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I had to slog through a lot of reader submissions to choose two candidates for the July 2009 BOTM. How much am I getting paid for this again?
First, the winner of the June 2009 BOTM was Ryan Stokes, the Australian billionaire media heir who hitched himself to a world class cunt and couldn’t find the inner strength to dump her after she repeatedly publicly humiliated him with her sluttastic antics and was eventually caught in the badboy lair of an ex-con biker, likely getting rogered up her tight upper crust anus so hard that she shat impacted semen bricks for weeks.
Congratulations Mr. Stokes. You edged out Rod Dreher and cuntrag’s ex-Italiano eunuchio betaboy kitchen servant Vincent. That’s some tough competition you were up against. Take a bow… deeply.
July 2009 BOTM Candidate #1 was submitted by third world immigration and population replacement enthusiast Seeking Alpha. It’s a Salon article written in sickeningly SWPL navel-gazing fashion by Travis D’arby, a beta so extraordinarily obtuse that he couldn’t put two and two together when his wife (wife!) refused to friend him on Facebook.
I joined the 21st Century a few weeks ago and signed up for Facebook. While the Facebook software loaded up the names of friends it found in my AOL inbox, one in particular surprised me: my wife’s. Hers was an invitation only page so I sent her a friends request.
He stumbles across his wife’s *invitation only* FB page. This should have been a big fat red flag, but no, our intrepid anti-hero soldiers on in self-delusion.
Days passed without a reply until I confronted her about it one day while she checked her e-mail.
“So I’m good enough to marry but not good enough to be your Facebook friend?”
“I never check my Facebook page.”
I playfully took the mouse and clicked through several pages of spam until I spotted my Facebook request.
“Well, you can do it now. It’ll only take a second.”
She gave me that “don’t tell me what to do” look only a wife can deliver then promised to get around to it later.
I waited a few more days and still nothing. At first, I didn’t think much of it. She will go days without putting her laundry up until I get seeing a freshly laundered basket of clothes on the kitchen table and put her unmentionables away myself. Procrastinating in regards to my friends request seemed perfectly predictable.
Here’s a critical difference between alphas and betas: Alphas are always one step ahead of their women; betas are oblivious to the clues beaning them right between the eyes.
But last week I decided to have a little fun at her expense. I typed “cute guy” into Google Images and created a fake Facebook profile for my chosen hunk. While my wife hogged the desktop, I sent her a friend request via my laptop. Guess what? Within minutes, she accepted my request!
While I snooped around her Facebook page, a few peculiarities caught my eye. First, no wedding pictures nor mention of her marital status. And secondly, all her Facebook friends were cute guys!
Is it me, or does this guy sound happy that his wife’s Facebook lovers are cute?
When I foolishly asked her why all of her friends had Y chromosomes, I naturally got my ass handed to me for sticking my nose in places it did not belong.
Any reader of my blog knows by now, that once a man hears this from his woman, it’s time to tell her to hit the bricks. She’s already boffing someone else. Privacy concerns take a back seat to suspicions of infidelity. D’arby writes like a reasonably intelligent guy. Why couldn’t he see what was right in front of his nose? Which brings me to…
Maxim #59: High IQ is no inoculation against beta delusion. If anything, high IQ obstructs clear thinking about women’s nature.
I have yet to broach this topic again and am debating my next move. Personally I don’t mind if she wants a little action on the side; it’s the being lied to that I find unacceptable. She was still a virgin when we met so I imagine a little sexual curiosity about other guys is perfectly natural.
Is it possible for a man to be more beta than George Sodini? Travis D’arby may have managed it. “Debating [his] next move”? This is the kind of mincing leftwing puke who gets mugged at gunpoint and wonders if he deserved it. Oh, but he hates being lied to. That makes the “action on the side” (such a pretty little euphemism; let’s tidy it up some more: “your wife is getting jackhammered by a roundtable of rock hard cocks and taking steaming loads to her face which drip insouciantly off her eyelashes”) totally acceptable. Keep telling yourself that, D’arby ol boy. Or should I call you D’cuckold?
D’cuckold then goes on a journey of ego salving verbal vomit as he proudly attempts to rationalize his wife’s whoring by calling for the monogamous, patriarchal institutions of the West to cede to the bright new future of polyamory. Really, you can’t make this shit up. By the way, you ever notice how advocates of the polyamorous lifestyle — you know, the guys who claim they’re OK with their wives and girlfriends fucking around — are usually fat and ugly middle-aged weirdoes or pantywaist pussboys like D’arby? I guess when human nature is too awful to bear, and your whole life is a monument to getting your teeth kicked in by reality, your autonomic reflex is to pretend you enjoy having a serpentine turd extruded into your mouth.
