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It’s time to reveal the life-affirming, spiritually uplifting comment winners for the month of October.
The vote was unanimous. The October 2008 Comment Winner is Der Fuehrer on what it means to stand like an alpha.
I was in a club once. I was standing like a beta: arms crossed, legs crossed, hands held together and over my small penis and shriveled ball sack. I was such a beta I would wet myself when a woman walked passed me and even crap myself when she talked to me. Of course talking to me back then was, “Get out of my way, loser.” Afterwards I would cry.
Then I learned game. Now I am a man. I have fucked over 20,000 women, this summer alone. I went to a Halloween party last year and everyone was admiring my alpha costume. I fucked 100 different women that night. I had to turn away 100 others. And they were all hot, gorgeous women. No fatties, no sagging breasts or flat asses and all had amazing fellatio skills. Some even enjoyed fingering my tight, powerful alpha ass.
At clubs now I stand in different positions. When I put my left let forward at least 10 women immediately drop to their knees, begin salivating, and beg for me to release my now 15 inch penis for them to suck. When I put my right leg forward another 10 beg me to fuck them up the ass. When I stand with my legs exactly two feet apart, displaying my dominate manliness, the rest of the women in the club line up to wait their turn for me to fuck them. And it is all because of game.
When I am standing in any public place, say at at subway station, and I position my right pinkie exactly three inches from the left thumb which needs to be exactly two feet above the crotch but not so close to my stomach that it anyway hints of betatude a random woman will drop to the floor, spread her legs, and scream for me to fuck her right there and if I don’t she will hurl herself in front of the oncoming subway. Guaranteed.
Women love my alpha clothes, the my alpha cars, my alpha house, my alpha books, even my alpha cereal. I walk, talk, and look like an alpha. When I shit my shit is true alpha shit, hard, manly, strong and gigantic. My toilet is always getting clogged, but hey, being an alpha means some hardships, right? And I am so alpha I don’t even have to wipe my ass afterwards, since all the women I just bedded who are lying around my house compete to wipe it for me. Of course the alpha females don’t want me to wipe my ass they, just just plead, “Please, we love the smell of your alpha shit, please, don’t wipe it off!” When I walk my alpha dog all the other beta dogs show their stomachs in submission. Even my dog has a two foot penis and his alpha doggy ball sack drags on the ground. Women can even smell my dominate, alpha scent from around the world and the show up at my doorstep with wet panties ready to be “pumped and dumped” by my dominate, masculine self. If I have to turn them away
because they are not 10’s (which is rare) they are happy to have my alpha dog fuck them, just to have some association with me. I have many half human/half dog children because of this, but it is only good that my alpha genes be transmitted into more than one species (through my alpha dog at least), given my Darwinian outlook on life. The world needs my virility.
And it is all because I read about it somewhere in book. Yeah.
I am so Alpha that I will eventually take over a country, impose a dictatorship for 15 years, invade a few others, like Poland, France and Russia, and rule Europe. In the end I will probably have to kill myself because everyone around me is so beta that they can’t keep up the conquests on my alpha terms. Even my alpha armies will fail me. They just needed to read about game and all that would have changed.
Yeah, it is great being an Alpha male. I love being on top.
I once had a beta parakeet. Then I taught it to say “Shut up and take your clothes off, bitch.” Now it’s alpha.
Comment Winner Runner-up is Mr. Primitve who goes on to explain, I believe correctly, the virtues of Russian women and the differences between American and European women in general.
I’ve had direct experience with Russians female and male, both here and abroad, in bed and out of bed. It’s a big topic — look at all those fat Russian novels, then multiply that length to deal with American/Russian relationships. In general, the men are more macho. I didn’t find the degree of gangsta tough mentioned in the winning comment, but even intellectuals, artists, professors, and poets are more old-school macho than men here. It would be hypermacho, probably, in construction, business, backdoor politics. I imagine it to be more like 1930s to 1950s in the US, where you had to hold a drink and throw and take a punch to matter. Russian women, speaking to me and perhaps bullshitting me, said the Russian men are more direct, more passionate and more upfront about what they want. To my face, they said they liked American men better, who were less vain, less brutal — we generally don’t beat our women folk — and more in control. We’re also supposed to have bigger dicks, but that’s another species of Russian hustler bullshit, I suspect.
Russian women? Killer pussy. Well known fact. They’ll work you with their ultra feminine wiles. Oddly like Vivian Leigh in Gone With the Wind. Moody. Sexual. Pouty. Girly. Brooding. Poetic. Dramatic. They really know how to fuck — no puritanical frigidity, no hang ups, no chilliness. They oddly lack finesse, though — not that I’ve scored enough of that killer pussy to say definitively, but they tend to be really enthusiastic and kind of clumsily so. You can get hurt if you’re not careful. That said, there’s great tenderness, too. Poetry, maybe. But they’re rough — not like Western European girls — the Russians always have this combination of crudeness and refinement.
Also, if you don’t find your inner iron, if you don’t bring a strong backbone and a willingess to stand your ground, throw shit around and meet operatic drama with even greater blasts, you’ll be eaten alive. You’ll still be eaten alive anyway, but you’ll get a little more respect from her. It took me a long time to realize this; you really have to be a fucking asshole sometimes, or they’ll make you a tiny little smudge on the floor.
