Search Results for heartiste
Feminists! Terrible news! “Heartiste” has been having sex with you!
There’s no good way to illustrate this post so here’s sleepy Maru in a box.
Lady feminists! I have some terrible, terrible news for you from pickup artiste Heartiste, the would-be God Emperor of Poon. Apparently he and his pals have been having sex with you all.
Masculine digit ratios, come-hither wickers and careerist shrike tankgrrl females: Heartiste weighs in on the Petraeus scandal
Cats remain unconvinced by Heartiste’s bullshit
“So,” you’re probably thinking to yourself, “I’ve heard a lot of pointless uninformed speculation on the Petraeus affair, but I haven’t yet heard what that PUA douchenozzle who calls himself Heartiste thinks about it all.”
Well, we’re going to rectify this tragic situation right now. Despite not understanding even the most basic facts about the scandal – he refers to “Generals Petraeus and Allen and their Lebanese immigrant, faintly masculine mistresses,” even though the only “mistress” involved in all this seems to be Paula Broadwell, who isn’t of Lebanese descent - Heartiste has produced a 2500-word opus on the subject, with pictures and a graph. So let’s just take a look at the highlights.
Election Day Open Thread! Plus, some inane crap from Heartiste on the single white woman vote.
Make sure you vote on this crucial ballot initiative.
Election day is here at last! Vote! VOTE!! VOOOTTTTTEEEEE!!!1!!!
Well, if you’re American, anyway.
Americans and non-Americans alike, enjoy these ridiculous thoughts on the Single White Woman Vote from our old pal Heartiste.
[S]ingle women’s prime directive is to fulfill their hypergamous impulse for the highest possible status man they can coax into long-term commitment. The party that is perceived as being pro-unrestricted female sexuality, anti-male sexuality, and anti-drone beta male is going to get their vote.
Heartiste on the evils of women’s suffrage, and why single women tingle for Obama. Or maybe don’t?
Who’s the real Alpha Dog?
Over on Chateau Heartiste, the adult man who actually goes by the name “Heartiste” is getting into the spirit of the election season by going all Ann Coulter on us with a post on how terrible it is that single women can vote – mainly because they vote for Democrats, which Hearty attributes to the lack of real men in their lives.
When you don’t have an alpha male in your personal life to admire and rely on for support (partly because you make your own money and don’t feel a pressing need to have a middle class compliment&cuddle herb around for security), you turn to the next facsimile — the substitute alpha male who promises limitless resources for you and your future sprogling. This substitute alpha male is The State, and its shaman emissary is Obama. …
Single women are bankrupting this country. And they don’t give a shit, as long as they get theirs, which includes tingles.
Heartiste: Women athletes are mannish uggos because “women’s natural bodies are not evolutionarily designed to run, throw, fight or lift optimally.”
An innately unsexy lady athlete somehow cons a dude into kissing her.
So over on Chateau Heartiste, the Dude Who Used to Call Himself Roissy seems personally affronted that the female athletes in the Olympics, by and large, didn’t live up to his wet dreams of Perfect Womanhood. In one post, he hails a Turkish newspaper columnist (yes, the same one we talked about here) who complained about the allegedly unwomanly bosoms of female Olympians, and offers his own less-than-complimentary assessment of their looks:
Who with the eyes to see hasn’t noticed the narrow hips, the grotesque six-pack abs (never a good look on women), the chest “stubs”, the linebacker shoulders, and the manjaws of an inordinate number of the female Olympians?
So why does it matter that Roissy/Heartiste couldn’t get a boner watching the Olympics? Apparently because these women are violating the PRIME DIRECTIVE, which forbids representatives of the United Federation of Planets from “intervene[ing] in matters which are essentially the domestic jurisdiction of any planetary social system.”
Heartiste: Chris Brown is a great role model for wannabe alpha males
Chris Brown, who’s convinced that he’s apologized enough for what he calls his “mishap.”
Over on his little chateau, otherwise known as a blog, the pick-up Heartiste Formerly Known as Roissy suggests a rather unusual role model for young and not-so-young men hoping to impress women with their alphaness: Chris Brown. Not for being a charismatic singer, but for that time he nearly beat Rihanna to death.
Oh, you don’t have to literally beat up women to be an alpha. Just work on making them uncomfortable and insecure.
