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Aging Urban Broads: The Manliest Of Women

Jul 13th, 2010 by

Yet another churlish, resentful SWPL broad is on the warpath against game, armed with the same primitive stone tools all the other anti-game broads wield.

Reading the half-baked hate, I can’t help but get the impression of a very nervous woman. A woman apprehensive that men are gaining power in the sexual market and perhaps appalled that she is not any longer the primary target of that invigorated male sexual power. I can imagine her speaking truth to her indignation by assuming the role of the wise SWPL lady to a generation of younger women, admonishing them to never settle and scolding men to grow up.

But, you know, the times they change. The cock has no interest in your feeble hate. It doesn’t believe in synthesis, or syllogism, or in any absolute. What does it believe in? Pussy. And whatever it takes to get it. It’s self-evident.

The hater, McArdle, read an article by S.G. Belknap in The Point Magazine about pickup artists and seduction technology. McArdle sneers that men who learn game to attract women are “girly”.

I find it hilarious that the pick-up artists think of themselves as especially manly.  When I read this piece, what they sound like to me is girls–specifically, girls in the 14-17 age group.

The “learning seduction is girly” sneer is one of the most tedious repressed neoVictorian sniffs at game. It’s almost as if McArdle reads the comments here and sent a private shout out (and a pizza) to a bunch of my haters (hi, spoogen!) to agree on what they thought would be the most cutting sort of jab with which to poke the PUAs.

Spending all of your time thinking about how to attract the opposite sex?  Check.  Practicing poses in the mirror to figure out which ones are most attractive?  Check. Talking about it endlessly with your friends who only seem to care about the same, one, thing?  Check. Increasingly elaborate strategems for getting attention?  check.  Eventual evolution of said strategems into rituals as mechanical as playing the opening levels of an old-style video game?  Check.  If I close my eyes, I can still smell the bubble-gum scented lip gloss . . .

Worried that all that strategizing works? Check. Worried that all that strategizing will help men date younger, hotter, tighter women? Check. Doubly worried her lip gloss not be poppin’ anymore? Check.

For a supposedly rational liberdroid, McArdle seems oddly afflicted by the effervescent romantic idealism of the “just be yourself” and the “it should happen naturally” schools of nonthought. I’ve got news for her: courtship, attraction, and seduction ARE biomechanical processes that can be extracted from the misty ether and reduced to their core components. From such knowledge, generalizations can be made about the sexes. Does this fact bother many women? Sure it does. And I explained why in this post:

Generalizations offend women in a way they do not offend men because they breach the perimeter ego defense and strike right at a woman’s core self-conception — her belief in herself as Princess On A Cloud Carried Aloft By Admiring Suitors. If it’s true that her genes account for nearly all her success or failure with the men she wants, then there isn’t much she can do to improve her chances to fulfill her deepest desires. If it’s true (and it is) that men value beauty above all else, then it is logically inescapable that she is, to an unsettling degree, interchangeable with any women who are at or above her level of physical attractiveness.

Game, by stripping the seduction process into a flowchart for ease of learning and applying in the field, offends women’s sense of mystery and prerogative to act on intuition. Things better left shrouded in the unknown is the working preference of most women, not because they are more romantic than men (just the opposite is true), but because women are constitutionally wired to abhor the thought that men can exert calculated influence on women’s sexual desires and choices. Women want total and untrammeled choice in the dating market, and they want to prohibit men from enjoying the same extraordinary power. Game brings balance to the force, and that is highly threatening to women, particularly aging women for whom options are rapidly running out. (Reminder: Maxim #98: Marriage is no escape from the sexual market and the possibility that you may be outbid by a competitor with higher value.)

