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The April 2009 BOTM contest was a runaway. Mr. “Don’t Judge an Alpha by His Cover” won with his stirring video loveletter to an ex. Has there been a more repugnant — or cheesier — case of oneitis? Congratulations to reader Ben for that submission.
And now, the reader submitted nominees for the May 2009 Beta of the Month contest. The envelope, please…
May 2009 BOTM Candidate #1 was submitted by a boatload of readers but el chief got there first. This story about a New York Beta Times economics (!) reporter who was driven into deep debt by the reckless spending habits of his washed-up, dumpy, twice-bankrupt 49 year old Argentinian second wife has made the blog rounds, and I’m pleased to see the concepts of beta and herb, thanks in no small part to the yeoman efforts of your narcissistic narrator, filtering into the public square like a much needed anti-PC colonic.
Edmund Andrews is the beta chump who wants to blame the easy lending of the predatory mortgage loan sharks for his financial despair (he’s writing a book about the ordeal, detailing his descent into the middle class) but the truth is that most of his woes can be laid directly at the feet of his high maintenance shrike of a wife who misspent him into oblivion. Andrews is, to put it succinctly, a victim of his own betatude. He had options which he didn’t have the sack to avail himself of: Avoid marrying the old broad, or lay down the law in his household and cut off her thousand dollar weekly allowance.
Here are some choice quotes shedding light on his Gollum-like shrivelled beta soul (“My preciooous wants the 10-ply strawberry scented toilet paper and Whole Foods organically grown rutebagas. My middle-aged pendulous-boobed preciooous gets everything she wants or no sex for meee!”):
Patty was brainy, regal, sexy, fiery and eclectic. She was one of my closest friends when we were both students at an American high school in Argentina. Back then, we would talk together about politics and books at a coffee shop every day after school. We were not romantic in those days and went our separate ways after high school. But each of us would go through bruising two-decade-long marriages, and we felt that sweet spark of remembrance and renewal upon meeting again in middle age.
LJBFed? Check. “Dates” were sexually arid conversations about politics and literature? Check. “Sweet spark of remembrance” was a 49 year old wall victim deciding to settle for an abjectly grateful beta provider and clean out his accounts because she has a bad case of Princess Entitlement Complex? Check.
After a one-year bicoastal courtship,
You are a loser with women if you have to resort to courting floppy-lobed pussy 3,000 miles away.
Patty discovered a small but stately brick home in a leafy, kid-filled neighborhood in Silver Spring, Md.
Never let your wife “discover” the big purchases for you. You’re asking for trouble. The man should always make the decision on the big expenditures.
Having separated from my wife of 21 years, who had physical custody of our sons, I was handing over $4,000 a month in alimony and child-support payments. That left me with take-home pay of $2,777, barely enough to make ends meet in a one-bedroom rental apartment. Patty had yet to even look for a job.
$4K a month. How many of these wickedly unjust sad stories do men have to hear before they stop walking down the aisle entirely? And at 49 years old with no small kids to raise, I think Patty could get off her fat ass and get a job.
We had very different ideas about money. Patty spent little on herself, but she refused to scrimp on top-quality produce, Starbucks coffee, bottled juices, fresh cheeses and clothing for the children and for me. She regularly bought me new shirts and ties to replace the frayed and drab ones in my closet. She thought it wasn’t worth agonizing over nickels and dimes. I was almost exactly the opposite. My answer to any money squeeze was to stop spending. I would skip lunch at work to save $7. If I arrived at the Metro just before the end of rush hour, I would wait for five minutes to save 50 cents on the fare.
We were both building up grudges. “You can’t keep second-guessing me,” she told me angrily. “It’s small-minded and petty, and it’s not very attractive.” I was beginning to wonder whether she had any clue about how money worked. We were lurching from paycheck to paycheck, one big home repair away from disaster.
When a woman finally relents and marries a beta provider, she thinks to herself “well, at least I won’t have to worry about watching my spending by marrying this flaccid schlub”. The beta provider thinks “Wow, she really loves me!”. What we have here is… a failure to communicate.
Patty woke up, irritated by all my movement and my occasional moans of despair. “What’s the matter?” she asked.
“I can’t sleep,” I answered. “I’m panicking about money, because I don’t know how we’re going to pay all the bills that need to be paid right now.” I wanted her to take me in her arms and reassure me that everything would be O.K.
Window to the soul. A beta wants his woman to take him in her arms. An alpha takes his woman in his arms.
