fully experience sublimation of their souls. Thus it is that surrender is encoded in the gristle of woman.
The gristle? It’s “encoded in the gristle?”
Gristle is cartilage. The tough stuff in meat that’s hard to chew. The stuff that sharks have instead of bone. Nothing is “encoded” in it. Animals don’t store all of their genetic material in their gristle.
The somewhat archaic phrase “in the gristle” means “not yet hardened into bone or strengthened into sinew” or, more broadly, “young, weak, and unformed.” It’s not a fancy synonym for “in the genes.”
Here’s the phrase in a sentence — that is, in a sentence written by someone who actually knew how to use language.
A people who are still, as it were, but in the gristle, and not yet hardened into the bone of manhood.
Well, come to think of it, that’s a sentence fragment, not a sentence. But at least Edmund Burke understood why that particular metaphoric phrase made sense in that context.
Heartiste, not even competently pretentious.
Vox Day: Honor mothers. Yes, they’re women, but without them the “Western sub-species” of Man would go extinct.
Happy Mothers’ Day! In honor of this special day let me share the sweet sentiments of the mother-loving Vox Day, who took time out of his busy schedule of woman-hating to write a post urging his readers to “Honor the Mothers” of the world. Or at least the non-feminist mothers of the “Western sub-species” of the human race.
Vox starts out his paean to motherhood by noting that women are mostly shitty and need to be constantly reminded of their shittiness by right-thinking fellows like him:
We are, quite rightly, very often hard on women here at Alpha Game. We need to be, because they spend most of their lives having smoke blown up their pretty little asses by people of both sexes and all ages who want to curry favor with them.
Oh, but even though women are terrible, don’t give in to the temptation of misogyny!
But never be tempted into misogyny by the bad behavior of one, one hundred, one thousand, or even one million women. They are the fate of the human race. They are the fate of the Western sub-species. They matter.
Take the day to honor the mothers of our sub-species. Well, some of them.
So, honor those who reject the nihilistic hedonism of feminism despite being literally inundated with its dogma from their earliest years and fulfill their primary destiny, that of motherhood. Whether she fulfills it gracefully and well or grudgingly and incompetently, she has done her duty. Respect that she has played her part in the miracle of life, honor her for doing her part in turning back the dark void of universal entropy.
It’s not nothing. It’s not a minor thing. Without women, there is no Man.
So even if you hate women, you need to remember that they serve a useful role as incubators of future men!
Happy Mother’s Day.
And a happy mother’s day to you too, you racist, misogynistic piece of poop.
In case anyone doubts that manosphere blogs encourage men who are already assholish to become even more assholish, here’s the latest reminder: a “Comment of the Week” from Heartiste’s terrible blog explaining why men should treat the women they love (or at least love having sex with) as badly as they possibly can.
In the comment, a former “beta male” calling himself Just Saying explains how he changed his ways after discovering the allegedly indisputable fact that women just love being treated like shit by the men in their lives — up to and including getting punched in the face:
Let’s take another stroll through the strange wonderland of Men Going Their Own Way, that small and bitter tribe of men who boldly declare their independence from women, then spend the rest of their lives obsessively talking about them.
Today, let’s look at the thoughtful discussion that ensued when one such fellow known as TDG asked his Brothers in Going Their Own Way why, of all the women they have Gone Their Own Way from (but not really), they tend to prefer women who are “chaste.”
Well, I was wrong. I thought that Heartiste would be the first Manospherian to come to the defense of fallen Fox News hero Cliven Bundy. Nope. Turns out it was W. F. Price of The Spearhead, who blamed Bundy’s fall from grace not on his crude racism but on the fact that the white rancher with the guns and unpaid bills … talks too much like a black person.
Here’s Price’s argument, such as it is:
Professional antifeminist Phyllis Schlafly – perhaps best known for her fervent opposition to the Equal Rights Amendment – seems to have been channeling the manosphere in a column she published yesterday on the issue of “paycheck fairness.” Turns out she thinks such fairness is actually a bad idea, because ladies love marrying rich guys more than they love earning money.
