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A toddler was professionally photographed throwing a tantrum somewhere south of the border, and now America must impeach Trump and accelerate the nation’s demographic displacement.

I kid you not. This is really happening, in our brave new Down’s World.

A TOT IS TIRED, STOP THE FUCKING PRESSES, IT’S A WORLDWIDE CATASTROPHE

Many Chateau commenters had a field day mocking this obvious PR stunt.

Every time they want to emotionally blackmail and sentimentally manipulate the white goyim, they use the image of a brown toddler. Aylan Kurdi, the drowned Syrian boy, started the #refugeeswelcome madness and the mass-invasion of Europe. Than the “howling beanlet” Guatemalan girl started the “children in cages” and “abolish ICE” insanity.

It seems they prepare the field for another “humanitarian” fake crisis with this photo, to shame again the white goyim to accept another “caravan” of invaders.

I’m so sick of this strategy.

I coined it “The Great Bawlin’ Beanlet Hoax of 2018“.

As some have noted below, the clothes and shoes look pretty pristine for having “trekked unto exhaustion”.

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It looks more like a spoiled kid who didn’t get any of her favorite candy for Halloween.

It’s a nicely paved road FFS!!!!

Has anyone actually BEEN to Central America? Paved roads without wear, tear and potholes are like snowballs in Kalgoorlie.

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Who walks thousands of miles in hot pink patent leather ballet flats?

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I’m pretty sure that would be the result of making any child that age walk more than what half a mile or maybe three quarters for the tougher ones or if there is ice cream or something at the end? You can probably go to any shopping place and see this several times a day.

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That’s some brand spankin’ new looking Target gear she’s got on there. Nary a sweat stain or dust from all the trekkin’ across the jungle and desert! Fresh off the 50% rack?

Clean face too, no dust or soot at all. Very clear to see all the fresh tears.

BTW, no kid sinks to their knees from exhaustion. They pass out on their feet and fall the hell out.

That staged pic is some prime time movie-of-the-week drama right there.

Is anyone else sick of this gaslighting bullshit? Apparently not women and [the special people]!

She looks pretty well-fed too. Look at those chubby arms.

And mom’s shoes got a nice sheen on ’em too… don’t look too walked in.

***

The pose is reminiscent of Willem DaFoe in Platoon. Very dramatic!

Poor choice of footwear for ‘trekking’ across central America…and horrible taste to boot…

Seriously though, that pic was taken outside some Target/Wallmart parking lot in the US while the kid was throwing a tantrum. I’de bet next weeks paycheck that was taken anywhere but in the caravan.

***

Yeah, they could find better agitprop photos. Is this supposed to look like a long-suffering, exhausted child who walked half a continent crossing mountains and valleys? She seems more like a girl throwing a tantrum at the toy store because her mother didn’t want to buy her all the dolls on the shelf.

Hey, Chaimstream Media, if you are permanently in propaganda mood, at least do it intelligently. You are not even trying anymore.

Read through the comment thread at that Twatter link. Have a vomit bag at the ready, because the bathos has curdled into lumpy-throated schmaltz.

Women, of course, are hardest hit by this agitslop. Are women really this gullible and manipulable?

YES. Resoundingly.

Which is indirect proof that Game works, because women will fall for anything that tugs at their emotions, whether maternal or libidinal.

I figure the savvy player can repurpose this nation-wrecking sy ops into fruitful courtships. I’ll call it Dramatic Toddler Game. You can fib to a GloboAmeriGirl that you spent last month helping migrants cross the border, and one day you had to literally carry an exhausted toddler across the border into the waiting arms of crying US Marines. Everyone was touched. Please impeach. Go the extra mile and pantomime yourself carrying an invisible toddler. Look deeply concerned and sympathetic. Stroke the invisible toddler’s forehead. Say a few cooing words in Spanish. mi pobrecito…

Or, if you prefer the shock and awe approach, cast yourself as a sort of grown-up toddler throwing a dramatic fit because the girl you’re hitting on won’t laugh at your jokes (or some other suitably humorous pretext). Drop to your knees just like Dramatic Toddler, clutch your breast, wrest a few Fakes Sobs, and look heavenward while lamenting out loud, “I JUST WANT TO CROSS THE BORDER OF YOUR HEART”.