Maxim #19: Making a woman feel a little emotional pain will reward you a thousandfold in returned physical pleasure.
You don’t have to be fists-of-fury Chris Brown to pick up a Rihanna and make her fall in deep, profound love with you, but don’t let the lesson of their relationship be lost on you. If you are a beta male — and odds are you are — you can superglue your relationship bond by instilling in your woman a calculated level of discomfort and insecurity. You won’t feel bad about this, because you will know that the discomfort you create is subconsciously DESIRED by your girl. Despite her outward appearance of frustration and timorous appeasement, you will know that inside, she is lit up like a vagina tree, with a squirting orgasm shooting out of the star on top.
In addition to everything else that is horribly wrong with this quote, let me just say that “lit up like a vagina tree” is not a phrase that I hope works its way into the vernacular.
So far, so good.
Heartiste: Funny like a clown
Heartiste: A sad clown
Always hilarious: painfully unfunny dudes explaining how women just aren’t funny. Over on Chateau Heartiste, the Heartiste formerly known as Roissy drops some (pseudo) SCIENCE on us all:
[C] hicks dig male status, dominance and personality as much as, or more than, they dig male looks. Men, on the other hand, dig beauty first and foremost, and a woman’s comedic timing, however it might make a man laugh, won’t stir his schnitzel if she’s a dog.
Since women don’t see a benefit from humor in the competition to attract men, their sex, on average when compared to men, has not evolved a strong cortical humor module. Women are better equipped to appreciate humor than they are to produce humor.
Apparently, if you use the same words that scientists use – like “cortical” and “module” – that makes it true!
But there is more to this Old Misogynist’s Tale. As Heartiste explains, it’s cruel humor that women appreciate most of all — in their lady regions. In other words, chicks like dicks:
[W]omen become sexually aroused by men who expertly wield the soulkilling shiv of sadism. …
Cruelty that is delivered with supreme confidence, bemused detachment, and eviscerating precision is catnip to women’s kitties.
Get it? Kitties = pussies = VAGINAS.
Ba-dump-tssh! Heartiste is on a roll.
So let’s see some examples of the sort of masterfully eviscerating humor that makes the ladies weak in their knees and gets their “kitties” excited. (Note: By kitties I am, like Heartiste, referring to vaginas. Exciting a woman’s actual kitties is better done with shiny objects and mouse-shaped toys.)
Anyway, here are some of Heartiste’s examples of cruel humor at its most exquisite, which he has helpfully rendered in dialogue form:
Me: Sweetcheeks, look. That bum just winked at you. He wants to take you back to his cardboard box. [waving at bum] Hi, bum!
Her: [struggling to conceal a grin] Shh, stop that. Stop waving. You’re horrible.
Truly, bum-mockery at its finest.
But he’s only getting started:
Me: You want to take a bus? Forget it. [nodding in direction of obese woman] She ate it.
Her: [looking heavenward] Oh my god, I can’t believe you just said that.
Aw yeah. Suggesting that a fat person has just eaten something comically large: comedy gold!
After some further jests on the topics of male boobs (hmm), the size of black men’s cocks, and raping the disabled (yes, really), our hero is in like Flynn, well on his way to all-caps “TRIUMPHAL SEX.”
The way it will usually go down is like this: You revel in your cruelty. She reacts with manufactured disapproval, often stifling laughter. Her vagina moistens. A wave of hidden shame releases a continuous flow of blood to her vaginal walls, maintaining her in a semi-aroused state all day long. Later that night, the floodgates open and you slip in like a lubed eel.
Yipes. That is about as erotic as Gilbert Gottfried reading from 50 Shades of Grey.
I’m pretty sure the only reason Heartiste can maintain his belief that women can’t do cruel humor themselves is that he’s never heard what they say about him once he leaves the room.
Get in mah belly, Heartiste!
Apparently the Heartiste Formerly Known as Roissy has discovered our little blog:
Why do normal people feel a natural disgust for feminists and manginas? Make no mistake, normal women are as repulsed as normal men are by shrieking feminists and wimpy manboy pudgeballs. In public, well-adjusted people may mouth the PC platitudes that feminists and doughboys relentlessly cudgel into squishy groupthink minds, but in private the cool people generally shun the orc hordes and leave them to mingle with their own emotionally and often physically disfigured kind. This social outcast status is what fuels their eternal hatred for truth and beauty.
