More White-Nationalists Should Hire Hookers

A meditation on angry male sexual frustration.

A practical solution to a longtime problem.

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There were many poetic elements to the recent national embarassment that was the Charlottesville Unite the Right rally. None moreso than the event’s geographical significance. But unlike many who see the event as a callback to the hideous racist past of Dixieland, what caught my eye — and what should catch the eye of far more — is the fact that the event took place in the stomping grounds of the most infamous angry, unemployable, virginal, basement-dweller-who-lives-with-his-parents fanfiction writer of the 21st Century: Christian Weston Chandler. Better known as Chris-Chan.

Possibly the most mocked man in Internet history (no small accomplishment in a world with Mao Xinyu, Shia LaBeouf, and Recep Tayyip Erdoğan), Chris-Chan has spent the entirety of his life running through a series of humiliations not even the combined cast of It’s Always Sunny in Philadelphia could top. Multiple sex tapes, none of which feature other human beings; a Sonic the Headgehog and Pokémon fanfiction comic bearing sub-elementary-schooler compositional quality — though the work’s violence and pornography would give away the age of the author even if he hadn’t made himself the main character; a bottomless naïvité not even the œuvre of Steve Carell has surpassed (the man drove eight-hundred miles from his home to rescue a Molvanîan woman from a kidnapping, after he was told Molvanîa was a fictional country): Chris Chandler is proof that no amount of imagination from Kenny Hotz or Andy Kaufman shall ever be enough to top the depths to which Reality can plummet on her own.

But of all C.W.C.’s achievements in failure, both before and after he became famous a decade ago, none shall surpass that of the Love Quest: a near generation-spanning effort by the C-villian against dying alone. Nearly every bad decision Chris-Chan has made since 2003 can be tied back to this disastrously-conceived undertaking against his sexual failures. He’s been banned from at least a half-dozen locations in the Charlottesville area for soliciting women with a poster-board sign, including his community college; he’s ruined every personal relationship with women he ever had by pestering them for sex; he took up crossdressing in 2011 solely to add lesbians to the list of women he can pester: all of it has been for nothing. The only progress he ever made was when he lost his virginity to a prostitute in April 2012 at the age of thirty.

For Chris, I only have one question: What took you so long?

For white-nationalists, I have an answer: Learn from Christian Weston Chandler’s example.

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There have been countless jokes and observations made about the root problem with political psychopaths being sexual frustration. It’s the root of everything from the 12th’s popular Michael Rapaport video, to the plot of 1984, to the mono-testicular Hitler limerick, all the way to the countless jokes about the Houri in the Islamic Paradise. Tragically for Planet Earth, problems are more complicated than any amount of sex could solve; but there’s also a trend, mostly from third-wave feminists, to dismiss the very idea of sexual frustration as a motivation for human behavior as a product of the white-supremicist patriarchy. As seen in yesterday’s nonsensical article from Elle by Roqayah Chamseddine, written in response to the Rapaport video I just linked, in which the authress sincerely postulates even the very concept of virginity as a myth.

How in Hell anybody who’s ever had a conversation with a man could say something this ridiculous beggars belief. The fact that someone belonging to an ethnicity of the most sexually-dysfunctional region of Planet Earth today would think this shows that Feminism has detached itself from Reality to a degree surpassing that of Young-Earth Creationists.

It could very well be a cooincidence that Richard Spencer has a mail-order bride, that David Duke has been divorced since 1984, that Steve Bannon and Rush Limbaugh have three divorces each, and that the twice-divorced Donald Trump does not sleep in the same bedroom as his current wife Melania and both often reside in separate states. It could be chance that Elliot Rodger has been adopted as a posthumous alt-right butt-monkey, and that that alt-right ideology is the most popular political position among involuntary celebates — or “incels” for short (Good Christ, what a ridiculous term). There might be no pattern whatsoever to James Alex Fields Jr., Dylan Storm Roof, and Timothy McVeigh all being “confirmed bachelors” up to the date of their ghastly crimes. Brother Dean Saxton’s repeated boasting of his virginity — and no other accomplishments whatsoever — may have no relation to him spending years yelling at sexy co-eds being deserving of rape.
The same “maybe” as Casey Anthony’s searching for “fool-proof” suffocation methods on Google the last day her daughter was seen alive.

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I will agree with Ms. Chamseddine on one point: no one should ever feel the need to pity-fuck anybody. There’s good reasons why all of the men I mentioned previously have their problems, and no woman should ever feel obligated to nanny some neurologically-dysfuctional pickle-polisher incapable of even quarter-ass effort at productivity.

Their answer is hookers.

Sure, in America, hookers are illegal. Sure, there are many who think hiring hookers would be immoral even where it’s legal. But even among those who believe the latter, of which I’m not at all aligned, the suggestion that taking an alternate route of soliciting randoes who will never show any interest beyond the pretend in groups among which Donald Trump counts in the number is downright dumb. How is it an improvement for someone to not break the law or a taboo when they turn themselves to a public nusiance at best in the process of legal and moral obedience? Why should the insipid lie of “there being someone for everyone” continue to be propogated in the face of such overwhelming evidence to the contrary? The personal, and often professional, growth it takes to make these losers presentable (much less desireable) is almost assuredly beyond their capability even if they had the willpower and the self-reflection to so much as get started.

There is no one for Steve Bannon! Nor Dylan Roof! There was, and will remain, no one for Christian Weston Chandler! But thanks to the magic of escort services, he found her anyway, and could find her again the moment he saves up $200.

Losing one’s virginity’s no panacæa. Nor are hookers. Anders Behring Breivik had sex with a few hookers before carrying out the worst massacre in Norway since World War II; and the social, economic, and political turmoil of the 21st Century transcends all easy solutions. They have yet to even fix Chris-Chan’s life, as the dozens of threads chronicling his failures made since 2012 on sites such as Kiwi Farms attest to. But if a time machine could be used to buy everyone who attended the Unite the Right rally an hour with an escort the month before it took place, I guarantee the rally would’ve been smaller.

Judging by the photos released of Christian Chandler’s fellow living-with-his-mom-er Fields, there would likely even be no loss of life.

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O.R. Welles is a current writer, and aspiring independently-wealthy writer. He can be found thanking a hooker named Maggie McNeill. Without her inspiration, this article would never have been written.