PS A funny video:

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All the proof anyone should need that the typical beta male can rise above his SMV station and snag a girl “out of his league” (as SMV leagues are conventionally defined (often superficially)) is seen in the ease with which the same beta who wilts under the effervescent glow of a beauty will effortlessly interact with an unattractive woman.

This contrast is so stark that one may wonder if he is observing the same man at play, or if a charming mofo doppelbänger took his place to smoothly banter with the plain jane.

The awkwardness of our intrepid beta, as he bumbles and bobbles his chance with a cutie, sweating and spazzing and spitting the lamest lines, is defied with equal verve by the smoothness in body and nimbleness of bantz he brings to casual conversations with lesser girls.

And the girls’ reactions are predictable. The cuties will shuffle their feet, look embarrassed for the man, and lean away to make an exit on the slimmest pretext. But the mediocre missus’s, they are bewitched by the Lord Byron before ’em. Such a charmer!, they cream.

This, to me, proves that the spirit of a skirt chaser lurks within every beta male. He just needs to access it, to summon the ZFG-man from the depths when he’s most needed, during those times when the HBBubbleRear nears the boundary of his phallic frontier.

williamk independently corroborates the theme of this post:

Its important to underscore the subconscious roots of this stuff. Most guys assess themselves and then behave accordingly to their (often self-imposed) pecking order. Most guys will naturally have alpha body language around a guy a 6 inches shorter than them, or a girl they don’t find attractive. It takes these exaggerated status disparities for the average man to accept he can act with self-possession. The key is squashing the insecurity that happens when the status gap is closer, or even reversed.

Self-possession. That is the core concept. Some call it outcome independence. Some call it ZFG. Others, the “aloof alpha attitude“. Or, charming jerkboyhood. Old timers call it, “devil-may-care”. Hardliners use the term “uncaring assholery“. PUAs prefer the term “amused mastery“. Over time and space, the idea is the same: the man who wants it least is the man who gets the most.

Beta males have it in them to be great womanizers. They are at ease talking with plain women or or feminists or catladies or black women. They only freeze up and suffer mental cramps when they talk with hotties.

Now, the trick is to be that self-possessed man when it matters (courting hot babes). The smoothness that the beta brings to his face time with dull-looking girls is the same smoothness that will delight hotter girls.

The good news is that, if you know and recognize within yourself a fledgling ZFG-lord who makes an appearance when it *doesn’t* matter, then you know that the possibility exists — as assuredly as your Inner Cadboy exists — that you can be *THAT GUY* when it suits you. You just have to know how to coax your Inner Cadboy from his slumber when the need arrives.

The trick, then, condenses to something I’ve written about before, and which is stated explicitly in one of the less-heralded Poon Commandments:

X. Ignore her beauty

The man who trains his mind to subdue the reward centers of his brain when reflecting upon a beautiful female face will magically transform his interactions with women. His apprehension and self-consciousness will melt away, paving the path for more honest and self-possessed interactions with the objects of his desire. This is one reason why the greatest lotharios drown in more love than they can handle — through positive experiences with so many beautiful women they lose their awe of beauty and, in turn, their powerlessness under its spell. It will help you acquire the right frame of mind to stop using the words hot, cute, gorgeous, or beautiful to describe girls who turn you on. Instead, say to yourself “she’s interesting” or “she might be worth getting to know”. Never compliment a girl on her looks, especially not a girl you aren’t fucking. Turn off that part of your brain that wants to put them on pedestals. Further advanced training to reach this state of unawed Zen transcendence is to sleep with many MANY attractive women (try to avoid sleeping with a lot of ugly women if you don’t want to regress). Soon, a Jedi lover you will be.

Ignoring a woman’s beauty. Easier said than done? Eh, don’t be a pessimist. Sure, you’re trying to upturn millennia of evolutionarily-carved male limbic emanations, but vee haf vays to help you control your limbido.