Uh oh! I guess he’s not a fan.
The 800 pound bulldyke in the room that “””progressives””” of all stripes don’t want you to notice is that a lot of their radical regressivist shock troopers are comprised of biologically faulty men and women who are at the extremes of effeminacy and masculinization respectively. If it came to be widely understood and socially acceptable to acknowledge that, due to hormonal imbalance, genetic glitches, or gross environmental insult, 90% of radical femcunts are lesbians or manjawed atrocities, and 90% of manboobs are closet cases or soft, pillowy micropeens, the general population would be less likely to seriously entertain their insipid drivel.
U mad, bro?
Think about the revulsion you feel when you see a grossly obese person. It’s instinctive, like the way you would recoil from a pile of dog shit.
Dude, I don’t know if you know this, but most Americans are, you know, fat. WE ARE LEGION!
Your typical outrage feminist and limp-wristed manboob flirts dangerously close to the monster threshold. Humans recoil from manjawed, mustachioed, beady-eyed, actively aggressive women and chipmunk-cheeked, bitch tittied, curvaceously plush, passive-aggressive men as if they were the human equivalent of dog shit.
This has got to be the most ridiculously verbose version of “yeah, well, you’re a fatty” I’ve ever seen.
Oh, but it seems like we’re all about to get our big comeuppance:
The reflexive indulgence granted the monsters among us has lost its justification. Too many bleeding wounds from too many overzealous bites has rattled the slumber of the sleepers. A greater force than any sophistic monster in the world is about to bite back, viciously, lethally. Truth, as it always does, will claim ultimate victory.
Yeah, except that I’m pretty sure that “I hate you, you fat fatty” isn’t a Truth that matters a lot to anyone but you and your maladjusted fanboys.
Also, dude, you call yourself “Heartiste.” There is literally nothing more dopey than that.
Heartiste: Totally dominate your woman by farting in bed and pretending to kill her cat
Cartman demonstrating male dominance and creativity.
You know how in Cosmo they have all those little guides on how to spice up your relationships? Well, now the douchebag PUA guru Heartiste has helpfully prepared a guide of his own.
[T]hanks to the wonders of game, men can limit their relationship energy requirements while maximizing the impact each unit of spent energy has on women’s interest levels. In layman’s terms, men can easily spice up relationships (and dates) with almost no effort by employing the drive-by tease.
Here are a few of his tricks. I am not making these up. These are actual suggestions as to ways to “spice up” relationships written by a man who is reportedly in his forties. He starts off fairly mild:
Flush the toilet when she’s in the shower.
Then he starts getting mean:
Put a “pinch my butt” post-it note on her back as she’s heading out for work.
Slip her car into neutral when she’s driving. (Note: not recommended on women with exceptionally bad driving skills.)
The rest of the list is a mixture of the stupid:
Paint a picture of her. With great fanfare, unveil a stick figure drawing.
Replace her cosmetics with crayons.
The puerile:
Draw smiley faces or penises on her tampons.
Honk her tits. Make loud honking noise. Bonus points if you use an air horn.
Dutch oven. Shower oven. Car oven.
The surreal:
Put her panties on her cat (Don’t put them on the dog if the dog is yours. There are some lines not meant to be crossed.)
And the just plain assholish:
Pretend to throw her cat out the window. (A full throwing motion accompanied by frantic mewing will boost dramatic effect.)
Place a giant stuffed animal or clown doll in bed, facing her. When she wakes up, she’ll freak.
Heartiste then explains the SCIENCE behind all this idiocy:
The drive-by tease is, typically, the non-verbal equivalent of the cocky/funny neg. … The DBT subliminally asserts male dominance as well as creativity, both of which are catnip to women. Dominance assertion is telegraphed in any act where the subtext is “I don’t care if you’re offended by this.”
Really? Drawing a smiley face on her tampon “asserts male dominance?” Farting demonstrates creativity?
In any case, I have a few suggestions for women whose boyfriends actually do any of this shit in an attempt to show what awesome dudes they are:
Take a shit in his underwear drawer. Claim it was the dog, even if you don’t have a dog.
Throw his Xbox360 out the window. (A full throwing motion accompanied by frantic mewing will boost dramatic effect.)
Make him a BBQ sandwich, using menstrual blood instead of BBQ sauce.