One of my acquaintances tried to threaten suicide when his Russian doll was about to leave. She though he was just stupid and weak when told me about it.
It’s like living in a Dostoyevsky novel. I always thought old Fyodr was a little operatic in his scenes, but it’s just sober realism — the outburts, the soulful declarations, the wild passions. All before breakfast.
And they’re shrewd, both males and females, to echo the excellent points about intellegence brought to bear on survival. They’re hustlers, both sexes. They have to be; they live in much tougher society, and unless they’re oligarchs, have a greater degree of daily struggle that most people can imagine. We live in Fat City; most middle class or even blue collar people here don’t have to live on their wits. So, yeah, streetwise. (I notice that blacks and Russians have an affinity for each other that seems deep and sincere and not just digging each other’s exoticism). I’ve seen some russo-yank marriages work well. Alot of the time they don’t, but its more about expectations and culture that ripoffs — at least, now, in my experience. I’ve heard of others disentegrate because the woman used the guy. Some others are directed clearly by women past their prime — but still, very beautiful — settling down for a guy several years older. They seem happy — don’t discount the pleasures of
security and domesticity on the one side or the pleasures of nailing some 35 year old when you’re 60. Puts the roses back in those flabby old cheeks.
And he’s lucky. Because he won’t have to look at her ass gradually balloon in a pair of sweatpants or hear her thudding round the kitchen in flips. Ever.
Anyway, these are large generalizations. But I’ve never regretted a moment spent with a Russian girl, even when she drove me closer to insanity than I’d care to admit. I bear my scars with pride.
For me, the main difference between European women, east and west and their American sisters is … fuck, where to begin? but it’s primarily about the demonization of pleasure here. I spent a lot of time in a lot of cafes and bars (and not enough in bed) arguing the opposite point of view, that America isn’t just a Puritanical Anglo-Saxon ice palace with a pervy underside. But, the longer I’m around and the more I travel and the more I fuck, I have to say: they’re right. American women (sorry, again, I know there are a lot of my fellow countrywomen who can prove me wrong, and bless you every one) BUT a lot of them don’t take pleasure in eating, in reading, in listening to good music and when it comes to fucking and their bodies, they’re corkscrew twisted. It’s all homework and duties and tasks and goals. They feel strange about their cunts, the shape of their ass, the smell of their armpits, how they sweat, the flatness or lack thereof of their bellies. (for contrast, one French guy
I know makes sure his girlfriend doesn’t take a shower for a day or two before they get it on — do you say eww to that or hmm? try it sometime, but only with someone you really like)
For me the main problem is, the Americans want to lay some pop-psychological wrapping paper on the encounter, or worse, they want to unburden their complexes on you when another woman from another country is content to smoke or to eat a strawberry or to, I dunno, admire the angle of sunlight coming across the bed. And these Americans generally do this in a voice that’s hopelessly nasal and flat, like that archetypal screechy schoolmarm Hillary Clinton yakking away about fuckall. (I’ll take a heavy, husky EE accent any day of the week, no matter how thick). I don’t exempt myself as an American man from this fucked up relationship with pleasure, either. But classically, Latin cultures looked to regulate pleasure, not to ban it, not to exorcise it and not to worship it, either. And while it’s a practice more aimed at that realized, it seems like a better way to try to live than either excess or denial or, more usually, some stupid binging because you’re keeping all that under a lid.
Russians, however, are as fucked up as we are in relationship to pleasure; they just approach it from the opposite extreme a lot of the time. So, there’s a nice intersection between our two delapidating superpowers.
Homework, duties, tasks and goals. That is the typical American woman’s soul, condensed.
Honorable mentions are awarded to the following commenters.
Peter, for showing there’s more to him than pretend love for hairy, smelly, old lady bushes.
What if you were invisible, and had to take a dump really bad? Would it be invisible too, or would people see a disembodied grogan bouncing around at colon level?
Aussiegirl reminds us why Australia is the America that America used to be.
I always ask about politics because a liberal man is no man at all. If he’s a greenie that’s even worse! If he’s pretending to be a liberal/feminist because he thinks that is what I want to hear that is the worst crime of all! Omega central!
Walk past and fart right in the middle… then keep moving.
Lane Honda, on how NOT to properly open a set.
I would…I would…sigh, I can’t lie. I would stare at them from a safe distance while holding my beer high and tight to my body. If I caught any of them looking in my general direction I would quickly stare at the ceiling or my feet (positioned together, stiffly). Later that night I would go to sleep with my socks on, then after getting over the initial self-conscious self-loathing, I would take one of the socks off and…
And finally, Shouting Thomas, for channeling my spurned exes.
The attention you receive from this blog has turned you into a pompous bore.
The daily dose of “How can I be an even bigger jackass” is a game for a teenage boy living in a dorm.
Perpetual adolesence is all you’ve got going.
You’re not an alpha. You are a complete loser. This blog is the daily proof of that.
A true gentleman and hater. I like my hate straight up, double. Leave the passive smarmy hate for the women.