  1. Bang hotties. The more hotties you bang, the less each new hottie you meet will leave you tongue-tied. Penetrating hotties in the only way that matters strips them (heh) of their mystery, their allure, and their power. Every successful affair with a hottie will make you more comfortable in their company. Of course, this is putting the tart before the whores. It’s tough to learn how to bang hotties by…banging hotties. (Unless you get lucky and can springboard off a fortuitous lay to more strategically planned lays.) Which brings us to…
  2. Don’t bang uglies. The more uglies you bang out of desperation, the more you psychologically groom yourself to believe you can only get, or deserve, uglies. It’s a bad habit that you shouldn’t indulge. Which brings us to…
  3. Change your mental state. No more flattery, no more thirst, no more hot babes’ dirty looks. It’s easier to ignore a woman’s beauty when you stop mentally rehearsing how beautiful she is, and focus instead on slotting her in the same place you put everyone, male or female: a random stranger who must earn your curiosity.
  4. Total recall. When you approach a hottie, allow your eyes to cloud over as your mind drifts to sharp memories of the times you held court at a social event, or flirted like a champ with a girl you weren’t interested in. You will be at once in and out of the moment, acutely aware of your environment, but also “someplace else”, enjoying the warm glow of a memory of yourself as a king among cads. This memory will leach out and express itself in your attitude and behavior.
  5. Be cool. This takes practice, but it boils down to “don’t try so hard”. If you tell yourself, “I’m not here to impress anyone” — and saying these little motivations out loud to yourself is more effective than repeating them in your head — then you really will stop trying to impress people, because each moment you slip up and appease your target of interest, you will immediately be whisked back to that promise you made to yourself, and the silent shame will provide a rapid course correction.
  6. Focus on her flaws. It’s cheesy, but it works. Zoom in on a facial flaw, such as a mole or a funny earlobe. Do the same for a weird behavioral tic she might display. Smile to yourself as you mull on those flaws of hers. Your smile will aggravate her, and dilate her pussy. With practice, you’ll announce those flaws of her in the form of a backhanded compliment (neg), and completely flip the script.
  7. Date around. The more girls you concurrently date, the less each new girl will wow you. Fallback options defintely take the edge off meeting and seducing hot chicks.

From MattyIce,

“Invariably, [the men] all say they remember being cool as … they just wanted to shoo it away, or tell it to go find the nearest bug zapper.”

I remember distinctly as a young lad, 6th grade, this concept hitting me like a ton of bricks… “Why do all the girls I think are ugly ‘like’ me and not the ones I think are hot? I need to start treating the hot ones like I treat the ugly ones.” And the rest is history, a fond one at that!

Rule #8: Treat the hot girls like the ugly girls.

Remember it, burn it indelibly in your hippocampus, and let it guide you through life. As dictums go, this one is biblical.

Finally, some wise words from an older CH post on the topic.

  • Get into a line of work where you are ordering beautiful women to do your bidding.

If you can’t get sex with hot babes, the next best thing is authority. Fashion photographers are not known as casanovas for nothing.

  • Hang out with hot girls when they’re wasted and pissing themselves and vomiting.

This is a pretty good cure for one-itis. Don’t worry about supply. America is churning them out like cheap factory products lately.

  • Never stop macking.

The life of the lady’s man is always in forward motion. The day you slow down is the day you start misremembering your ex as hotter than she really was. By keeping women forever in your orbit, by hitting on them day and night and year after year, with intention or without, you remind yourself of the corporeal, earthly nature of women’s greatest asset, of their insufferable and dispiriting interchangeability, and your heart is steeled for the endless battle.

Finally, the Rule to Rule all Rules:

Rule #9: Act like you’ve banged her.

If Rule #8 is biblical, Rule #9 is primordial.

Approach every cute girl as if you have already supped of her tuft. This is the most valuable mental trick I can give you. Visualize her naked body succumbing in writhing pleasure to your pherocious phang. Visualize her spent body unable to walk afterward. Visualize the cocksureness you possess from soiling the purity of this princess. Smirk knowingly that you have known her in fullness. Visualization of this nature will inevitably manifest in a change in your mannerism, and in thrall she will come to believe almost as strongly as you do that you have banged her, though this will strike her odd, but nevertheless arouse her to make reality of imagination.

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Height Queens

A comment from farmlegend about short women and tall men,

Carve it into the granite, put the tablet in Moses’ hands, and behold the burning bush – the biggest height queens of all are very attractive, very short women.

Seen it over and over and over again my friends.

IME, short dudes, like me, do better with women of average height.

