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Overheard In [Redacted]

Out of their sight but not my earshot, I overheard the following conversation between two late 20s-early 30s SWPL girls giggling about a man one of the girls recently dated.

***

“Did you check him out?”

“I googled him… got his accounts… {unintelligible}”

[ed: silly me, thinking her question meant to ask if she looked at him before meeting.]

“His accounts?”

“Yeah, you know. Facebook, LinkedIn…Instagram… thank god he didn’t have a Tumblr, as far as I could tell.”

“You should probably check those cheater sites too. You know the ones?”

“I did! I tried those… lol… but there aren’t enough women participating yet.”

“So what did you find?”

“Oh wow, a lot of douchy pictures of him at parties with skanks.”

“Gross.”

“But at least he doesn’t have love children… {unintelligible}.”

“Right!”

“Unless he’s hiding them, but I feel like it would be tough to hide secret kids.”

“I dunno, I dated this guy once who had a son, and I didn’t find out until three months later.”

“Except for the stupid photos…oh yeah, and the creepy military history stuff he collects… he seemed all right.”

“Did you go out with him?”

“Yeah. But he said something weird, which makes me wonder.”

“What?”

“He said I’d make a good event planner for bachelorette parties.”

“What does that even mean?”

“I asked him. He said it was my upbeat vibe, or whatever. He said I had the personality to manage a lot of high maintenance girls. Can you believe that!”

“Oookay.”

“But the thing is, I was at a bachelorette party recently. For my friend. He must have saw the pictures on Facebook. I was wondering the whole time if he was checking out my friends. Like, if we didn’t work out, he’d call one of them up?”

“lol… that’s crazy creeper.”

“Eh…. it’s not a huuuge deal.”

“I guess you didn’t see him again.”

“No, we’ve been on three dates. He’s out there, but kind of funny. Thank god he hasn’t talked about any military stuff.”

***

Folks, you simply cannot make up the utter lack of awareness and pathological solipsism exhibited by today’s modern Western woman. It’s like if you threw a woman into solitary confinement, she would claim the world was banging on the cage door to get in and join her.

The lesson, as if it needed to be stated, is that you can expertly game the post-modern dating market by seeding the online world with self-glorifying disinformation. That is, if you choose to have an online presence. Women may cast a suspicious eye at massive online DHVs, but the power of social proof to redound to a man’s benefit is not a trivial thing; if asked, she’ll express disbelief in your sexyman antics but a part of her inner world will want to believe.

Also, don’t fear the douche. You can be all the douche you wanna be, skanks draped over your arms with a wall of duckbill mouths trumpeting your greatness, and women will come running to discover the “good man” underneath. But if you show the good man right away you’ll get a pat on the shoulder and a bored look.

Your other option is zero net presence. ZNP is the safe alternative, and it will certainly stoke curiosity in women in this day and age of pajama-concocted character story lines uploaded to social media megacorp spy machines. But it will also invite more questions than you may be comfortable batting away. If you prefer to go more with the cultural flow, you’ll have to manage your online presence. Welcome to the age of endless self marketing.

[crypto-donation-box]

DragonfromCY writes,

Urgent advice requested, there’s an opportunity for mischief in outing a liar. Bare-bones summary: 6 months dating a flaming s–t (far too long, I know, but the sex is great), going to a big bday party with her tomorrow.

She says there are no exes coming and she hasn’t hooked up with any of the men who are gonna be there–but from a quick perusal of her computer it’s clear she’s f—d at least one of them (a few weeks before meeting me), a guy who has a girlfriend (and cheated on her with my s–t girlfriend) so it’s like their dirty little secret. “This is between me and you, right?” he wrote to her, when she offered him “a ride”. She still keeps in touch with him, texting him stuff like “hey dude what’s going on with you” etc. That to me was the death knell of our hooking up–I don’t even want her as a f-buddy. She lied that she didn’t keep in touch with exes.

The guy will most likely be at the party with his girlfriend, and I’ll be introduced to him. I’d like to amuse myself by watching her hamster spin. I want to dump her soon. I might even wink at the guy and insinuate subtly that I know. Any advice on how to f–k with her/his head? For fun of course!

You can safely assume any girl who keeps in serious contact with an ex is still having sex with him, and then act accordingly. If you’re right, you dump a cheater. If you’re wrong, you dump a drama queen who loves to mentally cheat. Win-win.

Exes should be treated like vaporware: You can let people know you have them, but beyond that, they don’t exist. This holds for men and women, but for different reasons. It’s difficult for men to be “””friends””” with exes because nearly every man retains a desire to tap that ass one more time. That feeling won’t go away until the day he sees that his ex has gone post-Wall. Unfortunately for most men, exes don’t want sex with them. This is because women initiate the majority of relationship break-ups. So being a “””friend””” with a female ex is apt to lead to psychological torment and beta orbiting blue balls for non-alpha men.

Women don’t necessarily want another go at exes, but of the exes they’ll continue contacting it’s a good bet they’re thinking of extracockicular activity. Therefore, regard with a wary eye any woman you’re dating who claims to be on exceedingly friendly terms with an ex.

The rule for men in relationships: Contact with an ex should continue only if either of these two conditions is met:

1. You know the ex still wants you, and sex-on-the-side is logistically favorable.

2. You have children with the ex.

The rule for women in relationships: There should be no contact with any exes, unless the ex is John Scalzi and thus presents no sexual threat. Or, like with men, your ex and you share children.

Now that we know the rules of the game, let’s attend to the reader’s question.

First, you’re right to dump this girl. She’s got the red flags of whoredom planted in every orifice, lying being the most obvious tell of her possible present and certain future infidelity. But a perfunctory dumping is just so… anti-climactic. You want more bang for your headfuck. Remember, your beef isn’t with your girlfriend’s ex as much as it is with your girlfriend, so target your firepower on her. As the sexual gatekeepers, women should always be held the more responsible party for any illicit dalliances they undertake.