D’arby included a postscript to his soul searching:
My wife and I did come to an understanding of sorts last night. She belatedly apologized for snapping at me while I told her it was alright, that she no longer had to hide anything from me and that love and understanding had replaced shame and guilt as the zeitgeist of our time.
Now if only I could get her to call it something other than fish food . . .
This is quality entertainment, folks. Quality. Any further commentary would only distract from the coda to this man’s unbearable betaness of being.
July 2009 BOTM Candidate #2 was submitted by Puma. It’s about a man (and I use the term loosely) who writes to a newspaper columnist for advice (big mistake) about his whore wife’s cheating and her moment of candor where she confessed that she sexed up her lover in ways her husband can only dream she’d do to him. I’ll just go ahead and quote the whole letter. It’s comedy gold.
Dear Amy: Some years ago I caught my wife having an affair that had been going on for more than a year.
See: Maxim #59.
Desperate to save our marriage, she agreed to answer my questions and give me all the details I asked about.
One of the biggest improvements game can make to a man’s life is to help him avoid the worst beta pitfalls. A man needs to stop digging before he can start building. One of those pitfalls is the urge so many men have to find out what went wrong, to ASK ENDLESS QUESTIONS of their exes or emotionally distant wives, as if this inherently selfish emo-catharsis is somehow magically going to re-tingle their women’s cold, dry ginas.
It’s funny how every goddamn couples and marriage therapist out there recommends MORE COMMUNICATION from the man to fix failing relationships, when doing just the opposite would be more effective at rekindling the romance. There is no quicker way than MORE COMMUNICATION to confirm a woman’s feelings of disgust for a man, and to strip him of the last vestiges of his attractiveness. MORE COMMUNICATION is the war cry of the beta, the limpdicked Playdoh spear thrust wobbly at ancient enemy forces too vast and grotesque and mysterious for his tender manpuppy mind to fathom. A man would be better off keeping his trap shut and grunting one word syllables to his estranged wife. Let her fill in the blanks. I’d bet my method — One Word Game — would save more marriages than the advice handed down by the entire published oeuvre of the American Psychological Association.
We’ve gotten past all that now, and in fact our marriage is probably stronger than it was.
I bet it isn’t!
But one thing still bothers me: She admitted to performing certain intimate acts with him that she had previously refused to even talk about doing with me.
You can see it coming like a freight train. This “one thing” that bothers him is the essence of the matter. When a woman loves a man, she will do anything for him in bed. Anything, and everything. If she is not doing these things with you when you have evidence by her own words that she has done these things with other men, she doesn’t love you. She doesn’t love you like the way she loves the memories of the lovers she fucked while you slept alone in your marital bed. She may tell you she loves you, but those are just words. Female words. And female words are worth less than the air their sound waves travel through. Female actions, on the other hand, are worth all the knowledge in the universe.
She has never been able to explain why. She says, “Well I know I shouldn’t have done it, but I guess I got caught up in the moment.” And, “I wish I hadn’t! I shouldn’t have! I didn’t particularly enjoy it! I just acted without thinking!”
I understand from talking to others that this as a fairly common phenomenon in affairs.
You don’t say!
Can you enlighten me as to why?
An honest therapist or advice columnist would say: “You’re a beta. You don’t turn her on. You need to stop being a beta.” We’ll see below what this advice columnist (a woman) says to him.
Why would a woman do intimate things for a lover that she has refused to do with her husband?
Have a seat, son. Let me explain to you the mystery of the gina tingle.
Here’s the advice he got:
Dear Husband: When two people are having an affair, they’re never sitting at the kitchen table with a pile of bills, trying to figure out how to make the payment on their minivan. They don’t have to take the dog to the vet for his shots.
This freedom leads people to do all sorts of things they wouldn’t normally do.
Let’s stipulate that affairs are tempting and fascinating, at least in part, because people engaged in them move outside the confines of what they see as the norm of their daily lives.
Your wife did these things for the same reason that men having affairs send flowers and steamy notes and fly off to Buenos Aires to meet their lovers — but don’t do these things for their wives.
You’ve talked about this, which is good.
The only talking that would have done any good is him telling her to slurp his knob or pack her bags.
You may influence your wife by moving out of your own comfort zone and romancing her the way a lover would.
I can’t believe this bitch gets paid to write this shit. As Puma wrote in his submission, “Begging for sloppy seconds from your own goddamned wife. Brilliant!” The entire counseling industry is smoke and mirrors designed to keep the betas running on their hamster wheels while their cheating wives are free to pursue “action on the side”.
This could prompt both of you to begin a welcome new phase of your marriage.
The phase where she waits a few months for things to blow over before boffing the street vendor?