Ultimately, women hate the thought of game, (not game itself; that they love), because they want their alpha male – beta male distinctions predigested and unsullied by interference from proactive men intent on bringing chaos to the male hierarchy. This is why women love royalty and kings and princes so much; in that world, the alphas are identified and known. There is little churn. The women have only to concern themselves with competing with other women for the cocka of the top dog. But in a world of game, where the status of men is in a constant state of flux, ever-shifting and spoiling the tidiness of the women’s preferred caste systemed zero sum sexual market, there are additional stresses and concerns. Now the women have to figure out who among the millions of men trundling through their gleaming anonymous urban jungles tingling ginas left and right are the alpha males of their dreams and expectations. By muddying the waters, game makes this filtering process more difficult for women. More exhilarating, too.

McArdle imitates a snarky lip curl:

Do they send out for pizza while they talk, or would that just make Erik cry because he looks so fat in his new jeans?

Projection, it’s what’s for dinner!

She continues:

Who–over the age of 25–believes that investing most of your time and energy in attracting another person means that you’re gaining power over them?  At least the little girls eventually learn that sex and flirting are supposed to be fun.  And very few full time jobs are fun.

First, a man invests time and energy in attracting women in almost anything he does. Directly, he does this through courtship and game. Indirectly, he does this through status increasing activities which his genes have programmed him to do because it is an effective way to attract a lot of fertile age women. How does that Chris Rock joke go? If a man could get blowjobs with no effort, he’d be satisfied living in a cardboard box. That one method is considered less noble than the other and frowned upon by polite PC company is not a man’s moral crisis.

Second, in what warped fembot universe is successfully attracting women so that they have sex with you a sign of powerlessness? Is McArdle unaware of men’s ultimate goal? Hint: insert penis into vagina.

I’ve previously responded to the hackneyed hate from the likes of McArdle and her sisterhood of the traveling prigs. See this classic post. It’s nothing new. On the subject of “girly” male seducers:

12. Fallacy of Misdirected Obsession Hate

Hater: A guy who spends his life obsessing over how to get women is a loser.

A guy who spends his life obsessing over climbing the corporate ladder to get more attention from women is a loser.
A guy who spends his life obsessing over mastering guitar and playing in a rock band to get more attention from women is a loser.
A guy who spends his life obsessing over pursuing financial rewards and acquiring resources to get more attention from women is a loser.
A guy who….. ah, you get the point.

[…]

16. Dancing Monkey Hate

Hater: Men who run game are just doing the bidding of women. Alphas don’t entertain women.

If you want success with women, you are going to have to entertain them… one way or the other. The same is true of women. Once a woman stops entertaining men with her body, her femininity, and her commitment worthiness by getting fat, old, ugly, bitchy, or single mom-y, she stops having success with men. We are all doing the bidding of our biomechanical overlord, and on our knees to his will we surrender, by force or by choice. You fool yourself if you believe you have some plenary indulgence from this stark reality.
Or: If you can’t beat ‘em, join ‘em.

According to McArdle’s impeccable logic, I suppose the billions of women who studiously do their hair, dress in the latest fashions, wear makeup, tone their glutes, play hard to get, and consume everything from herbal elixirs to plastic surgery in order to turn back the hands of time are acting manly. Yes, I find it hilarious that all these women think of themselves as feminine.

There is also something to be said for the power of contrast. A man who displays dominant body language (learned or inherited) can strengthen and speed the seduction of women by handicapping himself with feminine flash. This flash can be expressed either through peacocking (exaggerated male fashion) or by running vulnerability game. Women are very attuned to male status, and a man can signal high status by refusing to play by the rules or fall in line with the norm. Defying a woman’s expectations is an effective seduction strategy.

Allow me to get personal for a moment. (double heh) This “men who learn the science of seduction are girly” meme has been spreading like a dumpy middle-aged ass among the cackling witch crowd lately. Perhaps a little of the old remote psychological diagnosis is in order. I wonder if these yuppie broads are projecting their deepest unmet desire for a sexy man who can properly seduce them after they daydream their way through another tepid rutting session with their pasty, doting, domestic chore-splitting beta provider husbands and boyfriends. Ya know, too much relationship exactness and complementarity is sand in the gears of the female soul.