According to Schlafly, equal pay messes with the fundamental female desire for “hypergamy” – that favorite manosphere buzzword – and undermines marriage:
[H]ypergamy … means that women typically choose a mate (husband or boyfriend) who earns more than she does. Men don’t have the same preference for a higher-earning mate.
While women prefer to HAVE a higher-earning partner, men generally prefer to BE the higher-earning partner in a relationship. This simple but profound difference between the sexes has powerful consequences for the so-called pay gap.
Suppose the pay gap between men and women were magically eliminated. If that happened, simple arithmetic suggests that half of women would be unable to find what they regard as a suitable mate.
Indeed, Schlafly argues, women love marrying men who earn more than them so much that when the pay gap is eliminated some of them just won’t marry at all. Which is apparently the end of the world, or something.
The pay gap between men and women is not all bad because it helps to promote and sustain marriages. …
In two segments of our population, the pay gap has virtually ceased to exist. In the African-American community and in the millennial generation (ages 18 to 32), women earn about the same as men, if not more.
It just so happens that those are the two segments of our population in which the rate of marriage has fallen the most. Fifty years ago, about 80 percent of Americans were married by age 30; today, less than 50 percent are.
So it’s not enough that most people end up getting married; civilization will crumble if more than half of them don’t marry before the age of 30!
And so, she suggests, if American women knew what was good for them they would be begging for employers pay them even less, relative to men.
The best way to improve economic prospects for women is to improve job prospects for the men in their lives, even if that means increasing the so-called pay gap.
Hmm. Correct me if I’m wrong, but I’m pretty sure that Schlafly – a best-selling author and popular speaker on the right – didn’t send back any of her royalties or speaking fees so that she would feel more like a woman and her late husband would feel like more of a man, and I doubt she’s doing so now, as a widow. She’s also been unmarried for more than twenty years. Coincidence?
NOTE TO MEN’S RIGHTS ACTIVISTS: When you find yourself agreeing with Phyllis Schlafly on pretty much anything (beyond, say, the existence of gravity, the need for human beings to breathe air, and other widely accepted beliefs of this sort), this is an indication that perhaps your movement isn’t the progressive, egalitarian movement that you like to pretend that it is, and that in fact it is sort of the opposite.
That said, I should also note that Schlafly’s notion of “hypergamy,” while sexist and silly, is decidedly less obnoxious than the version peddled by PUAs and websites like A Voice for Men — congrats, Men’s Human Rights Activists, you’re actually worse than Phyllis Schlafly!
She just uses the term to indicate a desire to marry up. For many manospherians, by contrast, “hypergamy” doesn’t just mean marrying up; it means that women are fickle, unfaithful monsters who love nothing better than cuckolding beta males in order to jump into bed with whatever alpha male wanders into their field of vision. (I’m guessing Schlafly hasn’t actually been going through the archives at AVFM or Chateau Heartiste looking for column ideas.) While many MRAs love to complain about hypergamy, many of them also seem to think that it’s unfair that “beta” males with good jobs aren’t automatically entitled to hot wives.
In case anyone is wondering, the actual definition of the word “hypergamy” involves none of that. According to Random House Kernerman Webster’s College Dictionary, the word means “marriage to a person of a social status higher than one’s own; orig., esp. in India, the custom of allowing a woman to marry only into her own or a higher social group.”
That’s it. It refers to the fact of marrying up, not to the desire to marry up, much less to the alleged desire of all twentysomething women to ride the Alpha Asshole Cock Carousel. The manosphere’s new and not-so-improved definition came from a white nationalist named F. Roger Devlin.
ANOTHER NOTE: Big thanks to the people who emailed me about this story. If you ever see something you think would make for a good Man Boobz post, send me an email at futrelle [at] manboobz.com. I get a lot of ideas from tips!
Pickup artist: “If God ever created a better replacement for women, we’d exterminate them overnight.”
