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Denying Women Sex Is Psychologically Lethal

Apr 1st, 2011 by

It’s also a fantastic game technique. As women are the gatekeepers to sex, it is implicitly understood that they will be the ones to choose when and where to give it up, and men, for the most part, fall in line with this implied narrative accordingly. And that is why they fail. But flip the script on women — that is, be the one to play hard to get, and the one to be coy about the chance for sex — and you will have mindfucked your seduction target so thoroughly she will find herself, against all her natural proclivities, working hard for your sexual lavishment.

Reader “Alpha Newb” emails:

I came across your blog about 3 wks. ago and I’m fully convinced it’s the best thing on the web for males.  My only regret is that I didn’t come across this damn thing about 10 years ago when it could have really helped me in high school.  Anyways, I’m a young male in my upper 20’s with a mix of beta and alpha qualities (now I’ve finally found ways to weed out the beta) and I wanted to share a success story after spending a couple weeks on your site:

My g/f and I were in a fight and then made up.  She started kissing me and I told her I didn’t feel like messing around, given everything that had happened earlier.  She said ok and the night went on as normal.  A few hours later she went into her room and came out in nothing but a thong, jumped on top of me, and started making out with me.  Now this is where I would have normally given in but taking things I had learned from this site I stuck with what I had told her earlier.  I pushed her off and told her she needed to respect my earlier decision not to get physical that night. She gave a bunch of typical whinny girl pleas until she finally gave up, whimpering and defeated.  When I was about to leave she finally let me in on what was going on in her head and here is what she said word for word:

“I’m just afraid you’re going to leave here feeling really empowered and I just don’t like that.”

Seriously, her words.

Need I say more…

no, but two days later when I saw her again she was begging for it like never before and I gave it to her and she enjoyed it multiple times.  The hamster had been in full sprint mode for two days and I could tell.

I am in debt to you my friend for your wisdom.

My g/f is as well for the multiple orgasms.

-Alpha Newb

Also, one more question, if a girl finds out you are running systemized game on her, is it systemized game over?

The empowered line is probably her hamster rationalizing why she felt hornier when you denied her sex. The underlying ancestral ape-brain reason has to do with your value shooting through the roof vis-á-vis her value, and how that dynamic arouses her beyond anything she had thought possible. She didn’t want to have sex with you to regain hand, at least not subconsciously; she wanted sex with you because your upper hand inflamed her desire.

It’s not entirely a rationalization, though. Women do feel worry — something akin to dread — when their lovers show signs of sexual apathy. A woman’s main relationship currency is her vagina and her looks. When those go, so goes the relationship if the man has any sort of dating market options at all. (If she has him legally tied and bound in the straitjacket of marriage, the relationship can linger for decades in an asexual limbo.) A man who has the presence of mind and the cool as fuck calm to deny sex to his GF is a man who, in her hamster-fueled mind, is halfway out the door, or even fucking some strange on the side.

Women, in other words, feel most empowered — and thus most secure — in an unmarried relationship only so long as they inspire uncontrollable lust in their men. A man who is on the fence with his sexual desire, or a man who seems marginally committed to investing his emotional and physical payload — that is, a man who has supernatural stoic control of his lust —  can extract all kinds of kinky sexual concessions from his woman. See: Story of O.

Given that, there is reason for women to want to maintain sexual hand in a relationship. While young slender women generally have options (if not an inclination) to fuck around profligately with any available loser, men don’t have that sort of readily exchangeable sexual barter. So a man who impresses upon a woman that he has options — through the game tactics of takeaways, push/pull, jealousy plotlines or sex denying — sets himself apart from the mass of men, and instills an excruciating level of worry, and lust, in his lover.

Denying women sex is a huge DHV. It’s also one of the simpler ways to instantly raise your value relative to her. So why do so few men avail themselves of this technique? The answer goes beyond mere horniness. Men are conditioned from pre-birth to play the roles of pleasers, toadies, wish fulfillers, suckups, courters, suitors, impressers, approval seekers and ego assuagers when relating to attractive girls. From the first strand of DNA, men have an innate compulsion to “win” women over. To win their approval, their admiration, their pats on the back. It is difficult not only to recognize this compulsion within each of us, but to upend it and do exactly the opposite.

And yet doing the opposite will get you more sex with hotter women. It is one of the weirdest paradoxes of humanity. Do you want to be one of those lapdogs begging for scraps from “empowered” women, or do you want women tripping over themselves trying to please you sexually? Have you made your decision for Lucifer yet? Then deny your GF, your date, your wife sex. Not all the time, of course. But enough times to keep her in a perpetual state of anxiety and heightened arousal.

There are many ways to capture the essence of denying sex without actually turning a girl down for sex as she’s straddling you in a thong. For instance:

– Cut dates short. Always end dates before the girl does.

– Get her lubed up with make-outs and finger banging, then stand up and announce you have to leave to get up early for a business trip in the morning. Watch the shocked look of unresolved horniness plaster her face. She’ll offer anal before close of the fourth date.

– “Not right now, I’ve got a headache.” It’s doubly effective when men use this line.

– Tell her you’re going to fuck her when you get home, and then forget to do it.

– And the most brutal sex denying method?

…

…wait for it…

……waaaaaaaait for it………

Abruptly stop banging her right in the middle of sex. Tell her you’re tired of fucking and you need some rest. Or don’t say anything at all. Just… stop. And roll over to sleep. Don’t sound spiteful. Everything is done matter-factly. This will fry her brain. Her hamster will be thinking about what it all means for months, maybe years.

Naturally, the above require a dose of self-discipline that many men either don’t have, or have never bothered to cultivate. Men’s horniness is leagues more intense and instantaneous than women’s, though women can reach greater heights of horniness with the right lover and given enough fulfilled preconditions. But hey, if you want to succeed at this game, a little sacrifice means a greater reward down the road.

To the emailer’s question:

I’ve never known a girl to leave because she found out she was gamed into bed. If anything, they become more aroused and intrigued by such knowledge.

[crypto-donation-box]

Posted in Game, Psy Ops | Comments Off

Why Game Is Important For Fathers

Mar 29th, 2011 by

A reader emailed a heartbreaking story to the Chateau. I reprint it here in the full because there is so much in it that could serve as lessons in life, alphaness and fatherhood. As you read it, prepare to cringe. Do you see a little of yourself in the father? In the son?

