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In my “Defining the Alpha Male” post, I described the detritus of malehood:
Lesser Omega, [Can only get] 0s and 1s, Will never feel love; can’t keep a girl longer than 3 days, Dry spells > 5 years.
I’ve already taken you on journeys exploring the vast wastelands of the beta universe, but that was child’s play. It’s time to pull back the curtain on the shambling mounds and wretched creatures who walk among us; the monsters who inhabit the far FAR left tail of the human bell curve.
Behold, the OMEGA:
When this is the best you can do, you are a lesser omega. You aren’t at the lowest level of dreg because you haven’t dropped out of society entirely and are able, however nauseatingly, to propagate your genes. But really, why would you condemn your future ugly children to a lifetime of misery and self-loathing? The compassionate thing to do would be to refrain from reproducing.
Notice the telltale omega traits (besides his choice of mate): Lowered gaze, meek countenance, leaning into his beastly wife, feeble self-conscious smile, dumbo ears, weak chin and jawline, beady eyes. Yes, he’s in the military, but that is no guarantee of high(er) status. The bottom of the barrel often embrace the soldier’s life because it offers the only chance to raise their value. They risk death as cannon fodder for a shot at respectability. If they’re lucky, they might even return home to a hero’s welcome.
Look at the faces on the groomsmen… abject defeat. Public humiliation. Despair for their unlucky buddy. Disgust. Even the little boy knows what a bunch of losers have gathered here today. The ability to discern a human status hierarchy is ingrained from birth. And they are likely pissed that the bridesmaids are too grotesque to tap.
The brideshogs look a little less morose, probably because they understand that their less-human-than-human hogzilla sister has gotten the better end of the deal by the very fact that she managed to find a man, however pathetic, who would be willing to dump a fuck in her flabby porcine hole.
62% of American women are overweight, with no end in sight to the disfiguration of their most precious resource. They live in towns like Ninety-Six, South Carolina (yes, real name). They have no self-discipline, eating until they explode like Mr. Creosote. Is it any wonder American men with the means are choosing to meet women overseas? When more than half the women in your country have removed themselves as dating prospects, the fuckable ones in the minority raise their asking price through the roof. It’s a vicious predicament.
If you were forced at gunpoint to have sexual relations with one of these women, who would you choose, and how would you do it? The couch crease never looked so sexy.
Sloping brow lardo and inbred omega nerdo in love. Possibly they are both borderline retarded. Ugliness and stupidity correlate. No one wants to look at people like this in the office, so they will probably work at jobs in coal mines or sewage treatment plants where they don’t pollute anyone’s vista. It’s time to end all public support so the genetic lines of the omegas dies out. It’s nature’s way to cull the weak and ugly. Without the cull, the degenerate freaks reproduce, dragging the rest of humanity with them (or chasing them off into gated communities with armed guards). The modern welfare state is responsible for the coming Idiocracy. It was preordained.
Could this lesser omega have done better with game? Yes. In fact, for a guy this ugly, dorky and meek-looking, game will be especially effective. He can go from getting crushed underneath a heap of garbage during rutting to banging non-hideous 3s and 4s. Nothing short of Steve Buscemi level fame or vast wealth will raise his sexual market value, so the only self-improvement technique at his disposal is game.
I have to think there is no way this guy can get it up for her, no matter how horny or lonely. Below some mininum female ugliness floor, every penis becomes operationally flaccid. Ugly men and good-looking men get turned on by the same hot women, just like fat men and slim men want the same slender chicks. The packaging may change, but the brain remains the same.
While there is room to settle, I think past some ugly threshold a man looks at a pseudo-woman and regardless how motivated he is by the bounty of pity in his heart and horniness in his groin, his junk isn’t going to respond. Turning the lights off doesn’t always help. If she’s fat enough, you’ll hear her blubbery hideousness bumping into furniture and pulling the sheets off the bed. You’ll sink into her cheesy folds. You’ll listen to her grunts and wheezes as she goes down on you. You’ll have to sandblast the dingleberries out of her crack before doing her from behind. Dumpster dive deep enough, and you may as well be doing a man.
If this guy leaves her and decides it makes more sense to drop a few bucks and satisfy himself with a skanky street hooker, he will actually bump himself up from lesser omega to omega. As a man, there is such a thing as ranking lower than a celibate virgin — boffing a monstrous seacow will push you below a man whose only sexual outlet is porn.