(I know that last line stuck in feminist craw. Because it’s true.)

What you want to avoid is a “let’s you and him fight” situation where your girlfriend fortuitously gets to enjoy two men blustering and posturing for her tawdry benefit. That means don’t aggressively confront her ex. Here’s my suggestion:

When you’re introduced to the ex, lead with, “I’ve heard so much about you.” Doesn’t matter if it’s true. (It’s better if false.) Watch your girlfriend’s reaction. If she hadn’t told you anything about him, she’ll become perceptibly uncomfortable. Savor these few seconds with a smile so broad she’ll think you’re guarding a Fort Knox stash of secrets about her.

Nervous chit chat will follow. Lean in like you’re about to tell the two of them (or three of them if his GF is also part of the group) a dirty secret of your own, then say “Hey, I was going to keep this between me and you [look at your GF], but [her ex] wouldn’t mind hearing this.” Your smile should now be reaching Joker proportions.

You say, “I saw my ex here, and she is crazy. She loves taking me for a ride.” Hold it, hoooooold it. Look at the ex. “You know what I mean? Anyhow, could you guys just kinda circle around me so maybe she doesn’t see me? If she comes over, pretend like we’re in deep conversation. Christ, I may need to bolt.”

Then they’ll chime in with something, it’s irrelevant. All you’re doing is extracting the id from your girlfriend’s ego bunker and forcing it to manifest in the awkward contortions of her face. You want to savor that crimson blush, her foot shuffling, and her attempts to cut off the conversation with feeble excuses. This is your one act play, and you will make it count.

Continue. “How close are you two? Can I trust you alone together? Haha, just busting your chops. I’ve gotta go, babe. Do you mind if I leave you here with [her ex]? No hanky panky, all right?” Finish it with a coup de grace shit-eating grin.

At this juncture, anything can happen. She might slink away disgracefully and meekly request she join your departure. Or, more likely, she’ll be experiencing something akin to septic shock, and stand there like a dummy, trying to make sense of her cratering bowels. Whatever you do in response, DON’T let on that you know the score. Pretend ignorance. This whole circus depends on plausible deniability and soul-shivving ambiguity. You’re not starting a fight with your girlfriend; you’re starting a fight *within* your girlfriend.

All will become clear to her in a few days time when she hasn’t gotten a single call or text from you. Relish the thought of her paranoia.

[crypto-donation-box]

Have you ever wondered what drives some women to the cult of feminism, when every real world observation refutes nearly all the foundational premises of feminism? Why do so many women cleave to such a wrong-headed, insipid ideology?

Chateau Heartiste explained the phenomenon of feminism as shivvily as possible:

The goal of feminism is to remove all constraints on female sexuality while maximally restricting male sexuality.

Feminists, in other words, nurture a fantasy that by sheer force of blather they can remake the sexual market to suit their every whim and desire while curtailing to the maximum extent possible any romantic choice enjoyed by men.

This theory neatly clarifies the motives of all sorts of poopytalk that dribbles from the cheetos-stained lips of feminists. To wit:

Indignation over fat/slut shaming = Demands to be simultaneously as physically repulsive and depraved as one wishes while remaining attractive to any man one desires, regardless of men’s wishes to the contrary.

Social conditioning of sexual preference = Religious belief that men’s sexual preferences can be changed to find fat, ugly or old women attractive, while at the same time any preference women enjoy is empowering and immediately satisfiable.

Patriarchal oppression/privilege = Unfalsifiable rationale for the depressing consequences that unattractive women endure in the sexual market. Promotes idea that low SMV women can be happy once “male oppression” is defeated.

Rape culture = Limitless choice to women to redefine their sexual experiences however they please, (and to benefit from the labeling as they see fit). Men, in contrast, are burdened with automatically impugned guilt for any sexual transaction they may enjoy.

By the Beard of Amanda Marcotte, alongs comes ♥♥♥science♥♥♥ to slurp the CH knob to completion.

Value-added commenter (yes, value-added… hint hint to you dopier commenters) chris writes,

My God. I think he just described feminism here:

Second, high status and very attractive women need less help and protection from other women and are less motivated to invest in other women (who represent potential competition). Thus, a woman who tries to distinguish or promote herself threatens other women and will encounter hostility. According to Benenson, a common way women deal with the threat represented by a remarkably powerful or beautiful woman is by insisting on standards of equality, uniformity, and sharing for all the women in the group and making these attributes the normative requirements of proper femininity.

He is talking about this study here:

http://rstb.royalsocietypublishing.org/content/368/1631/20130079

Abstract:
Throughout their lives, women provide for their own and their children’s and grandchildren’s needs and thus must minimize their risk of incurring physical harm. Alliances with individuals who will assist them in attaining these goals increase their probability of survival and reproductive success. High status in the community enhances access to physical resources and valuable allies. Kin, a mate, and affines share a mother’s genetic interests, whereas unrelated women constitute primary competitors. From early childhood onwards, girls compete using strategies that minimize the risk of retaliation and reduce the strength of other girls. Girls’ competitive strategies include avoiding direct interference with another girl’s goals, disguising competition, competing overtly only from a position of high status in the community, enforcing equality within the female community and socially excluding other girls.

So feminists’ promotion of anti slut-shaming and anti fat-shaming and anti ugly-shaming and anti single-mother-shaming etc, is really just an execution of women’s intra-sexual competitive strategies. It’s the bottom third of women versus the top two thirds. Or perhaps it’s the bottom quarter, as if I remember correctly only 20-25% of women identify as feminist.

With knowledge such as this, you can easily reframe any leftist/feminist argument about a war on women as instead a war by the bottom loser women against the top successful women.

It’s the SU’s (Sluts & Uglies) versus the HB’s.