(Note: Regular commenter Thursday has a number of insightful comments over at McArdle’s blog. Go check them out.)

[crypto-donation-box]

Posted in Culture, Misandry, Pretty Lies, Ugly Truths | Comments Off

Telling Girls You Were Once Engaged

Jul 12th, 2010 by

If you are a man such as myself with a long and storied relationship history, it will start to worry new girls that you meet why you have decided to remain “single”, i.e. unmarried. You see, a former marriage, no matter how spectacular its failing, is a mark of success on a man; it says to a prospective mate he was able at one time to attract a woman the traditional way and bind her in the facsimile of a long term commitment. This is another one of those intractable and intrinsic gender double standards that whiners will just have to learn to accept with dignity — divorced men suffer less of a blow to their dating market value than do divorced women. The same is true of divorced men with kids, or single dads; they do not suffer nearly the same market value penalty that single moms do.

It all comes down to the biologically induced disparity in how men and women respond to the phenomenon of preselection. Men, being nearly 100% visually oriented in their attractions to women, couldn’t care less what kind of man is on her arm, or what kind of men used to be on her arm. They see, they like. Simple equation. All they care about is that she is unencumbered (or unskewered) by dicks present, and to a lesser extent, by dicks past. Women, on the other hand, rely heavily on preselection (when it is available as a tool to judge mate quality) in their attractions to men. They see he is liked, they like.

And so it goes with divorcées. Divorced men can see a boost in their attractiveness to women (as long as they avoid bringing up the ex-wife in reverent tones during pickups), while divorced women see no boost, or even a negative hit, in their attractiveness to men. Consequently, my advice to divorced men is to mention your divorcée status early in a conversation. My advice for divorced women would be just the opposite — refrain from bringing it up, and if he asks, lie. This double standard is so entrenched that even *married* men will see an increase in their pickup success.

This is why I have discovered that a man telling girls he was once engaged works to stimulate their curiosity. And female curiosity is the catalyst that speeds the chemical reaction leading to tingles. Why engaged? Because former finacée sounds sexier than ex-wife. It is pregnant with romantic and tragic possibility. She sees this man, once engaged but no longer, and her mind reels with fantasy of what went wrong. Was it irreconcilable differences? Did he cheat on her? Did she move away? Did he make demands she couldn’t meet? Did she die in a horrible car accident? Was there a vast cultural gulf? Did her family sabotage their love? What did she look like?

Don’t worry if you were never engaged. Lie. It is the sort of lie that is nearly impossible to detect, or accidentally expose. And it is the sort of lie women crave from men, and would not disrupt with arid investigative pursuit. Your job, as a man with a keen grasp of female psychology, is to lie and let her overworked hamster fill in the missing narrative. The best way to do this is to say you were once engaged to a French girl, for American women bristle from the imagined competitive threat of French girls. (When American women ask me who my favorite actresses are, I always mention Marion Cotillard and Audrey Tautou. Then I watch with satisfaction their faces flash a hint of sexually lubricative insecurity.)

HER: Were you always single?

THE DEVIL WHO REMAKES U IN HIS IMAGE: No, I was once engaged.

HER: Really!

THE DEVIL WHO REMAKES U IN HIS IMAGE: Yes. [Turn away, look pensively at the horizon] She was a French girl. We were in love.

HER: What happened?

THE DEVIL WHO REMAKES U IN HIS IMAGE: It’s complicated.

[crypto-donation-box]

Posted in Biomechanics is God, Dating, Foreign Girls, Game, Girls | Comments Off

The Graphs That Bode America’s Downward Spiral

Jul 11th, 2010 by

Assume the worst. Total economic meltdown. Shortages. Riots. Hyperinflation. Corruption. Rampant tribalism.

What’s your next move?