“I can’t believe you are doing this to me on my birthday,” she hissed in fury. “All I asked for was one day of peace — one day when you weren’t beating me over the head. And here it is, not even daylight yet, and you’re waking me up to berate me about money.”
“Son of a bitch, what did I do to you?” I asked, punching my pillow in the dark. “Do you think I enjoy having a panic attack? I can’t help what I’m feeling. I’m just scared out of my mind.”
“That’s it!” Patty snapped, getting out of bed and pulling on her robe. “I’m not going to listen to any more of this. I’m going to sleep downstairs.”
In the morning, she let me have it.
If I didn’t know any better I’d think Andrews was the wrongdoer here. Women are so very VERY good at absolving themselves of any accountability and transferring all the guilt and blame to the idealistic, hapless beta dupe. If you read me, you can save yourself Andrews’ fate because you will understand the true nature of woman — the dark swirlings of her soul that are hidden from even her own awareness.
“You lied to me,” she told me as I got coffee. “You said that what I saw on the outside was pretty much what you were. But you’re completely different. If I had known what you were really like, I would never have come out here.”
And here it is, finally. The truth revealed in a moment of angry frustration that strips away the veneer of her feral animal heart. She never really loved him. She only loved his money stream and the security his station in life promised to an aging hag like herself. If this guy was any sort of man, he would have backhanded her across the face and threw her shit out the window. But instead he will go on blaming himself, blaming mortgage lenders, blaming the fates, and he will pretend his personal hell reaffirms the love he and his harridan wife share. This is what the walking dead do. They know not the exquisite pleasures of the living.
May 2009 BOTM Candidate #2 was also submitted by a boatload of readers but Alpinestar got ahead of the pack. It’s the short but sweet story of a wonderful beta boyfriend who chooses to stick by his whoring girlfriend (who is so ugly it’s a miracle he was able to get it up for her) and raise the cuckoo’s egg of another man. A man, it should be noted, who the whore banged on or very near the same day she banged our featured BOTM candidate. Some human refuse should just be removed from circulation.
Mia Washington decided to get some expert advice when she and her partner noticed that twins Justin and Jordan had different facial features.
Paternity tests then revealed what had happened – two eggs had been fertilised by two different sperm and there was a 99.99% chance the twins had different dads.
Mia later admitted she had had an affair and got pregnant by two different men at the same time.
She told TV channel Fox 4: “Out of all people in America and of all people in the world, it had to happen to me. I’m very shocked.”
How horny does a woman have to be to jump from one unprotected cock to another in the same day? How stupid?
(And I wonder how she will explain this to her two kids when they’re older. “Momma, why is Jordan my half-brother?” “Well, boy, Jordan got a different baby daddy than you.” “But we’re twins, momma! We was born at the same time.” “That’s right, boy, your daddy put his penis in me on the same day Jordan’s daddy put his penis in me.” “But why, momma?” “Shut yo face, boy, b’fo I smack it off!”)
And while it sounds rare, recent research indicates that one in 12 non-identical twins are so-called bi-paternal, with a rise in fertility treatment and changing sexual behaviour being blamed.
If true, this is a portent of sexual dystopia.
Mia’s partner James Harrison is father to one of the boys.
He told Fox 4 that he had forgiven his fiancee for having the affair and intended to raise both children as his own.
However, he admitted it had been tough discovering the truth.
“It’s a day by day thing. It’s going to take time to build the trust like we had,” he said.
Betas are quick to forgive. If you ever feel the impulse to forgive a cheating whore, you are probably acting out of fear that you can’t do any better. Forgiveness, like Jesus Christ’s other cheek, is the first refuge of the loser with no options.
This guy is in a bit of a bind. One of the kids is his, so emotionally it would be tough for him to walk away from both. And being that this is the “community” we’re talking about, a black man who decides to stay with his biological child and help raise him is a small miracle in itself. My advice to him would be to de facto dump the ugly whale girlfriend and start finding a new woman, while lavishing all his fatherly attention and gifts on his biological child. Ignore the other kid entirely. Put the moral onus on the whore to hunt down the other dad and browbeat him into supporting the consequence of his spermal contribution. I’d also get a lawyer and consider some kind of split custody arrangement. The last thing he wants to do is be forced by the state to send a cut of his pay in child support to the whore so she can buy cheesy poofs by the pallet and fall on more cock than a gay nymphomaniac whose farts whoosh.
Mia is pregnant AGAIN but this time she said there was “no question” that James was the dad.
Um, dude… don’t take her word for it. Jes sayin’.