The benefit of such tactical reframing is; what woman wants to be seen as a loser (ugly and slutty) and not as a winner (beautiful and lovely)? What woman wants to belong to the bottom quarter and not the top three quarters? To admit this would be to destroy their feminine egos. With such reframing, you could get the hamster working for you.

Great stuff. It’s a nifty addendum to the CH Theory of Feminism above. Low SMV women embrace feminism as a social mechanism to alternately decrease competition from more beautiful women and increase the sexual choice of, and the access to societal (read: male) resources for, uglier women.

Elevating the status and the perceived value of the ugly and the monstrous, and simultaneously disparaging the normal and the healthy, is the true motivation of feminists. Their nefarious goal is the renormalization of society and the sexual market to a lower aesthetic; one that is more congenial to the fates of the unloved women.

Feminism is not about a war on women; feminism is a war OF women. Womano-a-womano. All that bleating about equality and judgmentalism and slut shaming and the patriarchy is just the squid ink ugly broads expectorate to give them a fighting chance in the all-against-all, zero-sum competition for mates.

Feminists will lose, of course. The sexual market cares nothing for sophistry. In the final analysis, only the boner and the tingle matter.

Interestingly, a case can be made — hell, a case WILL be made — that the American obesity epidemic and quack-wave feminism have risen in lockstep out of necessity. As the population of reproductive-age women has increasingly become fatter and uglier, the number of women needing the equalist semantics of feminism to assure their place at the sexual market table has grown (heh) accordingly. More fatsos = more equalizing cant.

So you see how obesity, feminism, and equalism intersect, interweave, reinforce, and gluttonously feed each other. CH makes no glib assertion when we compare the obesity plague to the ugliness and lies of feminism and equalism. They are all born of the same toxic mentality, issuing from the breast of the Lord of Lies himself, and their waste and foulness and repugnance and stink and deception flows outward like hellshit, suffocating truth and beauty under an ash cloud of offal.

To the casual observer, a random fat chick may seem to have no relation to, say, anti-white animus. But they are connected in ways deep and true, even if the players themselves remain unaware of their invisible binds. This is why, when you fight one, you fight the other. Strike a shaming blow against obesity, and you draw blood from a degenerate open borders scumbag and a screaming banshee pushing for women at the front lines.

As a count or countess of CH, your enemy is, and should always be, the enemies of truth and beauty.

[crypto-donation-box]

Psychopath Game

It was inevitable that the winding path to Chateau Heartiste, hedged by fragrant nihilismicus viscosum, would culminate, as it traveled past the noble stone house to the woods out back, in a dark place where demons play. And when one ponders the changing nature of the empire within which CH is embedded, it should not surprise to stumble upon these demons at the foul climax of their bacchanalia.

Meet Stanley, the psychopath. This is his story. Pay special attention to his relationships with women. Read about his near-magical power to seduce and charm women to perform services for him that would defy the imagination of the most corrupted and vengeful beta male.

During the summer of 1972 a small item of news appeared in many of our daily newspapers over the country. It was an item that immediately engaged my attention. Over the two short columns was printed this arresting headline:

YOUNG MAN INDUCES FIVE TEEN-AGE GIRLS TO SHAVE THEIR HEADS

The report, as I remember it, did not go into much detail about this unusual event or give an adequate account of the young man’s methods of persuasion, of his motives, or of just what impulses might have prompted the five girls to take such an unusual and, one might even say, such an unnatural step. Among my first thoughts on this accomplishment was that Stanley must surely have been the man who brought it about. Who in the entire world but Stanley would have thought up such an exploit? Who else would have had the inclination to carry it out? Though the news report did not actually identify Stanley as the man involved, it brought back many memories of him over the immediately preceding period of several years when I was trying to deal with him and some of the complicated and unusual problems his behavior kept creating for those concerned with him, and for himself.

Like a number of other patients presented in this book, he repeatedly showed evidence of superior abilities and demonstrated over and over that he could succeed in Studies, in business, in impressing and attracting other people, and in virtually anything he might choose to undertake. And, similarly, he lost, or seemed to throw away, with no sign of adequate motivation, everything he gained, and especially the things that he claimed meant most of all to him.

The psychopath is different than most people. He is missing, or seductively convinces himself that he’s missing, a moral sense, save for that morality which accrues to the self. He may not be evil, but he certainly has the capacity to be evil, for he will have no remorse should he choose evil. An amoral person, whose amorality is perhaps developmentally hardwired, who can’t empathize with the suffering of others and for whom others exist solely as instruments of his pleasure… can this person be described as anything but a demon in human form?

And yet, here again, as we discover so often when examining this subspecies of man closely, women can’t resist the demon’s sway. They drop to their knees to suck his devil seed dry. Why? What is the psychopath’s source of power over women? Clues abound.

Typical of his behavior in high school is an incident that occurred while he was making excellent grades and holding positions of leadership. With no notice or indirect indication of restlessness, Stanley suddenly vanished from the scene. He failed one day to appear at classes and did not show up at home that night. After he had been gone for over two weeks, a period of great anxiety for his parents who had no way of knowing whether he was living or dead, the police finally discovered him working successfully in a large department store in Knoxville, Tennessee, approximately a hundred and fifty miles away. He seemed quite unconcerned with the ordeal to which he had subjected his parents.

The psychopath has mastered the attitude of aloof indifference.

During his first year at the university he was accused by a girl he had recently met of getting her pregnant after solemn promises of matrimony.

Before this trouble was settled by his family, at considerable expense, a similar accusation was made by another girt in a different state.

The psychopath lies with ease. More importantly, he knows what lies are most effective.

To set out without delay on the trip of approximately a hundred miles he casually stole a truck that happened to be at hand. It was heavily loaded with dairy products. State police pursued him, and in the chase he turned over the truck wrecking it and injuring a companion he had persuaded to go along with him. The damages, including hospital bills, cost his family several thousand dollars.