Yep, I’ve observed this too. Little spinners gyroscopically gravitate towards much taller men.

I’ve written about Short Man Game (including addressing an older farmlegend comment on the topic), and the executive summary is that short men generally should target women shorter than themselves, but not to rule out very tall women. The latter will not infrequently hook up with shorter men for a similar reason that very short women prefer very tall men: biological balance of any potential sprog.

Tall men do have it easier in the sense that they don’t (typically) have to worry about target acquisition based on female height, but short men can get around this snare by learning to identify which very tall women might be open to dating a shorter man, and otherwise sticking with women who are shorter than themselves.

But the very short pixies could prove intransigent to the short man’s long game. My theory is that there is a subconscious urge in very short women to mate with very tall men so that their issue inherits a height from the fat part of the bell tower curve. Average- or slightly below average-height women don’t have this concern percolating through their limbic labia, so they will be less closed off to dating a same-height or shorter man.

Likewise, very tall women may have a subconscious urge to mate with men shorter than themselves, on the 50/50 chance that they have a daughter together who will inherit a less SMV-handicapping average height.

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Sigh Ops

Comment from Leonard, on how to reply to screechy shitlibs demanding vows of conformity,

Back when I actually had a lunch-room and the PC platitudes were on display I would just say “I disagree” without even looking up from the paper. Of course it was like blood in the water, and the NPCs would move in.

“What do you mean?”

“Cant say”, I’d reply, still paying more attention to the paper than the shrews. “Voicing my opinion violates state and federal law (Australia).”

Watch the old harpies croak and the young panties soak.

What kind of bigot am I? Never shall they know, and it was like a splinter in their mind.

How dare he!? Muh consensus!!!

Heh. This is good.

Even better, the thrust of Leonard’s shiv can be redirected for seductive Game practicality.

Girl: Are you hitting on me?

Keyser Sayoc’s MAGAvan: Can’t say. Voicing my opinion violates state and federal law.

Girl: *sigh*

You want to be a “splinter in a girl’s mind”, poking, pricking, penetrating her limbic lens to a reassuring reality, distorting the comfortable ego bubble she ensconces herself in, until her body presses against the perimeter, aching for a clear resolution.

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Tourette’s Game

This is hilarious. An emailer links to a video of Tourette’s Guy, with the following note:

Tourette’s game. This is up there with $2 big towels.

lol yeah I remember $2 big towel guy. Girls sends him an epic post-argument love letter, and he replies “JC penny have 2$ big towels” (garnished with the requisite insouciant anti-grammer). The astute reader will note that the girl did not say she broke up with him after that. In fact, she sounded rather proud of him. Wanted to show him off to her social media girlfriends.

How is there such a thing as Tourette’s Game?, the naive newb asks. TG is real because it’s the purest form of outcome independent, ZFG attitude you will see in a man. Take supplication and appeasement and sappy romanticism, and do the opposite. That’s the M.O. of $2 Big Towel Boyfriend and Tourette’s Guy. Distilled Uncaring Asshole Game.

Bonus vid: More Tourette’s Guy hilarity, plus a cameo by Santa Claus aka Tourette’s Guy’s Dad.

Tourette’s Game examples:

Girl: Where do you see us going?

Tourette’s In Bed: Does this look like the ass of a man who knows where this is going?! *moons her*

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Girl: I love you.

Tourette’s In Bed: I could shit a better sentiment!

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Girl: You never listen.

Tourette’s In Bed: Oh, fuck me!

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Girl: Are you dating anyone right now?

Tourette’s In Bed: What is this?! Shit load of personal questions day??

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Girl: I have a boyfriend.

Tourette’s In Bed: *leans toward her face* You got some shit on your nose. Little piece of shit right there on the end of it.

***

Girl: I can’t make Wednesday. Maybe we could try Friday?

Tourette’s In Bed: Bitch!

PS Is it wrong to laugh at a son taunting his Tourette’s Syndrome suffering father?

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From “posts only tweets”, an anecdote that shows how thin-skinned shitlibs have gotten from living in their insular SWPL proghouse culture bubbles, and how badly they need their fragile egos stroked.

Libertardian: My first thought re: the “suspicious packages” sent to CNN, $0r0$, Clinton, and BHO was “false flag.” I don’t know why they would also send one to the WH, but the MSM – big surprise here – is trying to cover that part up.