******

I really don’t know who else i could write to about this.

Today i was out for lunch with my dad. Sushi, as it was. My father isn’t the most assertive man, I’ve come to realize. but when this half-baked early 20’s asian in skater jeans and ray ban corrective glasses doesn’t bring us our food until we ask about it a half hour later, and still gets it wrong, and then continues to delay most of our food we have to leave before we get to eat the half of it. I was ready to get in the face of the woman at the register, but i thought it was my dad’s place to do so, since he was buying and he is my father. but he bumbled up to the counter,

“um, excuse me, our food was late and we didn’t get to eat it all…” He trailed off. The woman behind the counter looks up with her eyes glazed over, and gives him the bill.

“no, no, i don’t know if i should pay full price…”

she points to the bill which says (10% off -2.59)
BEFORE tax.

so he paid the 30 dollar bill with his two dollars off. i was thoroughly embarrassed. but it was worse. as i’m trying to ignore him, hoping he makes a bigger stand, he touched his hand to my face. it took me a second to realize that this was a playful slap.

“what was that?”
i knew what it was. he had such repressed aggression that he needed to let it out through momentary displays of dominance over his 18-year-old son.

“i just hit you.” he said in a goofy snorting voice, looking at the ground. still in front of the cashier. this was all to win the approval of a 5-foot asian woman in a tank top because he couldn’t stand up to her.

and then there’s my mom, the opposite. imposing, commanding, domineering, unbelievable condescending. she’s a executive director of a research facility. she actually says the only way to get along with her is to say you understand what she’s saying and leave it alone. of course, she can’t see that that’s batshit crazy.

They’re divorced of course.

The issue is, I’m their child. They’re both too deep in their own delusions to even notice that they’re destroying me. and so are my friends. I feel like I’m getting sucked into it. im submitting to my mom, when i used to make her laugh when she was trying to tell me what i’ve done wrong. I finished high school, with no motivation to continue my education. i spend most of my free time in front of a computer. I work a shitty job that I can’t even focus at. I haven’t had sex in months. when i’m at a party i’m more self conscious than i’ve ever been in my life. I can’t hold a conversation like i used to.

my friends suck,
AND I CAN’T STAND THE GIRLS I MEET
I’ve had sex with girls i don’t actually like, and it’s boring as hell.

I’m losing my wit, i’m losing my figure, im losing my ability to be extroverted, i’m losing my will to live.

how do i stay afloat? why should i stay afloat?
A sea of bullshit smells just as bad when you’re on the top of it.

how can i stop this death spiral when there’s nothing i want to hold onto?

I’m hoping for words of wisdom, but putting my long-winded whining in its proper place could be just as helpful.

******

Brutally bare. You’ve just had an insider’s look at the sordid details of a beta father’s life, and the wake of destruction such betaness leaves on the psyches of those around him — his son, his ex-wife and himself, not to mention the automatic disrespect it engenders in strangers. If you are a man and this story doesn’t reach out and punch you in the sternum, you have no life experience and no heart. A better advertisement for learning game to overcome beta weakness I can’t imagine.

Betaness isn’t some grand scheme or bodily disorder. Betaness manifests in the little things, like a father’s inability to square up to a waitress for bad service or his repressed anger played out in subtle dominance moves over his son. When we speak of game being a lethal tool to lift a man up from betaness, we mean it is the little things that game fixes. Forgetting this leads one to easily scoff at game as some kind of magic elixir or cult hypnosis. But focus on the tiny details, fix them one by one, and suddenly a new man appears before you, almost like magic.

If you are a father and you don’t approve of game as a means to pick up women, at least recognize its transformative power to improve your relations with your wife and children, particularly any sons you may have. Your son looks up to you as a leader and a masculine icon, almost despite yourself. When you renege on that implicit promise, he becomes disoriented, even self-loathing. If you are divorced, your son’s time with his cunty domineering single mother will only worsen his state of mind. As the country veers into a dystopia of single momhood and lonely, sackless beta divorcees, expect to see more sons with stories like the one told above. Nothing good can come of it.

Knowing this, learning game is practically a vital imperative. Maybe you can live with yourself as a sniveling little beta shit who can’t chew out — or at least neg — a young asian chick who deserves it because you get all flustered in her presence, but can you live with the pain and embarrassment it causes your son?

Readers generally fall into two camps with regards to the ability of the typical man to understand and apply game. Some believe attractiveness to women is a genetic bestowal, while others believe game, i.e. charisma, can be learned by any man. The answer is somewhere in the gray middle. Yes, some men are born with an incipient natural charm and others are born with the requisite intelligence to parse game concepts, and these men will excel at learning game far beyond what an omega will get from it. Yet there are thousands, maybe millions by this point, of men who have seen improvements in their love lives and their family lives accrue from the blessings of game. These men did not start out with Class A genetic endowments. Their very existence proves that sheer willpower — the will to mold their environments, and themselves, to their advantage — can mean the difference between being the father in this young man’s story and being a better man his son would be proud to call dad.

Stories like the above show that betaness is not solely, or even primarily, a genetic curse. A father’s actions have real repercussions on his son’s trajectory in life. The father in the story acted horribly beta and his son was aware of it. His low status behavior left a lasting imprint on his son’s soul, and as a result the son’s self-conception has been altered, and now careens down a darker path, into deep thickets and waist-high bogs bubbling with doubt and anger. This is one way in which generational betaness is passed on, from father to son.

Imagine a different scenario had played out. A GAME scenario.

Today i was out for lunch with my dad. Sushi, as it was. My father is a serene man with a well of righteous dignity, I’ve come to realize. when this half-baked early 20’s asian in skater jeans and ray ban corrective glasses doesn’t bring us our food until my dad asks if there’s a kitchen fire holding up our order, and still gets it wrong, and then continues to delay most of our food we have to leave before we get to eat the half of it. I was ready to get in the face of the woman at the register, but i thought it was my dad’s place to do so, since he was buying and he is my father. He strode up to the counter, chin high and chest out:

“I won’t be paying this bill today. Our food was late and we didn’t get to eat it. If you have a problem with that perhaps I could let the other patrons here know how incredibly poor your service is.” He motioned to the diners seated neraby. The woman behind the counter looks up with worry in her eyes, and offers to give him a free meal and a 50% reduction on the bill.

