From the original article on January 10, 2016. Author: Chateau Heartiste.
A critically important topic scissored through a recent CH comment thread: What if we could view a woman’s bush as a window to her soul?
Someone posted a pic of a nude German woman in Cologne protesting against the Muslim #rapefugees. (Public nudity appears to be a favorite protest tactic of late stage Teutonic White women).
PA responded,
I’m being quite serious and not prurient when I say this: her protest would have more visual impact if she had a full bush rather than a shaved clam.
I can’t take a woman seriously as a woman [if] her crotch looks like an aged preteen girl’s.
Shaved vaginas have been a thing for at least a decade now, possibly longer, but no matter how many women jump on the naked mole rat bandwagon the image of a completely shorn mons veneris will always emit a perfume of puerility, a fragrance of frivolity, a scent of selfishness, an essence of egotism, an incense of immaturity, and a tang of treachery.
PA then posted a pic of a woman sporting what was in his consideration a well-formed bush, a bush that inspires men to poetic acts of devotion, and with equal emphasis exhibits by its sexy cilia both a charming, girlish vulnerability and a seductive, adult femininity.
Tying it all together, Carlos Danger remarks,
PA, I’m old enough to remember guys who really really liked a hairy hairy bush. What you showed is a very modest and feminine natural bush. I had to point that out because no one sees it anymore. That bush is marriage material bush as a matter of fact.
A small, well-contoured, and decorously delineated bush is also a leading indicator of youth and prime fertility. That, more than any other, is the reason it is maximally arousing to the maximum number of men. A shorn bush evokes prepubescence (not good for reproduction) and a big unkempt bush is the misty jungle canopy of the aging beauty whose hormone profile tipped over and capsized into androgen-dominant, estrogen-recessive territory (also not good for reproduction).
We all know the Marry, Fuck, Kill game, right? (If you read this blog, you should.) Well, this post subject is the bush league version of that pickup game. The trim, tight and White bush in the second photo above is marriage material bush. Perfect in every way, like Baby Bear’s porridge; not too porny, not too hairy. Turns you on with just a hint of the good stuff hiding underneath, and keeps you around with its fluffily faithful promise to eschew nose piercings, tramp stamps, race cucking, and mudsharking.
The naked mole rate in the first photo is a pump and dump candidate. The non-bush is the slut’s beacon to the world’s wave-tossed cocks. Safe harbor here... for the night.
What about the type of bush that screams out “Kill me!”?
The growly über-bush also goes by the name “antifa bush”. This is because the kudzu of beaver bush is a nightmare vision that one will often see, if one should be so unfortunate (or hard up), on antifa females (the approbation “woman” feels wrong to apply to them). (So I have been told and can easily surmise; no first-hand experience with it, thank you very much).
A hundred bucks says she’s got a woolly mammoth in her man panties. Yeeeuck. Kill. Kill. Kill the bush. Off the cliff, with a push.
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