The psychopath is impulsive. He acts recklessly. I’m sure his company is very exciting for the people who have the fortune to meet him.

While still in college, he showed his excellent persuasive abilities during one summer vacation selling Bibles down in the Cajun country near the Gulf of Mexico.

The psychopath is a natural in the art of persuasion.

During this time he was living with his first wife who eventually had to leave him because of his tyrannical demands and his predilection for beating her up severely at the slightest provocation. It is difficult to imagine conduct of this sort in one who ordinarily gives the impression of a well-bred and considerate gentleman.

The psychopath is an occasionally dangerous man, and all the more dangerous for the expertise he brings at concealing his dark nature.

In discussing the first wife’s accusations of such conduct as this, Stanley usually brushed them aside as a typically feminine and somewhat ridiculous exaggeration of some minor disagreement. When confronted with undeniable evidence to the contrary, he admitted having taken mild physical measures to influence her, saying that he “just couldn’t stand her screaming and bawling,” This habit of hers, he said, made him lose his temper. When it was emphasized to him that her weeping and outcries did not precede the beatings but occurred only after the beatings began, he showed very little response. Apparently he felt that this crucial point was not sufficiently important to argue about and seemed to dismiss it without further thought as something virtually irrelevant, or at most a trifle.

The psychopath doesn’t feel genuine feelings, but he can mimic feelings, which is a sufficient talent to attract the interest of women. Never underestimate the number of women who can be bamboozled by phony emoting.

Chiefly because of this physical maltreatment, the first wife left him on many occasions.

Translation: She kept going back to him.

When with her and when separated, he easily obtained employment, usually as a salesman.

The psychopath has state control.

While he worked, his income was ample for any ordinary needs. During one period of prosperity he was very successful selling small computers for household use. He later added as a sideline the enthusiastic promotion and sale of waterbeds, shortly after these were introduced and hailed as a stimulating erotic innovation.

The psychopath seduces employers, customers, and women alike.

Then, without any particular reason, he would give up an excellent job at which he was distinguishing himself.

The psychopath is unpredictable.

Sometimes he would go out merrily and buy on credit several expensive suits and ample supplies of new shoes, shirts, and neckties.

The psychopath peacocks.

Stanley has proved himself a master over the years at misrepresentation in situations where the truth would cause him difficulty or put him in a bad light.

The psychopath never DLVs (demonstrates lower value).

He has also been scarcely less active and ingenious in the fabrication of elaborate lies that seem to have had little or no chance of helping him gain any material objective. […]

On at least one occasion he told a psychiatrist that when he was about 10 years old his mother frequently had adulterous relations in his presence with various men. When the plausibility of this claim was questioned, Stanley explained, or seemed to feel that he explained, by saying, “It was because she knew she could trust me with anything.”

The psychopath loves fucking with people’s heads.

While separated from his wife for a period of several months, he went for a short time with a divorcee not long out of her teens, who will here be designated as Marilyn. During this brief courtship he convinced her that though he had once been married, his wife and also his 2-year-old son had died. Actually they were at the time living in another state with the wife’s parents.

The psychopath does it all for the nookie. Or, rather, he does it all for himself, and the (barely legal) nookie mysteriously follows.

At their first encounter, or soon after, he convinced Marilyn that he was deeply in love with her and had every intention of marrying her. She had no way of knowing that these intentions, if they ever existed, had greatly changed (or that Stanley’s wife was still living) until he came to her with what must have been one of the strangest, most surprising and most inappropriate proposals ever made by man to woman.

He requested and persistently urged Marilyn to write a letter to his wife and in it explain to her that Stanley’s love for her (the wife) was strong and genuine and to implore her to accept and welcome him back without further delay. I have inexpressible respect for this young man’s powers of persuasion and have often marveled at his accomplishments in getting people, sometimes the most unlikely people, enlisted in working with him to bring about his various and sometimes incompatible or absurd aims.

Despite these extraordinary powers, Marilyn could not be induced to take the role that he tried to press upon her, Though extremely shrewd in many ways, Stanley, in discussing this matter, seemed to show some peculiar limitation of awareness, some defect in sensibility, of a nature I cannot describe or clearly imagine. This often led him into gross errors of judgment that even very stupid people would readily see and easily avoid.

The reactions Marilyn must have had to the unusual role he proposed and urged upon her invite many questions. Putting further speculation about these reactions aside for the moment, I asked Stanley if he did not think it might have seriously damaged the cause he sought to further if Marilyn had written the letter to intercede for him. Surely, I thought, it would occur to Stanley that such a letter from the other woman would point out and emphasize his sexual infidelity during the separation.

“Oh, no,” said Stanley, in tones of strong and almost indignant conviction. “My wife knows I’d never be unfaithful to her.”

He then went into some detail about her unassailable confidence in his sexual loyalty. “Why,” he said as if in real pride, “I promised her that if I ever did that with another woman, I’d let her know about it right away.”

I then brought up the point that he had given me plainly to understand that he and Marilyn had been indulging in sexual relations freely and regularly up to the time when he made his request for her intercession. Stanley seemed in no way dismayed. “But my wife,” he said confidently, “She doesn’t know about that.”

The psychopath possesses a vast reservoir of overconfidence and overestimation of the attraction that women have for him. Experience justifies his bloated self-conception.

Something in his attitude seemed to give fleeting and very imperfect hints of a difference far within that distinguished him in a very special way from the usual or ordinary human being who is unscrupulous and unconcerned about veracity or honor. When Stanley said, “My wife knows I’d never be unfaithful,” there was in his tone what seemed to be the very essence of truth and sincerity. There was pride in his voice that seemed rooted in this essence. Could it be that for the moment he lost awareness that he was lying? Perhaps even awareness of what truth is? If so, I think this oversight might have occurred because to him it mattered so little. Whether his sworn fidelity was real or not was apparently no more than an academic question empty of substance. The only tangible issue was whether or not it contributed toward gaining his ends. Whether the fidelity existed or his oath had been honored was, for Stanley, a matter that could interest only a sophist who concerned himself not with actualities, but with mere verbalistic capers.

