File this report under: “Chicks dig jerks, National Review edition“.
I’m glad to see mainstream writers basically cribbing from Chateau archives. At one time, the hosts here caught a storm of runny shit from the usual dimwitted suspects over posts about Rihanna, Chris Brown, and the desire by many hot, young women for the love of rageaholic assholes. It seemed many feminists, manginas, white knights and, well, just about everyone sleepwalking through a haze of self-medicating ego prose, couldn’t stand to read the truth about women’s sexual nature. That women are often complicit in the abuse they suffer at the hands of the jerks they repeatedly, and freely, return to for more of their special lessons in love. So instead of meditating on the subject like rational actors (heh), they threw feces all over their cages, hoping a turd would fly true, which it never did, for hosts at Le Chateau are much more agile than our enemies comprehend.
There are some ideas that are simply too bowel-twisting to allow examination in the light of free inquiry.Â But through dint of mischievous spirit and self-amusement, Chateau Heartiste has paved the way for once-forbidden subjects to be openly discussed in widely-read publications. A crack in the liars’ edifice has opened, and sunlight is streaming through. Warm, invigorating sunlight, the kind that burns away the choking mists of self-deceit and puts a bounce in the step. One day, not too far away, the wall will crumble, and you’ll pull yourself through, walking into personal freedom on a path constructed of the pulverized lies of the old order.
It will be beautiful.