“My son might come here to eat another time. I expect him to be served respectfully.”

As i’m beaming with pride for my father, he puts his hand on my shoulder and leads me out of the restaurant.

“I got you the waitress’s number, son. Don’t forget to make fun of her glasses.”

Impossible? One weekend reading this blog and that father could have saved his son’s soul that day. He might even have saved his marriage, but judging by the description of the mother, I’m not sure he’d have wanted to once he figured out that game gave him the ability to date more women. And better women.

The only advice I have for the young man who emailed me is the following:

1. Stop beating up on yourself and acting so goddamned melodramatic. You have much insight for your age. Your intelligence will take you far. Now what you need is calm and wisdom.

2. This too shall pass.

3. The big picture trumps the little picture.

4. Stay away from your mother as much as humanly possible. She is damaged goods for you. Single moms, even your own flesh and blood, are poison for your growth as a man and a ladykiller.

5. For that matter, stay away from your father. Unless he is willing to change, he will only continue to infect you with his beta loser stench. Harsh words, I know, but your well-being trumps all.

6. If you are not ready to give up on either of your parents, then show your father this blog. Tell him to read from day one. Enlightenment is a mouse click away.

7. Show your mother this blog too. Expect hysterics.

8. Stand up to your mother. From what you have written, she sounds like an emotional vampire who demands payment in obeisance and comes to loathe those who give her what she wants. Fuck that noise. Get back to the cocky/funny that you used to be around her.

9. If all the above fail, consider physically moving away from these parasites. Friends, family, everyone. Gather your savings, quit your job, and move to a new city or even a new country.

10. Someday you will die. But that day is not today. Now is the time to live.

[crypto-donation-box]

Posted in Beta, Escape, Hope and Change, The Good Life | Comments Off

The Most Alpha Song Ever

Mar 28th, 2011 by

There were a lot of quality suggestions for alpha songs from readers in the comments to this post. Too many choices from too many different genres to properly choose a number one alpha song of all time. But any list of top ten alpha songs should include “Hey Mister” by Custom, and “Homecoming” by The Teenagers. Read the lyrics and you’ll understand why these two songs are Chateau-approved for your listening pleasure.

“Hey Mister”

Hey Mister I really like your daughter,
I’d like to eat her like ice cream
maybe dip her in chocolate

Hey Mister on your way over
in your Volvo, suit, and tie
We’ll be crawling in your bed soon
messing around, maybe getting high

It’s not what ya did,
It’s not what ya didn’t
God gave her a perfect body
and now I’m all up in it.

It’s not she’s a tramp.
It’s not she’s not pure.
She just likes getting her fuck on,
and it’s a good one of that I’m sure

Hey Mister I really like your daughter.
When I’m horny like thirsty
She’s a bottle of water.

Hey Mister how’d it get so bad
You raised her so well
and now she’s calling me dad
in the back seat naked of
a new Volkswagen
the perfect little gift for
high school graduation.

It’s not what ya did,
It’s not what ya didn’t
God gave her a perfect body
and now I’m all up in it.

[chorus]

I eat all the food in your fridge
Call my friends around the world
Rack up your long distance do
Breakstands neutral drops
Wreck all your cars
Drink all the booze in your
cheezy ass wet bar
Order stuff on your credit cards
Leave boogers in the skippy jar
Smoke your cigars
Answer the phone tell your
boss you moved to mars
When you call in late from
work tell your wife
You’re at the titty bars

[chorus]

I can’t lie I have to tell the truth
My commandments says I’m a total spoof
Your daughter’s a freak
Your daughter’s a pro
When i’m done with her
She’ll do one of your bros

I hope I’ll never have a daughter
I hope I’ll never have a daughter
I hope I’ll never have a daughter
I hope I’ll never have a daughter

This song hits a couple of important Chateau themes:

1. Chicks are at their hottest between 15 and 25.

2. Every father’s worst fear is having his hot teen daughter hook up with a player.

What man can’t sympathize with the singer’s lament in the final stanza?

******

“Homecoming”

[male] “last week, I flew to san diego to see my auntie.
on day one, I met her hot step-daughter.
she’s a cheerleader, she’s a virgin, and she’s really tan.
as she stepped out of her massive car,
I could only notice she was more than fuckable.
I think she was coming back from the game or something,
’cause she was holding those silly pom-poms
on day two, I fucked her, and it was wild.
she’s such a slut.”

[chorus]
[male] I fucked my american cunt
[female] I loved my english romance
[male] I fucked my american cunt
[female] I loved my english romance
[male] it was dirty, a dream came true
just like I like it, she’s got nice tits
[female] it was perfect, a dream came true
just like a song by blink 182

[female] “ok, listen girls:
I met the hottest guy ever.
basically, as I was stepping out of my SUV,
I came face to face with my step-cousin or whatever, who cares?
anyway, he was wearing skinny jeans, had funky hair
and the cutest british accent ever.
straight away, I could tell he was rocker
from his sexy attitutde and the way he looked at me.
mmmmmm, he is totally awesome!
oh my god, I think i’m in love”

[chorus]
[male] I fucked my american cunt
[female] I loved my english romance
[male] I fucked my american cunt
[female] I loved my english romance
[male] it was dirty, a dream came true
just like I like it, she’s got nice tits
[female] it was perfect, a dream came true
just like a song by blink 182
[male] I fucked my american cunt
[female] I loved my english romance
[male] I fucked my american cunt
[female] I loved my english romance

[male] “it was so nice to meet you”
[female] “the pleasure was all mine, I do like you
come to cancun for spring break”
[male] “I’ll think about it, it could be great”
[female] “and don’t forget to send me a friend request!”
[male] “as if!”

Not only is this song funny (the alternating lines between the male and female singer satirizing the different ways men and women view hook ups is a highlight), but it even takes a few stabs at the consumption habits, entitlement complexes and general sluttiness of American princesses.