The psychopath has unshakeable inner game.

On two or three occasions he voluntarily entered psychiatric hospitals, apparently to impress his wife by making her think he had at last realized he needed help and meant to change some of his ways. These visits were brief and fruitless and seemed plainly designed to manipulate domestic situations or to elicit new financial aid from his parents.

The psychopath is always looking out for number one.

His many notable and sometimes puzzling exploits were apparently decided upon and carried off on his own, without extraneous stimulation or chemical aid.

The psychopath loves himself.

In high school, and in college during the late 1960′s, he was often thrown with and sometimes almost surrounded by groups of young people who went about in ragged blue jeans, with unkempt beards and long dirty hair that seemed to offer a standing invitation to lice. With many of these young men it was considered stylish and desirable to leave out their shirttails and, on formal occasions, sometimes to come barefooted. Among these could be found many who thought of themselves as radical activists defying the “establishment” and its laws, moral codes, and conventions. In contrast, Stanley wore traditional clothes, remained clean-shaven with neatly trimmed auburn hair. He seemed to have no special interest in changing or challenging society, or in promoting rebellion. Verbally he expressed allegiance to law and order and regularly identified himself with traditional virtues.

The psychopath is a nonconformist.

Let us note briefly a few examples of Stanley’s typical power to convince and to persuade. A year or two before his second wife had to leave him he had no difficulty in getting a young women to turn over to him all her savings, which she had accumulated by steady work over years and which she had been carefully guarding to give her two young children some measure of security. She had clear knowledge of Stanley’s repeatedly demonstrated financial irresponsibility and, one would think, almost certain knowledge of what would happen to her savings.

The psychopath is so seductive he causes women to lose the normal functioning sense of propriety and self-interest they normally exhibit when in the company of niceguy beta males.

More recently he succeeded in arranging for admission to the hospital of a young woman with whom he had been living for a few weeks. She was legally married to another man but had left his bed and board. Stanley was able somehow to convince the ordinarily strict and uncompromising authorities in charge of admission to this hospital that insurance his employer carried on him would cover this lady in the same way as if she were indeed his wife. She did not claim his name as her own or attempt to falsify otherwise her name and status. When she was dismissed, the hospital was left with a large unpaid account that is almost certain to withstand even the most heroic efforts at collection.

Five minutes of psychopath beats five years of beta husband.

On another occasion, Stanley escaped the consequences of a felony charge by serenely posing as an undercover agent working with the authorities against organized pushers in the hard drug traffic. This ruse apparently worked well enough for him to avoid arrest and to leave the state and eventually to takefurther intricate steps to escape the legal consequences that would almost surely have been disastrous to the ordinary man.

The psychopath loves to role play.

His unusual ability to make conviction spring to life and continue to flourish against adversity, and even obvious contradiction, emerges again in a somewhat different area. An attractive and sensitive young woman whose early years had been extremely unhappy and, perhaps, had given her a far greater than ordinary need for genuine and unstinted love, seemed to find at last in Stanley what she had sought above all else in life. She was separated from her husband and for a long time had been loved dearly by another man who apparently offered her everything in his life without qualification or demand for ordinary reciprocation. Stanley grossly mistreated this appealing sexual partner who continued to live with him despite gross and flaunted infidelity, severe and repeated beatings, and other unprovoked outrages. In attempting to explain why she continued with him despite real fear that he might kill her, she said that somehow he made her feel genuinely loved for the first time in her entire life.

The psychopath knows… CHICKS DIG JERKS.

This statement seemed at first to suggest that Stanley might possess remarkable physical prowess and skill at sexual relations. It also might suggest that his partner was masochistic and actually found some perverse satisfaction from being mistreated. Continuing study of her reactions and her attitude gave increasing, and finally convincing, evidence that in neither of these possibilities lay a likely explanation of her loyalty. The more she discussed their physical activities in sexual relations, the more Stanley’s performance seemed unimaginative and his abilities at best ordinary. What she thought he offered her was not primarily physical. It was, I believe, precisely what he was almost infinitely incapable of offering, even in a small degree, but what he apparently simulated with complete success, casually and without effort. It was, she repeatedly said, the way be made her feel personally valued and cherished, deeply and truly loved, rather than a remarkable sensuously erotic experience that bound her to him. One can but marvel that Stanley, and only Stanley, of all the men she had known, could give her this invincible impression of sincerity in personal love and make it convincing time after time despite the repeated and trenchantly disillusioning contradictions demonstrated so vividly and so painfully, and sometimes brutally, by his conduct.

The psychopath is a maestro of the comfort stage of seduction. He intuitively knows that love, even simulated love, is a drug women can’t live without, and a reagent that dissolves the perimeter defenses of the most hardened cynics. But love is never more intoxicating to women than when it’s extracted, slowly and painfully, from a man who won’t give it up easily.

During another period of marital separation, this time from his second wife, Stanley carried out an exploit worthy of our attention. After a brief sexual adventure with another attractive young woman, Yvette,

Psychopaths keep ten in the kitty.

he apparently tired of her and turned his attentions to Sally, one of her friends from a nearby town.

Psychopaths are preselected by women.

She, too, was responsive and everything seemed to indicate a serious and progressive love affair. This new relationship, however, was abruptly terminated by a sudden trip to Europe that Stanley decided to make for reasons that he never made convincing to me, or even quite clear.

Psychopaths are outcome independent.

