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Women, especially pretty young things, possess a natural entitlement that is the psychological effluvium of being the sex with more reproductive value. Men who step in line with this natural female entitlement (I’m looking at you white knights) are usually rewarded with NOSEX. But men who assume the mantle of female entitlement for themselves are irresistible by their rarity. Flipping the biological script is outrageous and novel; the entitled man demands a woman’s rapt appraisal.

Reservoir Tip writes,

One shit test keeps coming my way, mainly on tinder, and I’m curious how you guys would handle it.

I’ll be getting a girl to come over, and at the last minute she’ll throw out,

“How do I know you’re worth it?”

This is a classic Female Entitlement Syndrome Shit Test (FESST). It’s more common among marginally attractive girls, lower class girls, and stridently unfeminine lawyercunts who feel a need to convince themselves of their own desirability. Very pretty women will rarely rear up on you with claws so starkly bared, because they are content with an inner confidence that comes from knowing they have nothing to prove. The residual reproductive value of a 19 year old HB10 is conspicuous from its beginnings as a speck on the horizon; the same cannot be said of a vigorously twerking, clear and present 33 year old Bindi HB5.

Stealing a woman’s natural entitlement is easier than it may first seem.

GIRL: How do I know you’re worth it?

GÖTTERDÄMMERHUNG: I’m talking to you, right.

The above is a subtle steal. The neophyte beta male, feeling the weight of his newborn bristly balls, might reply “You’re talking to me, right?”, thinking that this was a clever retort to her challenge. But the alpha male knows better; any acquiescence to a woman’s frame is failure, no matter how cleverly garbed. Her frame must be destroyed, utterly. “I’m talking to you, right” (note the jettisoned question mark) assumes the sale. It’s a bit of wordplay that connotes the man’s higher value by tacitly reminding the girl she’s the one invested in keeping this conversation going.

(True or not, it doesn’t matter. What matters is massaged perception.)

Here’s another example of stealing a woman’s natural entitlement and muddling the pulp out of her frame.

GIRL: How do I know you’re worth it?

RAGNARCOCK: Charm school wasn’t my thing either.

Watch for the follow-up defensive crouch where pussy waterfalls are sprayed in fine mists over jungle canopies. The wording is crucial. You don’t want to mow her down tongue-guns a-blazing. It’s better to leave a little room for her to laugh it off with face-saving denials. Setting yourself up as an ally in oafishness creates that elusive “connection” that pickup artists know is the longest and most fruitful side quest on the road to sex.


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