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.”
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!
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.
Dr. Thaddeus Pixel, Inventor of Science. (Detail of poster from Chateau Heartiste)
So the other day some of the fellas over on Chateau Heartiste — one of the internet’s top destinations for racist, misogynist pickup artist wannabes — ran across a little graphic celebrating some of the lesser-known “[w]omen in science that you should know … and probably don’t.”
Apparently offended by the reminder that, yes, women have actually had some influence over history, one of Heartiste’s readers decided to make a graphic similarly celebrating the men of science. But while the original graphic contained pictures of only 12 women, this new graphic featured a vast sea of male faces, as if to rub in just how male dominated the world of science has been, and still is.
Looking at the graphic, Heartiste also thought he spotted another demographic anomaly: a preponderance of white faces. “That’s one pale looking pastiche,” he wrote.
“The Men in Science poster. A Snowvalanche of Whiteness,” agreed one of his commenters,”Bwahahaha.”
Huh. That’s weird. because when I look at the poster I don’t see a lot of white. I mean, if you blow it up a little you can see that the spaces between the various squares are white, but the squares themselves are all sorts of colors. Red. Pink. Black. Brown. Blue. Green.
Are a significant portion of the Men of Science from Mars?
And there’s another odd thing about this not-so-pale pastiche: it’s full of repeating patterns. If you look closely, you’ll discover that this isn’t one vast sea of male faces. It’s a small pond, endlessly repeated.
Specifically, it’s this bit (from the upper left-hand corner) pasted over and over.
Also, when you look closely at these alleged “scientists” they turn out to be real blockheads. Yep, if you zoom in a little further you don’t find an assortment of tiny Einsteins and fig-sized Newtons. You get this:
All hail the founding pixels of science!
Heartiste, you may want to get your eyes checked for bigotry.
Thanks to dashapants for bringing this wondrous graphic and its repeating patterns to my attention.
Sometimes I scour the internet for hours in search of material for this blog. Other times it just plops right in my lap. Today, it plopped, in the form of a new visitor to this blog by the name of J.S., a 52-year-old married farmer (he said) who brought with him some very old-fashioned ideas about love and romance and how men can best access the “secret gardens” of the pretty ladies of the world.
the ‘secret language’( sub and non-verbal communication), the dating game, or how very attractive women go about choosing which men they let into their secret garden and which ones they don’t.
The primary lesson he tried to impart: that the “secret garden” is a little bit like Fight Club: The first rule of Secret Garden is that dudes can never ask to enter Secret Garden.
While the rest of America wastes its time celebrating “President’s Day,” we here at Man Boobz celebrate those who truly run this great nation of ours: Evil, selfish women.
Wait, you were thinking, I thought it was men who mostly ran the world? No. It just looks that way. Oh, sure, all the presidents have been men. The overwhelming majority of elected officials are men. The rich people who seem to have the most influence over politicians tend to be men — it’s the Koch brothers, not the Koch sisters.
But to judge who has power in this world by looking at those who have power in this world is a giant mistake, according to our eminently logical friends in the Men’s Rights movement. That’s the APEX FALLACY.
Not the model for a happy and successful relationship
Apparently hoping to gin up another flood of hate-traffic to his blog, the attention-seeking human stain whose name rhymes with Batt Gorney has posted what is essentially a how-to guide for would-be abusive boyfriends under the charming title “How to Crush a Girl’s Self-Esteem.”
“Gorney” has conveniently arranged his suggestions into a numbered list, so let’s proceed through them one by one. (If you’re triggered by explicit discussions of psychological and physical abuse, please stop reading now.)