The n*gress and skype at work were talking about that. The n*gress then added “People are evil” line.

Up to that point, I was having the usual office talk with the googlette. On occasion her ghettoness was on display and I just smiled and kept it simple.

It’s amazing that without saying anything contrary to what they were both talking yet simply staying silent informed them about my opinion on the matter.

And boo-hoo for me: I didn’t get a “bless you” when I sneezed. I’ll manage

Silence is now interpreted by shitlibs as opposition. If you aren’t full-throatedly supportive of the shitlib, parroting his or her “orange man bad” incantations, then the shitlib regards you with suspicion. That’s how bad the NPC groupthink has gotten. You have to shout your allegiance to the One True Faith, or it’s off to the breaking wheel with you.

Try it the next time a shitlib acquaintance gets political. Don’t answer in the affirmative. Stay silent. You’ll notice the shitlib is confused by this, and then quickly rouses to huffy terseness when she realizes 🚨 YOU MAY NOT BE A GOODWHITE 🚨.

Mace Dindu quips,

And make sure never to be the first guy to stop clapping when celebrating a tranny’s stunning and brave transition.

From mendeaux,

Precisely. This touches on their need for validation and if you don’t give them what they want, they’ll short circuit.

The kicker is when they talk and talk and without that validation, they’ll utter–in a defeated tone–“I don’t know. . .” which just negated everything they said up to that point

That’s the fuck-I-may-have-just-come-off-like-a-raving-loon-to-an-unfriendly-so-I-better-walk-it-back “I don’t know”. I hear it all the time from shitlibs because I never validate their neuroses. I love the deflated sound of it. Like a balloon hissing air.

I’ll return to what Garth V. wrote,

They get off on making you repeat their big lies. The more obviously false the lie is, the more you debase yourself in repeating it. When you instead affirm the truth, you’re letting them know that you will not be their slave.

The shitlib demand for conspicuous validation by others in their social circle (and often beyond) is related to a couple of interesting sociological peculiarities blossoming in the diversitopia known as Post-America:

  1. White SWPL libs secretly, deep down, don’t believe their own bullshit. This creates massive cognitive dissonance which can only be alleviated by continual affirmation of their false beliefs from fellow Whites who also labor under a heavy load of cogdis. Misery loves company. It’s the equivalent of a codependent relationship, except both partners are addicted to the virtue signaling drug. See, for example, any NPC doxxing swarm targeting heretics, or Twatter blue checkmarks all liking each other’s inane anti-White pabulum.
  2. White libs in cities are surrounded by diversity, (although urban Whites mostly self-segregate by neighborhood zone and city block, the Diversity still slaps them in the face on mass transit or walking alone from the bar at 1AM), and have to constantly stifle their real thoughts about the goblins who roam amongst them. If they don’t stifle their thoughts, they might make the mistake one day of lashing out at a Gift of Diversity, and that could cost them social status and, possibly, their good health. This is tiring to the enlightened urban White shitlib, and validation from other tired urban White shitlibs lifts their spirits. It helps to know others like yourself are part of the struggle (the real struggle of pretending Diversity is grand — not the Fake Struggle of, say, BLM that shitlibs vicariously live through). Forcing presumed compatriots to join the White shitlib in a self-preserving lie is like a dose of antacid. Sweet relief. Now back to overeating at the buffet of gassy neolib boilerplate.

This is really a critical point for rural and suburban Sane Whites to understand about urban Shitlib Whites. The latter live in the midst of Dreary Diversity in ways that the former don’t usually. When you are encircled by belligerents, you can go two ways: Keep a clear head about the threats, or placate the hordes and bury your dark thoughts. Shitlibs are cowards, so they choose the latter, fearful that indulging their Inner Voice might cause them to occasionally lose control of it as it leaps off the tongue on the walk over to an evening cocktail party through a vibrant part of town. So White shitlibs have decided, en masse, like victims of a runaway hysteria, to kill their Inner Voices. To spare their Outer Prestige.

Hence, the full embrace of the thoughtless, automaton leftoid NPC lifestyle.