The readers who nominated Motorhead’s Lemmy and Kyuss/Queens of the Stone Age’s Josh Homme as alpha rock n rollers par excellence are correct. I would also add GG Allin to that illustrious list. Defecating on stage and self-mutilation were just the tip of the iceberg with that fucked up badass. Even his planned funeral was alpha:

There were two wakes for GG, one was a traditional Irish wake and the other was his rock and roll wake, according to GG’s mother Arleta. At his funeral, Allin’s bloated, discolored corpse was dressed in his black leather jacket and trademark jock strap. He had a bottle of Jim Beam beside him in his casket, per his wishes (openly stated in his self-penned acoustic country ballad, “When I Die”). As part of his brother’s request, the mortician was instructed not to wash the corpse (which smelled strongly of feces), or apply any makeup. The funeral became a wild party. Friends posed with the corpse, placing drugs and whiskey into its mouth. As the funeral ended, his brother put a pair of headphones on Allin. The headphones were plugged into a portable cassette player, in which was loaded a copy of The Suicide Sessions.

GG Allin — NOT a beta provider. Or a beta die-er.

[crypto-donation-box]

Posted in Alpha, Culture, Music | Comments Off

More Women Have Rape Fantasies Than Previously Thought

Mar 28th, 2011 by

Science is validating unflinching, real world observation with progressively closer glimpses of the id beast lurking underneath our polite and self-deceptive exteriors. Today, science strips away the ego and superego from women’s brains and peers into the sticky, cobwebbed limbic interior to see what really turns them on.

The nature of women’s rape fantasies: an analysis of prevalence, frequency, and contents.

This study evaluated the rape fantasies of female undergraduates (N = 355) using a fantasy checklist that reflected the legal definition of rape and a sexual fantasy log that included systematic prompts and self-ratings. Results indicated that 62% of women have had a rape fantasy, which is somewhat higher than previous estimates. For women who have had rape fantasies, the median frequency of these fantasies was about 4 times per year, with 14% of participants reporting that they had rape fantasies at least once a week. In contrast to previous research, which suggested that rape fantasies were either entirely aversive or entirely erotic, rape fantasies were found to exist on an erotic-aversive continuum, with 9% completely aversive, 45% completely erotic, and 46% both erotic and aversive.

62%. That’s a majority, folks. A majority of women fantasize on average four times per year about being forcefully and nonconsensually penetrated. Nearly two out of ten women fantasize about rape at least once a week. If that doesn’t convince you of the animal nature of women’s sexuality and their deepest desire to submit to a more powerful lover, nothing will. Oh, except watching forlornly as jerks and assholes walk off with the girl of your dreams.

For those wondering what the difference is between “aversive” and “erotic” rape, here is a description culled from a number of studies examining female sexuality (with the important point bolded):

According to Kanin, erotic rape fantasies contain low to moderate levels of fear with no realistic violence. In these fantasies, women typically are approached aggressively by a dominant and attractive male who is overcome with desire for her; she feels or expresses nonconsent and presents minimal resistance; he overpowers her and takes her sexually. Kanin made the interpretation that these were not true rape fantasies, that the described resistance amounted to a “token no,” and he called these “seduction fantasies.” Participants themselves characterized these as rape situations, however, and the self-character in these fantasies showed nonconsent. As no evidence was presented that the self-character’s nonconsent was insincere, the label of “seduction” does not seem justified. [Ed: Feminists wept.] Certainly, in actual rapes minimal resistance and female sexual arousal do sometimes occur (Duddle, 1991; Johnson, 1985), and their occurrence would not render the encounter a seduction rather than a rape.

Aversive rape fantasies come closer to representing realistic rape. In these fantasies, the male is more likely to be older, unattractive, and a stranger. These fantasies contain coercive and painful violence, and little or no sexual arousal. A typical scenario for an aversive fantasy would consist of an assailant “grabbing, throwing to the ground, ripping off clothing, while the victim is fighting to keep the aggressor from achieving penetration” (Kanin, 1982, p. 117). Kanin found that women with aversive rape fantasies were more apprehensive about actual rape and more likely to have dreams of rape than were other women. The more aversive rape fantasies may operate as attempts to deal with the fear of actual rape by gaining some sense of control over rape situations and rehearsing how one might deal with actual rape (Gold & Clegg, 1990; Gold, et al., 1991).

Feminists who lamely try to handwave away rape fantasies as just another form of BDSM consensual sex are wrong. As the studies show, there is no consensual seduction as widely understood in women’s rape fantasies. They are about rape, and nothing but the rape. The only difference is in how violently the rapist penetrates her in her fantasy and in how much of a fight she puts up to stop him. In neither case, though, could the rape fantasy be reasonably termed a consensual seduction.

Ironically, aversive rape fantasies are the ones feminists would be more inclined to believe as true reflections of the female id, because those are the types of rape fantasies that women have to deal with the fear of rape. Too bad for the feminists, though, that, according to the first study linked above, aversive rape fantasies account for only 9% of all rape fantasies, with the great majority being either solely erotic in nature or a mix of erotic and aversive. Seems the ladies really do get off on the feeling of being raped by a strong and willful man.

Nothing in these studies should be a surprise to readers of this blog. It has been noted here, to much consternation and gnashing of the teeth by haters, that women secretly desire to submit to a powerful man — more powerful than they, at any rate — and that this desire sometimes includes a nonconsensual component. Women love the feeling of being overtaken by a man unbendable in his will and unstoppable in his lust.

Some of you might be wondering how valid is a study that only looked at female undergraduates. To that criticism, I say: Would it make a difference? The most sexually valuable women are in the age range of 15-25. Any older than 25 and she is past her prime, already beginning the descent to sexual irrelevancy. (Exception: A fat 21 year old who loses weight and regains a sexy figure at age 30 will look better than her 21 year old self. But this effect only lasts so long.)

When men want to know what arouses women so that they can tailor their game for maximum effectiveness, they observe the behavior patterns of slender women in their primes. Men do not wonder, nor do they care, what cougars, fatties, frumpy hausfraus or grandmothers fantasize about. So for all of you has-beens emphatically denying that you ever have rape fantasies and shouting from the mountaintop that you wouldn’t date jerks…

…who gives a flying fuck?

[crypto-donation-box]

Posted in Girls, The Id Monster, Ugly Truths | Comments Off

The Most Beta Song Ever

Mar 26th, 2011 by

“Calling You”, Blue October.