[Stanley] claims to have learned from Sally that Yvette was about to leave the country, that she was planning to spend some time in Brussels, and later in other parts of Europe. On hearing this, Stanley says that he called Yvette’s home and was told that Yvette was not there. He, nevertheless, persisted in seeking all sorts of information about her trip, apparently making a nuisance of himself and pressing her father repeatedly for information on points he felt were not properly a matter of Stanley’s concern. The father finally hung up, and afterward neither parent would talk with Stanley on the telephone. They had apparently been unhappy about Yvette’s former association with him and did not want it to be renewed.

Diligent fathers are kryptonite to psychopaths. Single moms are… you finish the sentence.

When asked why he did not get word to Yvette by some simpler means, such as having Sally notify her family, he does not give a really adequate explanation. He repeatedly emphasizes his sense of mission, the urgency of his task, and his determination to fulfill it. He also fills in details of action and adventure on the way to Brussels and while there in such a way as to conceal, or at least almost magically blur, the deficiencies that leave the account of his maneuvers so far from convincing.

Psychopaths are always DHVing (demonstrating higher value).

“Why,” Stanley answered promptly, and in his best tones of knight-errantry, “I’d have done that for anybody.”

It is beyond my power to describe the glibness or convey what I believe to be the lack of substance and reality, the emptiness of real human feeling, in these fine words that came to him so readily.

The psychopath is alien to men, and lover to women.

One gets the impression that Stanley sliced through the ordinarily paralyzing masses of bureaucratic technicalities and red tape with ease and celerity suggestive of Alexander the Great when confronted by the Gordian knot.

In expediting transactions and in manipulating people for this exploit, Stanley must have been at his best. The implausible story about Yvette having carried with her the wrong medicine and its alleged threat of danger to her life must have taken on lyrical notes in his telling.

The psychopath is a skilled storyteller. The content of his stories matter less than the style in which he delivers them.

On the other hand it must be remembered that Stanley has often carried out various extremely injudicious projects, suddenly and with no apparent regard for the consequences, and without any discernible goal that could, in terms of ordinary human motivation, account for his conduct.

Chicks dig a passionate man! Goal-directed passion, pointless caprice, same difference.

There seems little doubt that he grossly exaggerates and indulges in fantastic lies as he recounts his adventures, but there is reason to believe he attracted enough attention with the publicity he gained to persuade first class hotels and restaurants to honor his checks and enable him to live for a while in high style while he pursued his course as a dedicated man on a desperate mission of mercy.

Chicks dig a self-made man.

Here he seemed to find a role that highly elated him in some peculiarly egoistic fashion. In it he seemed to find a satisfaction somewhat similar to but greater than the satisfaction apparently given him by some of his other less elaborate lies and posings and his sprees of squandering money that he did not possess.

Chicks dig narcissistic psychopaths who show more concern for themselves than for the women who love them.

Is there any doubt remaining why women love psychopaths? The psychopath’s character and method is the distilled essence of Game. Of applied charisma.

Psychopath Game is End Game. It’s where a player will go should he decide to pursue his calling to the extremes of accomplishment. All that’s left to wonder is what of the future? Is our world becoming more welcoming to psychopaths and their depredations? Are women, freed from the shackles of reliance on emotionally healthy beta providers, seeking in increasing number the very special attentions of the charming psychopath?

If so, shudder for your posterity. Because that demon retreat awaits them.

[crypto-donation-box]

The title of this post comes courtesy of commenter PA, who writes:

Behold the Twenty Commandments of Involuntary Celibacy:

The comments that follow are awesome — and each is hugely upvoted. A small sampling:

21. Don’t take advice from a columnist that just spews generalizations on Yahoo.
22. Instead, read the Comments section for real advice

Or:

My stomach turned after reading this. If a woman wrote this, no man would want to know her. This is sick. Reason why some men stay players for life, just to remain sane. Even players know when a good woman comes along. Even a player can have a change of heart and or mind.
Such writ-ups are the corner-stones players are built on.

Yes, the “Twenty Commandments of Involuntary Celibacy” is in reference to a Yahoo post called “20 Ways to Please a Woman”, written by a female pop culture borg entity. Here’s a few gems of her vapid boilerplate:

Be understanding if we’re workaholics
Don Draper’s got nothing on us.

Because a woman loves nothing more than a man who only wants to see her five minutes a week, when she isn’t slaving away for the patriarchy.

Don’t expect us to diet
Being skinnier is not that high on our priority list.

But it is high on men’s priority lists. And women don’t stay happy for long when their boyfriends aren’t happy being with them.

Don’t expect us to be gym fiends
Aside from your average stress-busting yoga – but it’s more for the head, not the body. If we want abs, we’ll get them. But not for you.

This is something women tell themselves all the time, but the reality is that looking good feels good because your DNA directive is to make yourself as attractive as possible to men with options, thus ensuring better survival fitness for any future children.

Be cool with the fact that we make more money than you
We can go Dutch!

Then maybe your post should’ve been titled “20 Ways to Please a Man”.

Bring us cookies when we had a crappy day at work.
Storebought or from scratch, either way.

Because there’s nothing like fattening up your girlfriend to make it easier to break her heart and leave her.

Let us watch our Bravo in peace. Better yet, go do something else while we watch.
Tease me all you want, but my addiction to Real Housewives of New Jersey doesn’t mean I’m not still smarter than you. You know it, I know it.

No, watching twat schlock doesn’t necessarily mean you’re dumber, but it is a leading indicator.

Just say what you are feeling instead of being weird.
Use your words like a big boy.

Yes, chicks really dig men who emote profusely like a View hag.

Do the dishes.
We can take turns.

And chicks love men who do the dishes. Oh, wait

Remember our friends’ names, at least the important ones.
No, that’s not Jessica, that’s AMANDA.

You know what you call a man who easily remembers your female friend’s name? A cheater.

Be a good cook.
There’s almost nothing hotter. Especially to a girl who can’t cook.

