Ass Saving and Wife Taming

Reader GdI wrote in the comments to yesterday’s post:

All very interesting but I miss CH, whose near-daily offerings were that rarest of things online: unique. Funny, pithy, deeply irreverent, yet also profoundly based on a coherent and totally counterrevolutionary (and utterly reality-based) worldview. As Ken Tynan said, “Write heresy, pure heresy …” And so it was.

Occasional forays into paleo-punk politics and HBD-istan are are well and good, but Citizen Renegade ain’t doing it. This CH-lite-by-committee thing ain’t working.

Bring back The Dark Lord!

I see his point. This blog has been missing satan’s spittle lately. Henceforth, the dude who’s been writing the mid-week posts has been reassigned temporarily to Vladivostok. Now let’s get down to business.

Got mistress? If your woman finds a pair of earrings in your bedroom that aren’t hers, simply tell her:

“I was doing some spring cleaning and I found those. I figured they were yours.”

This is an impenetrable defense. The phrasing leads her to think the earrings are from a girl many years ago. You get the double plus goodness of insta-absolution plus the resume booster of female preselection.

Real Men of Genius called; they want this blog’s knowledge.

***

There’s this scene in “Death at a Funeral” that involves Uncle Russell, Norman, a toilet, a hand, and a runny shit deflected mid-expulsion. When I think of marriage, this is the scene that comes to mind — trapped under the maelstrom of an agitated anus. And yet, despite my words of warning, some of you will be damnfool enough to go ahead and get married.

Ok, then, if you want to march into the iron maiden with a dopey grin on your face, at least nudge the very bad odds slightly in your favor.

Rule #1 for men who insist on marrying the pussy they’ve been getting for free:

Make her propose first.

Yeah, this won’t be easy. How many women do you know who proposed marriage to their recalcitrant boyfriends? I know one. ONE. But that one gives all men hope, for where there is one, there can be many.

What’s the big deal about getting her to propose, you ask? Oh man, you have no idea how much misery you’d be saving yourself. Every time there’s an argument, and wifey is tempted to play that favorable divorce card with all the gatling guns of the misandrist industrial complex pointed squarely between your eyes, she’ll remember that time she dropped to one knee to ask — or more likely to beg for — *your* hand in marriage, and her rationalization hamster will whisper in her brain that the argument must be her fault, because why on earth would she have proposed to an annoying loser? No, it must be that there’s something wrong with her, not you.

When a woman proposes, it is she who invests in the marriage. She becomes the chaser instead of the chased. It is her ego on the line; her judgement. A woman in this psychological lockbox will be a lot more apprehensive about walking away from the marriage. She will autonomically defer always and forever to the premise that all bitter arguments and all traveling tingles must be unfair to her husband somehow. After all, she proposed marriage to a WINNER. What girl in her right mind would propose to a chump?

Unfortunately, steering a girl to do the humiliating work of proposing is not easy. She has to be head over heels in love, for one thing. And she has to feel acutely the dread of loss. Hints at marriage won’t cut it. She has to say the words “Will you marry me?”. Variations such as “Let’s get married” or “I feel we should be married” are acceptable.

Only masters of the game should attempt the parallel universe proposal. Newbs will get dumped.

***

Need a quickie conversation boosting routine? Tell a chick you’re thinking about getting a dog. Then segue… smoothly, like a single malt… into an observation about how people’s dogs match their personalities. Tell her she looks like the type who would own a jack russell terrier. When she asks why, you say “Oh, you know, always jumpy, kinda funny in an accidental way, and full of energy.” (When negging a chick hard, Uzi style, you’ll want to pair two negative connotations with one positive connotation. You want to deflate her bloated ego, not crush it into a powder that can be snorted.)

This is a powerful neg that serves the dual purpose of giving you reams of conversational material so you don’t run into the dreaded wall of awkward silence.

The hotter she is, the gayer/nastier/goofier the dog to which you will compare her. If she’s a 9, tell her she’s a chinese crested kind of girl. If she’s a 10, she’s the type to own a fat, farting basset hound. Save the noble dogs like german shepherds for the 7s and below. If a hot chick gives you a hard time about being compared to the personality of an incontinent chihuahua, accuse her of ignoring the beautiful parts of a chihuahua’s personality, like its fierce loyalty and big dog syndrome. She will start to feel bad for being mean to chihuahuas. Pat her hand as she reconsiders her malevolence.

***

Chicks who read comic books are slutty. They will bang on the first night. Don’t ask me why this is, it just is.

***

If you haven’t touched a girl on the forearm within ten minutes of meeting her, disengage. Your pickup is toast. If you haven’t touched a girl on the thigh within thirty minutes of meeting her, cut your losses and start fresh with a new girl.

Let me explain. In every one of my successful pickups, sensual touching occurred sometime within the first half hour. If you find yourself talking to a girl for longer than ten minutes without any touching taking place, you are perched over the LJBF abyss. Her erotic charge has been drained to less than 50%. And don’t be fooled by her smiling and laughing along with your witticisms and cutesy quips. Her lips may be curled in a smile, but her untouched body is withering into a cloistered nunnery of pussy dust.

Kino is king. Escalation is eminent. Zap these golden maxims into your wet head ham.

***

You can catch a lot of pretend-pious SWPL chicks off guard with this simple line:

“So how are you helping the environment for earth day?”

If she’s a status-jockeying hipster, expect a glorious apologia of defensive posturing. And where are tingles birthed? In the defensive crouch, of course!

If she’s Dana, expect her to laugh in your face. Then grab her and give her a deep, penetrating kiss. Sneak in a little tongue.

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