Here’s a sample of the lyrics:

Theres something that i cant quite explain
i’m so in love with you
you’ll never take that away

and if i said a hundred times before
expect a thousand more
you never take that away

well expect me to be
calling you to see
if you’re ok when i’m not around
asking if you love me
i love the way you make it sound
calling you to see
do i try too hard to make you smile
to make a smile

well i will keep calling you to see
if you’re sleepin are you dreamin and
if you’re dreamin are you dreamin of me
i cant believe
you actually picked…me

Truly puke-inducing. A non-rockstar taking the message of this song to heart would ensure himself years of involuntary celibacy. Shame, too, because it’s a catchy tune. And therein lies its nefarious power. The music lulls you into a false sense of comfortable masculinity while the lyrics fill your head with a message that would shrivel the testicles of a bull moose.

Runner-Up Beta Song:

“She’s So High”, Tal Bachman

Any nominees for most alpha song of all time? And no cheesy tunes like “Born in the USA” or anything by a 1980s hair band singing about banging chicks on car hoods or riding the road alone. Although I would accept “Hot for Teacher” as a legit contender. I got my pencil! Not sure if the early 90s grunge era qualifies. Nirvana and Pearl Jam sound superficially alpha but their messages are borderline limp-wrist. They were the emo prototypes, after all. Music in the 2000s took a decided turn for the beta, which should tell us something about the quality of “men” now populating America. Arcade Fire and MGMT make great music, but let’s face it, they’re kind of faggy. Muse might be the closest thing to an alpha band we have at the moment. (I consider rap and hip hop to be cartoon versions of alpha, which is not as bad as being beta, but not up to amused mastery levels. Rap is like the bellowing douchebag at a bar who assertively but sloppily hits on a girl, gets rejected, and then calls her a bitch.)

It’s looking more and more like the last of the great alpha songs ended sometime in the late 70s. This perfectly mirrors the general decline of America. Discuss amongst yourselves.

[crypto-donation-box]

Posted in Beta, Culture, Goodbye America, Tool Time | Comments Off

Dating A Vegetarian Girl Is A Sacrifice

Mar 25th, 2011 by

This comment from Quant reminded me of a girl I used to date:

And it doesn’t matter how bad she wants to save the planet, it would better for my image of her if she flushes after doing number 1 instead of “letting it mellow.”

Too funny. The girl I dated would say the same exact thing to me.

Me: [getting up in the morning to pee and seeing yellow water in the bowl] Gross. Yo, babe, you forgot to flush.

Her: I didn’t forget. If it’s yellow let it mellow.

Me: Why?

Her: It’s good for the environment.

Me: I didn’t know we were in a prolonged drought. Is toilet water in short supply?

Her: You shouldn’t waste water.

Me: My god the urine smells so bad it’s singeing my nose hairs.

Her: All right, give it a rest.

Me: What if I have to take a dump? Your urine water is gonna splash back up on my baby smooth ass cheeks. Is that supposed to turn me on?

Although the above conversation sounded fun and teasing, I never could see my ex the same way again after that traumatic morning I first saw her yellow pee water. Something triggered in the primitive sex part of my brain and she instantly lost 0.5 sexual market value points. The end was sealed by an unflushed toilet.

YelloMello Girl was also a 5-year vegetarian (shocker!). No meat or fish whatsoever. Her diet consisted of pasta, bread, beans, sprouts, quinoa, cereal, carrots and trail mix. For a vegetarian, I rarely saw her eat truly outstanding (and paleo-approved) vegetables like broccoli and kale. Although she had a nice figure from running and biking all the goddamned time, her un-made-up skin was sometimes blotchy. When the sun glinted off her cheeks, I could tell that her diet was going to result in premature wrinkling for her.

Dating a vegetarian girl is no fun. (This is primarily a female phenomenon. Heterosexual vegetarian men are so rare in the state of nature that few women have experience dealing with one.) A simple formula for those who need a demographic breakdown of vegetarians: Vegetarianism = single female SWPL.

One of the sublime pleasures in life is a medium rare filet mignon with a glass of pinot noir. Grazer girls rob you of enjoying this pleasure to the fullest. Sure, vegetarians will insist that they don’t judge you for your carnivorous barbarity, but you can easily observe her judging you in all the little mannerisms and passive-aggressive quirks she throws your way.

For some reason, grazers are highly offended by the smell of bacon. If you happen to cook bacon for yourself when she’s staying over, grazer girl will snark at you for “stinking up the place”. She will scrunch her face up with exaggerated disgust, and ask you to “please hurry up and eat that, it’s turning my stomach.” So much for nonjudgmentalism.

I have a theory that the reason grazers react so violently to bacon aroma is because it smells SO GOOD it might tempt them to betray the Gaianist religion for which they have sacrificed so many years in penitential devotion. Bacon is the gateway meat to apostasy.

Now that Western Christianity is a dead letter religion among the suckup SWPL set, something needs to replace the evolution-sized hole left in their heads from the excision of the traditional organized religions. That worshipful, in-group yearning is replaced by a new religion: the religion of “sustainable living.” Gaia is their God. Lettuce their Eucharist. Global warming their Nicene Creed. Canvas tote bags their cross. Marathons their forty days and forty nights in the desert. Recycling their tithe. Pet adoption agencies their soup kitchens and charity organizations. It’s a fucking joke, and it’s on them. They think they are above the religious impulse, when in fact they are as much a base animal as those plebes who earn their sneers; they’ve simply substituted a different flavor of the religious crack that gets them high.

Most vegetarian chicks aren’t going to blatantly try to convert you. They know better. And they also know, on a subconscious level, that you as a man would be less attractive if you joined her in pasture grazing. So they smirk and sneer and judge but they won’t ever really push their insipid lifestyle on you. Nevertheless, their lifestyle is an imposition on yours. Want to cook at home? If she’s cooking, you’re going to be crabby eating her twigs and leaves. If you’re cooking, prepare to brush up on vegetarian recipes. Home cooking is always a one-way street with grazers. Even the simple act of sharing platters at a restaurant becomes fraught with romance-killing difficulty. And don’t forget the hidden seething envy and affront that grazers feel as they have to watch you eat succulent meats in front of them.

And however tolerant of meat-eaters that grazers claim to be, their sanctimony can’t help but assert itself. After all, what’s the point of being a dedicated vegetarian if you can’t lord your moral rectitude over the unenlightened? It’s a human compulsion to grasp for status points by assuming a higher plane of moral reasoning. YelloMello girl, like most veggie chicks, would act unduly offended if I mistakenly ordered take-out stir fry that included chicken.