And there’s almost nothing less attractive than a woman who can’t be bothered to cook a home meal. Be thankful you’re not a fat chick, because that’s worse.

Love our pet, even if you secretly hate our pet.
Especially if it’s a cat.

If you’re considering whether you need to ask permission to do something (like hang out with an ex), ask permission.
She should be cool with it, but it shows that you’re considerate of her feelings.

You know what’s really sexy to women? Toadies.

Read books.
Not just nutritional labels and Men’s Health while you’re on the treadmill.

Swap out Men’s Health for Vogue, and this is about as clear a case of projection as one will find on the vaginanet.

Don’t crash girls nights
No men allowed.

If you’re dating a man who wants to join your girls’ nights out, you’re doing it wrong. Or you’re dating a beta. Same diff.

So there you have it. If you’re a man who never wants to get near a vagina, follow this woman’s guide to pleasing her sex. You’ll be in the friendzone faster than you can unzip your fly and twiddle it to barely legal porn. A leetle rule of thumb you should keep in mind whenever you read nonsense like this article by Anna Breslaw: Women are thinking of that inconsiderate alpha male they really love and whose cock they can’t gobble fast enough when they write empty-headed crap like this. They’re reformulating the alpha’s refusal to commit as their frustration with his inability to suck up like a proper beta male. This sophistic legerdemain makes the pain of the alpha male’s commitment rejection easier to deflect. It’s no longer “his choice”; it’s her choice to live single and free and careening to spinsterhood because he doesn’t do the dishes.

But of course as anyone who’s got the slightest sexual experience with women knows, a woman in love will never let go a man who leaves his underwear on the floor. The alpha male lover is forgiven everything; the beta male wooer nothing.

[crypto-donation-box]

CH really likes the Jerkboy Charisma Game series, so expect to see more of it. Hope you’re copacetic!

Commenter Wrecked ‘Em {space reserved for a rectum joke} writes,

Yesterday, I watched my professional asshole friend run this by a hot girl he barely knew:

Him: you seem sexually frustrated
Her: what?
Him: I think you need your ass tickled
Her: what?!?!? (laughing)
Him: Put your number into my phone
Her: (puts her number into his phone)

Recall Poon Commandment XIII:

Err on the side of too much boldness, rather than too little.

Also recall CH Maxim #30:

When in doubt, ask yourself “WWJD?” What Would a Jerkboy Do? Then do that.

When all else fails, or you’re at a loss for what to do next with a girl, or all you have at your disposal is feeble beta game, then be an asshole. Asshole Game should be your default seduction when you can’t think of more ethical options. You may not like it, but there’s no arguing with results.

[crypto-donation-box]

Reader Charlie Don’t Surf waxed poetical and quasi-biblical,

16 Commandments of Pajamaboy:

First off, I love you
I’ll never look at another woman
You’re my everything
I’ll do anything you say
I’ll do double for you
This is exactly how I feel
You’re my one and only
I’m sorry – I’m sorry – I’m sorry
I won’t play with your emotions
You’re beauty is awe inspiring
I’m so unsure of myself
I’m not good at anything
Best we take it slow
That’s all I got … I’ll get you a towel
You’re my master
If you leave – I’m going to die.

Coming Soon to a marital bathhouse near you: The Wreck of the Pajamaboy Cuckold.

(bring a tissue, because this one is an emotionally charged tearjerker!)

***

First COTW Runner-up is Scray, presenting for your delectation a how-to guide for manipulating gossip whores to your personal advantage,

I’m pretty sure that the greatest, best contrast game to master is ‘snake in the grass’ beta imitation game. Promise commitment, flowers, etc. up until the bang. Then proceed to go full asshole. I would think that this would maximize a man’s short-term mate quality.

If it gets back around to me — and I fucking hope it’s a girl who asks — “oh yeah, I really wanted to give her everything….but she just wasn’t ready.” My word against hers. And since a) girls LOVE fucking over their friends and b) girls are also jealous of their friends and likely to believe the worst….and c) because the girl is better looking than me, so the scenario likely has played out this way before…the chances of me coming out smelling like a rose seem pretty high. Not to mention having a shot at the friend, now.

Leverage women’s natural dispensation to backstab other women to your advantage, i.e., “muddy the estrogenic waters”. A helpful reminder: A lot of naturals are really as malign as evidenced in the ploy above. But they don’t put their machinations to pen on internet forums, or, really, think much at all about their actions. Plausible deniability is king of kings.

We discuss what works here, not necessarily what’s righteous in the eyes of the Chateau Overlord. “He said, she said” can backfire, though, especially if the “He” is a dude most women would automatically distrust. So I wouldn’t classify it as any sort of tried-and-true Game technique; it’s just an old-fashioned lie that can occasionally pay big dividends (if you don’t care about the long-term fallout).

***

Second COTW Runner-up is none other than that flatus of nature known as da GBFM,

loxoxozozzzozooz

wheneverd da GBFM see his twelve inch lotoattss cockas againstz her milky white skin and blond puzuzyyzyzyzyzyz, dat is high contrast game!!! zllzlzzzo

Finally figured it out. The lozzololzzzlol is GBFM motorboating.

[crypto-donation-box]

Following on the heels of archival microfiche documenting the efficacy of jerkboy charisma game in the textual wild, comes this from a reader,

I’m always amazed by how right you are with your text game advice.

One of my areas of weakness had always been my text game.  6 months after reading your blog this shit is happening.  She’s the gray and I’m the green below.  Thanks man!

Attached was this screenshot of a text word count ratio that looks very favorable for the man.

Harkening to the previous post, the take-home lesson here is not the specific wording he used in his reply, but the game concepts he upheld. In this instance, he “pushed” her away by ignoring her plea, teased her by promptly offering to watch a show she didn’t want to watch, and then “assumed the sale” by not bothering to wait for her response before suggesting — no, commanding — she meet him at his stated time.