Leave him.
Actually, you’d probably do best just to skip directly to that last one.
“Handsome betas are polluting the gene pool with pigwoman blood,” and other observations on love and life from Chateau Heartiste
I mean, my shoes are totally better than his!
Today, a GUEST POST from Catherine! Thanks, Catherine! And the rest of you, enjoy!
Over on Chateau Heartiste, the (He)artist(e) Formerly Known As Roissy devoted a recent post to the conundrum of handsome men coupled with ugly women. It’s essentially an open thread for the denigration of women who don’t live up to Roissy’s porntastic standards (17 to 20 years old with a BMI of about 18 *and* a D cup, and related WTF?! attributes), as well as ragging on those awful beta manginas who are punching below their weight – or, to quote Heartiste himself, are “polluting the gene pool with pigwoman blood.”
I was participating in a mobile conference which included question and answer periods, and I noticed an odd couple standing to my side. He was youngish and good-looking — most women would agree on his physical attractiveness — and his wife was a snout-nosed, inbred-looking, stringy-haired, big fat pig dressed in sweatshirt and ill-fitting jeans. In other words, the typical American woman. I assumed they were married because I saw their rings and she had her hand on a stroller with an infant tucked away in it.
He’s just getting started.
What abomination is this! I thought. But then the reason became crystal clear after only a few moments watching and listening to them interact.
Speaker: Any questions?
Big Fat Pig: [nudging her hubby with her elbow] Honey, remember…
Handsome Husbandry: [tentatively raising his index and middle finger, and haltingly talking] I have a question… I have a…
So obviously the young good-looking man is totally under the thumb of the big fat evil feminist woman, who has sucked out his brains and reduced him to a quivering lump of hesitation and uncertainty!
As he asked his question, he kept looking over at his wife — in fact, staring at his wife more than the speaker, although he was ostensibly addressing the speaker. One would be forgiven for having the impression that he was seeking constant real-time assurance from his wife that his question was acceptable for public discourse. Nervously shifting from one foot to the other, leaning into his wife, gazing downward when the speaker responded to him, his body language was so beta it was painful to watch. No, it was repulsive to behold, almost as repulsive as the visual effrontery of his wife’s blubbery carcass.
So, sniveling, indecisive beta manginas are repulsive… but not as repulsive as a corpulent woman! Gotcha, Roissy.
After getting in a few more digs at the contemptuous, unsympathetic wife, Roissy sets forth his views on various types of couples. First, the kinds of couples that should be allowed to exist:
Handsome man with beautiful woman
All is right in the world. You infer the man has alpha characteristics to complement his good looks, and he has cashed that in for a hot babe. …
Ugly man with ugly woman
All is right, if depressing, in the world. You infer the ugly man has beta or even omega characteristics, and that an ugly woman was the best he could do. You assume the ugly woman resents him for having to settle, but knows she has no other options. Love between them is less about passion than it is about task delegation and avoidance of suicidal loneliness.
All is well in the world of alpha males with hot babes, but those in ugly people combos need to find some highly diverting hobbies to keep from offing themselves.
Now Roissy turns his attention to two apparent mismatches, and delineates his usual double standards:
Ugly man with beautiful woman
Wow, he is shooting out of his league! But then, thinking on it a bit, you recall that you saw quite a few couples like this mismatched pair during the week. It’s less rare than popularly imagined. You may ask yourself “What does she see in him?”, and from that you infer the ugly man has compensating alpha attributes to snag such a hottie — maybe he’s wealthy, or slick, or funny, or a dominating asshole, or some combination of each. You assume this ugly man has options to be able to choose a beauty for a girlfriend.
Moral: ugly men are permitted to have counter-balancing attributes! Can you guess what is coming next?
Handsome man with ugly woman
Whoa, what is he thinking?! An uncommon sight, (occurrence less frequent than its polar opposite), you presume the handsome man has some debilitating personality flaw — maybe social awkwardness, or shyness, or micropenis — that prevents him from fornicating with his true potential. Unlike the mirror image couple of the ugly man with the beautiful woman, you do not give the ugly woman the benefit of the doubt in assessing why she was able to catch a handsome man. You simply conclude, reasonably, that the handsome man is not the alpha male on the inside that he looks like on the outside, and therefore the ugly woman is not really dating out of her league. There must be something wrong with him, you think.