“You KNOW I don’t eat meat!”

“Just pick it out.”

“Why don’t you respect my wishes?”

The phony indignation is especially grating. It’s as if they want you to notice their hallowed commitment to their bean sprouts religion. Why suffer for an arbitrary religion if others can’t see and appreciate your suffering? After a point, it became something of a running gag to me. When she asked for a snack, I would hand her beef jerky, and say “Oops, thought it was a celery stalk.” Or I’d buy pigs’ feet and leave them in her fridge, telling her I ran out of room in my own fridge.

Ever watch the chicks at Trader Hoe’s browsing the veggie section with a basket full of plant foods? Look closely, and you can practically see the righteous self-satisfaction smeared like spackle across their faces. Behold her proudly line up her beans and hummus containers on the check-out stand, carefully arranging each product so that the entire line can bear witness to her revelation.

I despise her. Then I proudly line up my salmon, whole milk, broccoli, red peppers and almond butter and feel a glow of superiority as I watch the ghetto black mom behind me with her crate of juice boxes, chips and candy.

The id monster doesn’t play favorites.

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Chicks Dig Jerks: Science Edition

Mar 23rd, 2011 by

The Inductivist has a number of posts about studies examining, indirectly, the widely-observed but heretofore unquantified phenomenon of chicks digging jerks. In this post, he reports that the average family size of jail inmates is higher than the general population:

Mean number of children

One lifetime arrest 3.00
Two 2.95
Five 2.86
Ten 3.38

More serious criminals have just as many kids as minor ones, and as many as non-criminals. The correlation between number of offspring and number of arrests is .04–basically non-existent.  Evidently, criminals are sufficiently alpha to have as many kids as anyone else, in spite of their low social status and time behind bars.

Girls find a way to sniff out ex-cons — or even current cons — and get impregnated by them. They just can’t get enough of their hellraising seed.

Here is a second post on the same study, broken down by race.

Family size does not decrease with more arrests for either race. The correlation between number of offspring and number of arrests is -.02 for whites and .02 for blacks; in other words, there is no relationship. According to the MIDUS Study of non-criminal men aged 45 or over, the mean number of children is 2.62.  Criminals have just as many, if not more, kids. (I’ll look for prison inmate data–jail inmates have a lower average level of criminality.)

You would think that men spending many of their prime reproductive years behind bars would hinder their ability to pump out sprog, but that doesn’t seem to be the case. Male prisoners have loads of female groupies willing to have raw dog sex with them.

A commenter to that study writes:

I have no science to back this up, but I can tell you this from experience… inmates in jails and prisons have more kids than the system will ever know. Your numbers are skewed because of children not reported. I knew of one young man that was 22 years old that had 4 children and another 3 women pregnant with his babies. I would wager that the number is much higher for felons than the general population by a large margin. look at the number of women and children on state aid. Where do you think the fathers are… or have been?

Isn’t it funny how a woman will remain faithful to a lowlife behind fucking bars so that she can bear his, and only his, children, but will step out on a loyal provider beta hubby who plays by the rules? Knee-slappingly funny, I say.

Another commenter writes:

What if a single arrest is just enough to make you into an “alpha” in the eyes of a significant number of females but not enough to subject you to the racially-biased sterilization effects of jail?

One arrest seems to be the sweet spot for capitalizing on your instant alpha attractiveness to women without having to sacrifice too much personal freedom, or without experiencing de facto sterilization by decades away from pussy. This study validates the relevance of question #18 in the Dating Market Value Test for Men.

It should go without saying (unfortunately this blog gets its share of dense readers, so little goes unsaid or implied lest the short bus crowd starts screeching like constipated tards) that not every woman pops a clit boner for criminals. Perhaps not even a majority of women. But enough of them do that we can make accurate generalizations about the contours of sexual desire that all women possess.

In comparison to men, desirable women are far and away more likely to feel sexual and emotional attraction for opposite sex criminals, thugs, killers and assorted bad apples. If we map this desire on a bell curve, we would see at the far right tail the women who send letters to death row inmates and sometimes even fuck them and bear their children. In the middle would be the mass (and I do mean mass) of typical women who tingle for criminals but would not go out of their way to seduce one unless a consequence-free opportunity were present. At the left side of this jerk-loving bell curve would be the women who swear up and down that criminal men have no appeal to them. These latter women are usually lesbians or older, married broads who have lost touch with the intense libidos that motivated their younger selves.

If we superimpose a male bitch-loving bell curve onto a female jerk-loving bell curve what we would see is that the female curve is far to the right of the male curve, and the male curve would be bunched up into its left side. That is, there are significantly more women who love jerks than there are men who love bitches. This is as a Darwinian reading of human sociosexuality would predict. Male criminals have advertised their fitness as strong survival gene machines, while female bitches haven’t advertised much except what a pain in the ass they would be after sex.

If you have to wonder why chicks dig jerks and guys don’t similarly dig bitches, you need to recall the fundamental premise of the sexual market:

Men love youth and beauty. Women love charisma and power.

Beauty is not contingent upon a women’s bitchiness or criminal propensity. (In fact, female thuggishness is usually a leading indicator of ugliness.) In contrast, charisma and will-to-power are correlative with male criminal propensity.

In future posts, I will look at the appeal that death row inmates have for women. (Death row females — the few that there are — don’t have the same appeal for men. Shocking, I know.)

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Found! Useful Relationship Advice From A Woman

Mar 21st, 2011 by

Two women, to be precise. In a new book called “Stop Calling Him Honey… And Start Having Sex”, the two female authors dispense relationship advice that could have been lifted straight from the Chateau files. (Maybe they have?) For instance, they write that pet names are a surefire way to kill the sexual tension in a relationship.

Pet names — “honey,” “darling,” “super-snuggly-puggly,” whatever — need to be expunged from a couple’s vocabulary.

Calling your spouse your “pookie” or “huggums” flips a switch in the subconscious, and suddenly your husband or wife is no longer that hot, sensual creature you once lusted after.

“It turns people into an asexual, cuddly teddy-bear toy that you want to spoon with and watch funny movies with and drink hot chocolate with,” says Davis, “but it doesn’t make you want toshag them!

“When you first meet someone, you’re hot for them,” she adds. “You’re not going to be calling up, going, ‘Hi, Pookie Wookie, what do you want to do later?’ No, you’re going to be calling up and going ‘Hey, Richard, so what do you want to do?’