Also beside the point are complaints that this isn’t game because “she already knows him”. Look folks, game never stops, because women’s sexual psychologies never stop functioning. You think just because some girl previously agreed to a date with you that that means you can stop acting like the charming bastardo you unloaded on her the first go-round?

Naturally, differences in the structure of your game will accompany the type of relationship you have with the woman in question. Most notably, if you and her just met in a crowded noisy venue, you’ll have to be more aggressive and intentional to seal the deal and avoid any misconstrual that you’re a boring beta or a seeker of asexual friendship. If you have known her for a few dates and a sexual or romantic relationship has yet to be nailed down to your satisfaction, then an air of relaxed aloofness will assume a larger role in your game. If you have been banging her for six months, and she’s hooked, then you’ll want to solidify the relationship (if that’s your goal) with more displays of beta provisioning.

A sad woman left the following comment (scroll down) to a post about an OkCupid experiment in dating profiles which CH covered in detail here.

An even more insightful “study” would be to do the same thing but use people of similar attractiveness but different ages. I am in my 40’s and I receive virtually no messages. I did the Match thing for six months and sent over 200 messages, all of which were “custom” to the guy I was contacting. I can’t stand cut and paste emails, not to mention they’re obviously cut and paste. I got fewer than 10 responses. In six months. What I have taken away from this whole experience is if you’re female and your age starts with a number equal to or higher than 4 (I’m 45) it is not going to be a great experience. And if, like me, you’re tall (5’11″) it’s going to be even worse.

Dating sites exist to make a profit, and that means by necessity and in accord with the nature of their market and consumer sentiment they must push a silo full of pretty lies. If they were to come out and say “ugly, fat and older women and boring, poor and loser men need not apply”, that would cut into revenues. And probably provoke an idiotic discrimination lawsuit which serves the betterment of absolutely nothing.

So dating sites package their pretty lies in pabulum like “customization” and “29 dimensions of compatibility to find your perfect match” that specifically ping the hopefulness radars of lovelorn women and the men who follow where those women go. Keep hope alive, because when you can’t find a date in the real world, hope is all you have left.

Never are the inherent limitations of online dating sites more apparent than when the eFallacy marketing fluff meets the massive edifice of the Wall. The Splat Protocol is that event horizon when aging beauties become like the beta males they ignored in their youth, now reduced to spending hours and hours working feverishly on their arid, online dating profiles only to be rewarded with crumbs of lackluster attention from those very same men.

The lesson here is that cultural leverage in whatever form has to be brought to bear on the inflated egos and runaway narcissism of American women to guide them to wise life decisions. This wisdom would include reminders to settle down young while they still have the glow of natural rosiness in the cheeks, and warnings against imagining internet dating is some kind of reprieve from the merciless judgment of the God of Biomechanics.

when the wall… comes rising into view
when the wall… comes closing in on you
when the wall… is looming all arouuuund
– Jane “Cougar” Mellentramp

UPDATE

Commenter Wrecked ‘Em (rectum? I nearly wrecked em!) writes,

And on the flip side, 50 y.o. friend changed his match profile to imply that he looks younger than his age, has younger friends, that women his age can’t hang, and finally listed his real income, which is over match’s top spot of $150k/yr… then dropped his minimum age on “looking for” to 28.

He then proceeded to like photos and favorite plenty of women in the 28-32 age range, wholly ignoring what age of man they were supposedly interested in. Based on the response he’s seen thus far his new theory is that the hotter the girl is the more likely she’ll respond. He’s swimming in it after only a week of this.

Given compensatory attributes (game, wealth, looks, overconfidence, preselection by younger women/friends), a man can easily date women significantly younger than himself. Women, in contrast, have little ability to compensate for their aging.

The Wall comes to all, but men have the option to outflank it for a while. Women can only watch in horror as it bears down on them.

[crypto-donation-box]

The question put before us, gentlemen, is why the President of the United States, Barack Hussein Obama, lies about the sex wage gap and the nature of its origin and scope, as he recently did during his State of the Union address, and in so doing assists in propelling it further into the media narrative as the nefarious plotting of boogymen misogynists, when an obscene preponderance of evidence exists in the literature on the subject disproving any favored notion that the sex wage gap is caused by male discrimination or similar hobbyhorses of the cackling feminist collective.

Gentlemen, ignorance of the facts is no excuse for propagating lies and stupidity, particularly when those lies cause real suffering to segments of the population, but willful ignorance is especially inexcusable in the President of the United States of America, Barack Hussein Obama. Of all men, he should know best the power of lies from a public representative to contort opinion and sacralize injustice against political enemies. Of men of station, he is most keenly aware of the truth and the requisite need to seek it, and so his insistence on spreading bald lies is all the more malevolent, coming as it does from a fount of spite and ill-will rather than a forgivable foolishness usually characteristic of the lower classes.

Why does President Barack Hussein Obama lie, then? More importantly, how can we, the assembled, end his reign of lies? You gather here, under the stone carapace of this haunt, to discuss just these weighty matters. Intimations of revolt whisper in the halls. Mutterings of secession, even civil war, trickle like condensation from winter windows. A slow heating rage, its potency strengthened by patient superintendence, arcs like static electricity on the deep pile rugs.

The verdict is unchallenged. President Barack Hussein Obama is a willful liar. He lies with breathtaking expediency and has as little concern for the truth as suits his political calculations or personal pique. He is aided in his mendacity by coteries of lickspittles and an opposition, such as it is, of cowards. Any hope that the light of truth might penetrate the hardened bunker of the current administration and its houses of sniveling, ineffectual partisans must be abandoned. The truth rarely glides to prominence on the feathered wings of angels. Instead, it drips from the bloody edge of swords.

[crypto-donation-box]

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