Women have no value beyond their looks, so the pitiful man dating someone wretchedly below Roissy’s artificial standards must likewise be sub-standard, in some way invisible to us, to have abased himself so humiliatingly.
Having drawn these pictures, Roissy rounds out the post with a sermon on female ugliness, which is to be universally shunned:
There is an instinctive, deeply primitive understanding chugging away behind the prefrontal cortex in every one of us that women sexually respond to a suite of male attractiveness traits, of which looks are only one desirable male quality. It is therefore not inconceivable to most non-brainwashed observers that an ugly man might have other characteristics that appeal to a beautiful woman on his arms, or that a handsome man might be crippled with weakness and self-doubt that constrains his ability to attract no better than a big fat pigwoman.
And we’re back to the disparaging references to pigs. Why, oh why does Roissy hate pork so? (That he detests women is more or less expected.)
In the mismatched couple I witnessed, it was clear that whatever good will or tokens of desire that the handsome man had inspired in his pigwoman were completely squandered by his beta behavior. It was easy to see by her loathsome demeanor that his looks no longer held — if they ever did beyond the first couple of dates — any sway over her feelings for him. But being the big fat pigwoman she is, she knew she could not do better.
And that is why the generational increase in human beauty is a slow, painstaking process, punctuated by tragic reversals to a sloping brow norm (see: Appalachia, Detroit). Handsome betas are polluting the gene pool with pigwoman blood.
What the hell was that? I’ll quote it again: “Handsome betas are polluting the gene pool with pigwoman blood.” Oh, the huge manatee! Shrink in terror from the impending doom to be brought about by porcine-human hybrids!
Naturally such hyperbole is a cue for some predictable misogyny in the comments, such as the following from regular tool Tyrone:
That’s why its good to be older to get a good sense for how a woman will age. There are loads of women who look hot when young but turn into cattle as they age. Mom is usually a good bench mark. If you’d do her Mom, you’re probably safe. Check out how Ginger Lynn looks like nowadays. You’d never recognize her from her porn days.
A view right in line with Roissy’s famed dating value regimen that women lose value once they’re older than, say, 29; and Tyrone follows it up with some white supremacism:
White people won’t survive without more kids. Smart white men need to breed more in our country- with white women.
What, you might ask, about women with great bodies but unappealing faces? One Anonymous coward urges his brethren to go for it :
[O]ne of my biggest regrets was not doing a girl who had the hottest body around but an ugly face. Temporarily of course.
But for fuck’s sake don’t marry them. Right, tenderman100?
Some years ago, before I was married for the first time (twice married, twice divorced) I was banging this babe. Amazing body. Amazing tits. But a kind of a bucktoothed face. When I first met her, I thought, wow what amazing tits…yeah she’s kinda ugly but she’s friendly and I just have to see those tat tas. Well, not only did I see them, we banged for a few months. She was incredible in bed, highly orgasmic, very flexible (did ballet). Haven’t seen her in decades, but if she is a fat cow, I wouldn’t be surprised. Yeah, she was ugly but she pounded like a pro. So it isn’t always what it seems. Then again, I would never have married her.
If not marriage, then what about a long-term relationship? Over again to Tyrone:
A good woman who has reparable shortcomings is still a good option for an LTR. Fugly is a whole different animal.
But if you marry one of them, Tyrone adds, make sure you have a contingency plan!
My wife knows if she ever lets herself go, talks about divorce, whatever that pisses me off enough to leave, I will simply disappear into the night. No arguments or emotions, it will be a complete coup de main. There won’t be anyone around to serve papers to. I’ll be overseas in an undisclosed location screwing LBFMs.
In case you don’t already know, LBFM is short for Little Brown Fucking Machines, a term of art to refer to Asian women (frequently underage) sought out by sex tourists — which should be sufficient to outline Tyrone’s sophisticated moral principles. He continues:
I say this with no emotion or bravado, just let her know its a fact that she must deal with. Marriage is like defense policy, the best defense is a good offense. Strike first, strike to kill. Identify a location and buy yourself some property there, so you have somewhere to go. Move enough money there to live well until you can start a bar or whatever to live. Plan this for a few years in advance if need be. Life is too short to be some stupid broad’s wage slave.
How charming!
Heartiste really has a way of bringing out the best in people!
