From the original article on July 15, 2013. Author: Chateau Heartiste.
Michelle Malkin, a tawny-skinned rep of the right cute enough to inspire a Heartiste half-mast, has an article about the love that girls are showering on Boston Bomber Joker Tsarnaev, and on other assorted badboys and murderers. Note the very eeenteresting title of Malkin’s article:
America’s Sociopath Fetish: Chicks Dig Chechens And Other Killers
I would like to declare a war on women—namely, all those cringe-inducing ninnies who lust after every celebrity criminal defendant with big muscles, tattoos, puppy-dog eyes or Hollywood hair.
You know who I’m talking about, right? America’s Bad Boy groupies. They’re on the courthouse steps with their “Free Jahar” signs, cooing over how “hot” and “cute” the bloodstained Boston Marathon bombing suspect is. He “can blow me up with babies,” one moral reprobate quipped shortly after his capture. “I’m not gonna lie, the second bombing suspect, Dzhokhar Tsarnaev, is hot. #sorrynotsorry,” another young girl boasted.
Now where have we seen that “Chicks Dig [Killers]” formulation before? Oh yeah.
I’m beginning to suspect, though the evidence is circumstantial, that some esteemed and popular pundits are regular snoopers of the Chateau. Naturally they will never own up to it, and you can’t blame them. If admitting to being influenced by an all-around decent guy like Steve Sailer gives them the hives, imagine what confessing to being a night visitor of this demonic lair would do for one’s cocktail circuit reputation. The stuff of status manicuring nightmares!
Michelle sounds like she’s losing faith in the sisterhood,
It would be one thing if these morally stunted followers segregated themselves in enclaves outside the American mainstream. But some of these damaged goods end up on juries, entrusted to weigh evidence fairly, digest complex instructions, and render impartial verdicts in matters of life and death. Indeed, they are aggressively sought after by predatory defense lawyers. I’ll never forget the female jurors of the first murder trial of confessed parent-killers Lyle and Erik Menendez. Star-struck by “glamorous” defense lawyer Jill Abramson, the women of the Menendez jury told Los Angeles reporters that “they admired her wardrobe and biting wit.”
Their swooning for the hunky Menendez brothers, whom they praised as “bright” and “nice,” was obscene. After a mistrial was declared, Abramson arranged for “her jurors” to meet the boys. Soon after, talk show queen Sally Jesse Raphael hosted a program on “women who would leave their husbands to marry a Menendez.”
From Menendez mania to Free Jahar, the pathologies persist: Easily led. Emotion-driven. Desperate for male approbation. Prone to acting with their lady parts instead of their lady smarts. Heckuva job, feminism!
The Cruel Word of CH is infiltrating the masses and spreading love like a bear digging for berries twixt Andrew Sullivan’s butt cheeks.
Lesson learned: You can indoctrinate generations of American women in the ways of gender empowerment, but you can’t make a goodly portion of them think straight. Hormones trump basic human decency and good judgment in the crowded coven of sociopaths.
Michelle demonstrates a willingness to grapple with the intractability of female sexual nature. She mocks the ineffectual feebleness of feminism to alter in any significant way the biologically inherent urges of women to crave the cold-blooded cocks of killers. In her mocking is a tacit admission that perhaps, just maybe, giving women the run of the place isn’t working out so well for civilization.
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