While researching their book, Davis and Arana say they found an interesting pattern: the worse the pet names used by a couple, the worse their sex lives were.

In turn, the couples that didn’t use them tended to have healthier sex lives.

Mostly agreed. Goofy, cutesy pet names or perfunctory rote designations like “honey” that are meant to serve as expedient shorthand for validating relationship stability are sexual tension killers. It’s better to give her a sexy, slightly demeaning nickname like, oh, “slut”, and for her to call you by your manly real name. The only acceptable nicknames that she may call you are “stud”, “daddy” or “Prince of Penises”.

The Chateau has written before about giving nicknames — as opposed to pet names — to lovers:

Nicknames are great. They establish the proper paternalistic male – frivolous female dynamic that is the foundation of all successful and happy romantic relationships. Plus, they objectify women, and almost all women, contrary to the shrieks of dusty muffed feminists everywhere, harbor a secret desire to be objectified by condescending men. Imagine a cock slapping a chick’s face… forever. (plz to make animated gif.)

So you should always give women nicknames, preferably more than one to suit whatever happens to be the occasion.

Some of my personal favorites:

Lovechop.

Little Miss Muffin.

Showgirl.

Sugar Walls.

Miss Minx.

Princess Peach Pit.

Puss n Boobs.

Tits Ahoy.

Twinkletits.

Jujube.

Cock Envelope.

Queef Latifah.

Ho.

Good rule of thumb: the hotter the chick, the sluttier the nickname. It’s imperative that you sexualize a hot girlfriend soon after beginning to date her. Hot chicks have huge egos and crave a man who will bring them down to earth. This bringing down to earth process involves basically treating her like a convenient wet hole.

I’d steer clear of granting mushy or sexual nicknames to girls on first dates. That’s a fast track to disqualifying yourself as a needy pervert. Those are best saved for later on. Early game chicknames should be more teasing, less sexual. Like calling her Red Carpet when she shows up overdressed to an event, or Grace Kelly when she trips on the sidewalk.

You’ll notice that, for the most part, the Chateau-recommended nicknames are sexual, and somewhat degrading, in nature. And that they are strictly a one-way nomenclature. So the next time your chick calls you “honey”, don’t insta-reply with your own “honey”. Instead, gently remind her to call you by your blood and soil name. Swing a halberd overhead for good measure.

Continuing with the subject of this post, the two broads also say:

Still, the authors say, pet names — and their insidious cousin “baby talk” — are merely symptoms of a greater problem: the “roommate syndrome.”

On its surface, the roommate syndrome might sound like a decent partnership: Spouses do everything together and share all the same friends, interests and beliefs.

“We all have this romantic idea, the whole Cinderella thing,” says Davis. “‘Oh, I’m going to meet my Prince Charming and we are going to talk about everything together and be together all the time. We’re never going to argue. We’re going to do absolutely everything in front of one another. We’re just going to be so close.’”

A bad arrangement, she says.

“A couple years down the road, you’ve done everything together, you doing everything together, you’ve agreed with everything and frankly you look at the other person and you think, ‘Now what? I’m kind of bored because basically I’m talking to myself. I’m with myself, I’m with the other half of myself.’”

And that’s when the physical part of the relationship leaves town.

Baby talk is OK, as long as it is the woman feeling a compulsion to speak that way when in the private company of her man. Any man using baby talk with his woman should lop — or rather, daintily snip — his balls off and mail them to a scientific lab to be studied under an electron microscope for possible application in nanotechnology.

The fact is, women regress to a vulnerable child-like state when all their sexual buttons are being pressed by a man they love. Baby talk is a natural extension of this WIL regression to a submissive childhood mentality. It can get a little annoying for a man to hear this type of talk too much, so women would be wise to check themselves before they wreck themselves.

Where the authors are correct is in pinpointing the roommate syndrome as a leading cause of bed death. The hottest, most sexually satisfying relationships are never with lovers who are your carbon copy. A good lover isn’t so different that you can’t stand each other and hate their hobbies, but neither is he or she so similar that you can predict their every dull move. Since we know that hypergamous, non-harem mentality women get bored more quickly with relationships (66-80%+ of divorces initiated by women, and most LTRs ended by women), it stands to reason that if you want a long-lived marriage or LTR you should aim for girls who:

a. close and lock the fucking bathroom door when they take a dump, and

b. don’t share your hobbies.

You should also be worried if you haven’t had an argument with your GF or wife in the past year.

You might want to reconsider moving in together, as well. Or, if you do so, to at least have a separate study where you can occasionally get out of her sight, and vice versa.

Moving along, the authors write:

“Sex is the glue that brings us together,” says Arana. “Whenever we heard a couple say, ‘We spend all of our time together, and we never argue.’ Those were the couples we found in our research that, yeah, they never argued and they spent all their time together, but they weren’t having sex either.”

Those are the relationships, Arana adds, that are the most vulnerable.

They’re right. Have an argument, save your sex life. Generations of credential-waving, platitude-spouting fembot marriage counselors and therapists have had their lives’ work reduced to less value than the paper their worthless degrees are printed on by avatars of real world experience such as yer ‘umble narrators of this blog.

Here is some more shockingly useful advice from these two women:

Close the bathroom door.

No using the potty in front of your spouse, ever.

“You want to check yourself,” says Davis. “Would I have [used the bathroom] in front of my partner at the beginning of the relationship? No way! No way would you have done that.”

No man wants to hear the toilet water kerplunk when his beloved’s stool escapes her anus. This is true for women as well… that is, women don’t even want to hear their own stool kerplunk. Women are a bit more forgiving than men are about hearing their lover’s kerplunks, because a gruff, gross animalistic man is a turn-on for women, in measured doses.

Argue more.

This is not fighting, but holding your ground, keeping your own opinions and engaging in some playful arguments.

“It’s just about keeping an opinion, and even flirting a bit with banter, Katharine Hepburnish kind of banter,” says Arana. “A lot of couples don’t do it. They are so afraid of a difference of opinion.”

Nah, arguing is fighting. No need to prettify it. They’re right on the whole, though. A beta male’s biggest shortcoming is his fear of offending his woman. Hey betas, newsflash: women WANT you to offend them. Not all the time, of course. But enough times that she is helpfully reminded of the alpha male she wants to believe you are. Sexual tension can be ramped up to incredible heights by edgy, borderline insulting banter.