And this is why wry silence confounds them, and why refusing to give the urban White shitlibs validation when they go off on one of their snarky anti-White lectures upsets them so much. Your shitlord silence is worse than complicity; it’s mockery. It reminds the shitlib of her cowardice, and how much of her integrity she sacrifices to keep up the equalist facade. The shitlib isn’t upset that you might be a closeted deplorable as much as she’s upset that your judgmental silence reminds her that she’s an emotionally brittle, dictatorial charlatan who CAN’T HANDLE THE TRUTH and who must cripple herself with mental contortions and demand vows of loyalty to groupthink to hide that fact of her fragility from her consciousness.

Atavator condenses,

Truth stands of its own accord. Lies need constant propping up.

***

This late-stage republic phenomenon of shitlibs desperately seeking and even demanding external validation of their internal lunacy has Game pertinence, too. A reader explains,

“Silence is golden” applies in so many ways. It works wonders with women too. Like lefties, they need constant confirmation that they’re right or they’ll lose their minds. Often to the point of agreeing with you, just to get you to speak with them again.

Strategic silence will nuke a girl’s shit tests. It is also a powerful tactic during more intimate moments, when she’s getting to know you (or getting you to know her), creating a veneer of mystery about you that you might be hiding something bad (which is good) or she is not worthy of some secret joy or pain from your life, and she’ll have to earn your trust to learn about it.

When a girl flirts, or is in the pregnant pre-flirt stage (she hasn’t yet closed herself to your solicitation), her sassiness can sometimes take the form of an urge to ego gratification. She might corner you into an admission that flatters her or gives her reason to reject you (the default state of girls when interacting with most men who aren’t automatically socially proofed by fame, status, or extreme wealth). That’s when your grinning silence is helpful to the cause of mutual romance; your denial of the validation she seeks flips the seduction script. Unvalidated, she now assumes the role of the active solicitor, probing for a supportive comment or two that will re-inflate her ego to its normal “SURROUNDED BY THIRSTY BETAS” size. The psychological reorientation will have the knock off effect of raising your SMV relative to hers (and to the beta males who failed with her) because of the cognitive bias of imputing more worth to a person in whom we invest our emotional energy to acquire that person’s approval.

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Related: the “mass mind“.

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An emailer sends along an excerpt from a book written by the Frenchman Rabelais on the subject of, paraphrasing, “gamed wife, happy life”.

Just came across a redpilled book from the Rennaissance period written by the Frenchman Rabelais.

Project Gutenberg has online copies.

There is a very good section on maintaining frame in a marriage.

It’s a bit difficult to read given that he didn’t use modern grammar and writing style but I have no doubt you will understand the wisdom.

Also, you will find a portrait of the author toward the top of the document. Physiognomy is real. Interesting, when you consider this document also contains a chapter titled: “Rondibilis the Physician’s cure for cuckoldry”.

Here is the section on marriage I refer to (he didn’t use paragraphs).

***

After that Gargantua had most affably saluted all the gentlemen there present, he said, Good friends, I beg this favour of you, and therein you will very much oblige me, that you leave not the places where you sate nor quit the discourse you were upon. Let a chair be brought hither unto this end of the table, and reach me a cupful of the strongest and best wine you have, that I may drink to all the company. You are, in faith, all welcome, gentlemen. Now let me know what talk you were about. To this Pantagruel answered that at the beginning of the second service Panurge had proposed a problematic theme, to wit, whether he should marry, or not marry? that Father Hippothadee and Doctor Rondibilis had already despatched their resolutions thereupon; and that, just as his majesty was coming in, the faithful Trouillogan in the delivery of his opinion hath thus far proceeded, that when Panurge asked whether he ought to marry, yea or no? at first he made this answer, Both together. When this same question was again propounded, his second answer was, Neither the one nor the other. Panurge exclaimeth that those answers are full of repugnancies and contradictions, protesting that he understands them not, nor what it is that can be meant by them. If I be not mistaken, quoth Gargantua, I understand it very well. The answer is not unlike to that which was once made by a philosopher in ancient times, who being interrogated if he had a woman whom they named him to his wife? I have her, quoth he, but she hath not me,—possessing her, by her I am not possessed. Such another answer, quoth Pantagruel, was once made by a certain bouncing wench of Sparta, who being asked if at any time she had had to do with a man? No, quoth she, but sometimes men have had to do with me. Well then, quoth Rondibilis, let it be a neuter in physic, as when we say a body is neuter, when it is neither sick nor healthful, and a mean in philosophy; that, by an abnegation of both extremes, and this by the participation of the one and of the other. Even as when lukewarm water is said to be both hot and cold; or rather, as when time makes the partition, and equally divides betwixt the two, a while in the one, another while as long in the other opposite extremity. The holy Apostle, quoth Hippothadee, seemeth, as I conceive, to have more clearly explained this point when he said, Those that are married, let them be as if they were not married; and those that have wives, let them be as if they had no wives at all. I thus interpret, quoth Pantagruel, the having and not having of a wife. To have a wife is to have the use of her in such a way as nature hath ordained, which is for the aid, society, and solace of man, and propagating of his race. To have no wife is not to be uxorious, play the coward, and be lazy about her, and not for her sake to distain the lustre of that affection which man owes to God, or yet for her to leave those offices and duties which he owes unto his country, unto his friends and kindred, or for her to abandon and forsake his precious studies, and other businesses of account, to wait still on her will, her beck, and her buttocks. If we be pleased in this sense to take having and not having of a wife, we shall indeed find no repugnancy nor contradiction in the terms at all.