The problem — well, one of the many problems — with a lot of so-called pickup artists is that they think with their dicks, and then use their relatively underpowered brains to rationalize their dickular preferences as The Way The World Should Be.
By contrast, the problems with Lance Christopher, a so-called pickup artist who hangs out in the comments section on Roosh V’s Return of Kings blog, really start when he stops thinking with his dick.
Some dudes roll over and fall asleep the moment after they come; Mr. Christopher contemplates genocide because women don’t want to hear him pontificate about Ukrainian history.
In case you’re wondering, no one else in the discussion suggests that Mr. Christopher’s opinion here might be a teensy bit extreme.
No, the commenters happily share terrible opinion after terrible opinion about the inferior creatures known as women.
Oh, it gets worse.
Cleanup in the pompous misogyny aisle!
You’ll notice that all of these comments have upvotes, by the way.
There may be some even more terrible comments in that thread, but I gave up reading them after a few screens full of this sort of garbage.
So our dear friend Heartiste, the white-supremacist woman-botherer, has assembled a little “Chateau Heartiste Crib Sheet of Game,” a compilation of some of his best pickup advice, boiled down to a few handy tips and clever one-liners that wannabe alpha males can use on the ladies during conversation in order to get their ginas tingling. (Sorry, that’s the way these guys talk.)
Looking at Heartiste’s list of “lines” I was struck by how generic and, well, frankly unoriginal most of them were, from standard issue negs like “nice shoes. Those are really popular now” and “is she always like this?” to old-school PUA cliches like “I don’t buy girls drinks but you can buy me one” and “what else do you have going for you besides your looks?” both of which come straight from peacocking PUA pioneer Mystery, the guy with the fuzzy hat and the long-ago-cancelled VH1 show.
Indeed, a lot of Heartiste’s “lines” are as old and stale as he is:
Don’t get clingy
Miss me already?
Hey, hands off the merchandise
If i didn’t know any better i’d say you were trying to pick me up
So I thought I’d do Heartiste a little favor and write up some new lines for him and his fans that are both more original and a bit more honest. Next time you’re in “da club,” Heartiste, why don’t you try some of these out? Some of these I made up myself; some are taken, or adapted, from things you yourself wrote.
Hi, I spend most of my life on the internet trying to figure out how to manipulate drunk women half my age into bed.
People on the internet know me as Heartiste. No, not Fartiste. With an H. No, it’s not a joke. I thought it up myself.
I like to call black people “darkies.” No, not to their face. Anonymously, on the internet.
I’m an alluringly savvy man self-assuredly parrying the clit-hardened jousts of intrigued women.
Too much outbreeding decreases charitable kin-feeling and incentivizes a decadent ennui that severs the citizen’s sense of obligation to his nation and co-ethnics.
A gentlemanly selectiveness honed by years of experience and psychological nimbleness has proved adequate at filtering out women likely to lay like dead fish in my roiling sea of sperm.
If anyone can usurp the lawyercunt in cuntishness, it’s the Twittercunt.
The walls are closing in on the lords of lies and their feels army of emotabots.
Whether our ruling class knows it or they bumble along like drug addicts seeking the next pleasurable injection of power at any cost, their sex-swapping project will turn the West into matricentric, female forager Africa.
Every time we had sex over the following weeks, it ended with her tucking her knees under her chin naked on the bed to quietly cry into the wrapped bubble of her body.
The only bond that matters in a woman’s heart is the one you caulk in her cock vault.
The ruling elites despise whites, despise the concept of whiteness, and despise especially the idea that the territory and nation and culture from which they parasitically suck the lifeblood was created and sustained primarily by white men.
The id of the Like Me Generation is a furry suit wrapping a toddler.
Women should avoid trying to be funny altogether and stick to maximizing the return on their authentically valuable assets. That would be your tits, ass, face and pussy, in case you were wondering.
That last bit was pure Heartiste. (As were the previous ten.) Like the women of the world, I can’t hope to attain such pinnacles of wit.