Have your own friends, interests and life.

“We don’t mean go off and have a separate life or not communicate with your partner, but you need to constantly keep growing as an individual,” says Arana. “Why not take an evening class if it’s something you’re interested in?

“You have to keep growing as an individual and then bring that back to the relationship.”

See: Poon Commandment III. The Chateau is well ahead of you, ladies.

Build a few walls.

Keep things close to the vest a bit. Don’t share everything that goes through your mind, especially sexual desires.

“You have to maintain a little bit of mystery,” says Davis.

Mystery, unpredictability, dread. All these male traits and behaviors — learned or organic — conspire to make a woman tingle so hard for you that she can’t think straight. It’s a superdose, superinjection of dopaminx right into her limbic clitoris.

In short, don’t become her best friend. Become her best lover.

If you’re wondering… yes, they are mutually exclusive.

***

I’ve noticed a trend lately of books and articles written by women that are plagiarizing borrowing from the themes espoused daily on this blog. Smart women — realistic women, and probably women who have been burned by stupidly banal relationship advice one too many times — are coming around to the everlasting fountain of wisdom and truth that is the Chateau. They don’t say it with quite the same.. verve… that we do here, but their message is beginning to converge with the Chateau’s message.

To that I say, welcome ladies! Your left eyes are better.

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Raising Your Value By Telling Women You Have Stalkers

Mar 18th, 2011 by

Preselection comes in many flavors. The most direct way to spoof your attractiveness to women is to be seen in the company of beautiful women. Of course, if you can do that, you’re not really spoofing anything, unless the women are friends you are using as pawns to pick up other women.

Another form of preselection involves embedding references to women in your life in stories you tell about yourself. This is the classic DHV — demonstration of higher value — that is well-known in the game community.

A third way to hit those primitive preselection buttons all women have buried in their limbic systems is to allude to competitor women who are attracted to you, but to do so in such a way that you give yourself cover from the perception that you are bragging. This can be done by framing the preselection reference in a negative light.

Letting women know, either directly or indirectly, that you have female stalkers is a huge DHV. This is particularly true if the girl you are picking up sees evidence of your stalkers. Now you might think that women would be suspicious of, or at least uncertain about, a man who has stalkers. They might wonder how badly he breaks hearts that he would accrue desperate, clingy stalkers.

Turn off your logical male brain for a minute and marvel at the reality that is the unflappable female head hamster. In truth, stalkers are a massive status boost for any man, unless the stalker is morbidly obese or old. A man who has acquired stalkers who fell so deeply in love with him or were so smitten by his charms that they lost all self-control and threw dignity to the wind in a futile pursuit to be back in his life, is a man who has otherworldly powers of attraction over women.

Casually remark to a new woman about your stalkers and she will subconsciously perceive you in a sexier light. You do this by furrowing your brow, frowning, and heavily sighing about the poor girl with emotional issues who can’t leave you alone. Double pickup points if you mention you have had to get a restraining order.

Why should stalkers be a DHV? One big reason: Most stalkers are men. Stalking is predominantly a male digression. So when a woman defies her evolutionary programming to behave as the more valuable sex and instead becomes a stalker, you know the man with whom she can’t extricate herself is one charming motherfucker. And other women know this, too. A man with stalkers is a proven hot commodity.

A man who is successful with women will find it difficult to glide through life without any stalker exes or infatuations. If you run any game at all you won’t be able to go five years without at least one or two girls aggressively making fools of themselves to be with you or to spite you for breaking their hearts.

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Chicks Dig Cheesy Pickup Lines

Mar 17th, 2011 by

It’s true! Science says so.

“Pickup” lines based on humor tend to fall flat-but they do get the speakers rated as relatively funny and sociable, and aren’t disfavored by women seeking brief liaisons, a new study suggests.

Corwin Senko and Viviana Fyffe of the State University of New York-New Paltz conducted the research to assess why women respond differently to different types of “pickup” lines and to help answer that question so common from young women: why do men use dumb pickup lines?

The pair studied the effects of “flippant” lines such as “can I get a picture of you so I can show Santa what I want for Christmas?” Women rated men who used such opening gambits, as opposed to other types, as relatively high on humorousness and sociability, but low on trustworthiness and intelligence.

“Women rate the latter qualities more essential than the former ones in a long-term mate,” the researchers wrote. Humor might not ordinarily signal low intelligence, they added, but the type of canned humor usually found in pickup lines could.

So if you want a same night lay with a horny, ovulating stripper, hit her up with the corniest pickup line you can muster. She’ll swoon. If you want to maximize your success with women at all phases of their cycles, your best bet is a pickup line that is honed to demonstrate humor *and* smarts. That isn’t easy to do, which is why most men fall back on goofiness, which seems to be a default male state. Paradoxically, acting goofy may help men maintain some semblance of dignity and composure when talking to an attractive girl.

Two types of non-“flippant” pickup lines were also used in the survey for comparison. One type was the “direct” line, such as “I saw you across the room and knew I had to meet you. What’s your name?” The other was the “innocuous” sort that conceals romantic intent, thus making rejection more bearable. An example: “You look really familiar. Have we taken a class together?”

The survey results saw the “flippant” lines scorned by women who were asked to imagine themselves seeking a long-term mate. But for women asked to think of themselves seeking a short-term mate, the type of pickup line didn’t matter, the researchers found: instead, the man’s perceived attractiveness was the key factor in the woman’s receptivity.

“Direct” pickup lines gave the best results on average, but the outcome differences between them and the “innocuous” lines weren’t statistically significant, Senko and Fyffe reported.

Direct game has its advocates, but this study suggests that the Lance Mason-esque “movie moment” type of direct opening is not much better at picking up women than standard, indirect openers.

By the way, a lot of these sociological studies suffer from the experimental flaw known as “don’t expect a straight answer from women” bias. This study asked women to imagine themselves seeking either a long-or short-term mate before making their decisions. Since when has asking women about their feelings ever gotten anyone honest feedback? These studies would be more convincing if instead of asking women about their sexual attraction mechanisms, they went IN THE FIELD to actually observe women reacting to different types of pickup lines.

A lot of scientists could learn a thing or two about the experimental method from PUAs.

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