Phyzz test, the younger Rabelais:

Rascally rogue. You know this dude was the first man in history to reply “I know” when a woman professed her love for him.

Rabelais’ advice (through Gargantua) is primarily a florid reiteration of Chateau Poon Commandments III, IV, XIV, XVI.

III. You shall make your mission, not your woman, your priority

Forget all those romantic cliches of the leading man proclaiming his undying love for the woman who completes him. Despite whatever protestations to the contrary, women do not want to be “The One” or the center of a man’s existence. They in fact want to subordinate themselves to a worthy man’s life purpose, to help him achieve that purpose with their feminine support, and to follow the path he lays out. You must respect a woman’s integrity and not lie to her that she is “your everything”. She is not your everything, and if she is, she will soon not be anymore.

***

IV. Don’t play by her rules

If you allow a woman to make the rules she will resent you with a seething contempt even a rapist cannot inspire. The strongest woman and the most strident feminist wants to be led by, and to submit to, a more powerful man. Polarity is the core of a healthy loving relationship. She does not want the prerogative to walk all over you with her capricious demands and mercurial moods. Her emotions are a hurricane, her soul a saboteur. Think of yourself as a bulwark against her tempest. When she grasps for a pillar to steady herself against the whipping winds or yearns for an authority figure to foil her worst instincts, it is you who has to be there… strong, solid, unshakeable and immovable.

***

XIV. Fuck her good

Fuck her like it’s your last fuck. And hers. Fuck her so good, so hard, so wantonly, so profligately that she is left a quivering, sparking mass of shaking flesh and sex fluids. Drain her of everything, then drain her some more. Kiss her all over, make love to her all night, and hold her close in the morning. Own her body, own her gratitude, own her love. If you don’t know how, learn to give her squirting orgasms.

***

XVI.  Never be afraid to lose her

You must not fear. Fear is the love-killer. Fear is the ego-triumph that brings abject loneliness. You will face your fear. You will permit it to pass over and through you. And when your ego-fear is gone you will turn and face your lover, and only your heart will remain. You will walk away from her when she has violated your integrity, and you will let her walk when her heart is closed to you. She who can destroy you, controls you. Don’t give her that power over yourself. Love yourself before you love her.

Don’t sacrifice your manly pursuits for your woman.

Don’t supplicate to your woman.

Don’t let your woman make your decisions for you.

Don’t neglect your woman’s need for a dominant man in her life.

Don’t place your woman on a pedestal of incontinent affection.

Fuck your woman good, because that is her prime directive, to be fucked good.

These are the attributes of a man who holds an unshakeable frame with his woman (or women).

Have your wife, but don’t let your wife have you. That is the key to marital happiness.

And to think there are tradcon ignoramuses who assert Game is a modern device of incels or a repackaging of dindu muh dickism. Nope, the great White men of European history knew about Game, practiced it, and preached it, even if they used a different jargon that basically expressed the same ideas in, say, the Mystery Method or at this ‘umble blog.

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