[crypto-donation-box]

Posted in Goodbye America | Comments Off

Chivalrous Dork Vs Showboating Badboy

Jul 9th, 2010 by

If I had to condense three years of this blog into one video, this would be it. (Video link courtesy of Rant Casey – Brazil.)

Notice how the air is completely let out of the videotaping girls’ polite admiration for Prince Valiant after their attention — and fired-up tingles — are redirected to the street surfer. Even the beta chump knows his moment of glory is robbed from him, as he stands forlornly on the sidewalk, shoulders slumped, realizing he has one more girl to carry over the water. Of course, he can’t leave her stranded when he’s already helped her friend across. That would be tantamount to a declaration that his strategy of chivalry had ulterior motives. So he proceeds to complete his chore mission with perfunctory listlessness. Poor beta.

The alpha beta disparity is truly an international phenomenon.

What we’ve learned from this video:

Bravo! = warm hug plus three pats on the back.

Whoooa! = horny for love.

Who do you think the rescued girls chatted about afterward with a glow in their loins? The galoot who helped them probably received an “awww, he was nice” coupled with a flurry of condescending giggles which was code for “what a dork”. The alpha interloper probably got a “did you see that?!” and a flurry of nervous giggles involuntarily spasmed to release the boiling pressure buildup in their crotches.

The girls recording the event are speaking Russian. The studio audience would be obliged if someone could translate what they’re saying.

At the end, the videotaping girls are pretty much like, “Ok, go away beta. You and your sensible car bore us.”

[crypto-donation-box]

Posted in Alpha, Beta, Videos | Comments Off

Hank Moody: Chump

Jul 8th, 2010 by

Our TV shows, movies and music give us hints about America as she is and where she is heading, at least as filtered through the eyes of a certain cultural or ethnic niche.

A friend told me I must watch Californication. He said the Hank Moody character closely resembled my life. Michael Blowhard, formerly of 2blowhards, also suggested I check out the show for its excellent portrayal of a man who knows how to game girls. Naturally, I was curious, so I watched all three seasons. I could see the resemblance. Spoilers below, so if you haven’t yet seen the show go whack off to cuteoverload.com.

The show is a blast. Smartly written, funny, and bawdy, with just the right amount of emotional gravitas to leaven the barrage of casual sex, cheating, whoring, drinking and coke snorting. I won’t look at Kathleen “tush toot” Turner the same way again.

Hank Moody is the oversexed main character (played effortlessly by a youthful looking David Duchovny — he was in his late 40s when filming began. One wonders just how much supposed sex addict Duchovny channeled his real life for this character). Moody (get it?) is a charming asshole given to bouts of despondency and a penchant for self-sabotage. He’s a writer with writer’s block who moves to LA from New York. His craving for fresh pussy (and his ability to get it) puts him on a crash course with his desire to fully reunite with his one true love, Karen, and their daughter Becca. You might think of the show in these terms: Hank’s multitudinous lovers are his id, Karen is his ego, and Becca a manifestation of his superego. I think the writers of the show added Becca to ground Hank lest he float away on an endless puffy cloud shaped like a mons pubis.

Any man interested in game should watch this show. Hank Moody practically delivers a clinic on how to properly seduce chicks in nearly every episode. He is the consummate cocky funny jerk women can’t help but love. For example, here is a scene where Hank is flirting with a woman he does not yet know is a prostitute (she later genuinely falls for Hank and offers pro bono services):

Hank: Come on, how come I don’t know your name?

Trixie: You haven’t asked.

Hank: Well, let’s not stand on ceremony. [He hand motions for her to say her name.]

Trixie: Trixie.

Hank: Trixie! That is a terrific name… if you’re a hooker!

Beautiful neg, said with a smile. How many of you guys reading right now would have the balls to pull off that kind of neg on a girl in a bar? You need to get those balls, because that is the kind of edgy, teasing game that fires a woman’s loins.

There are plenty more examples in the show of the right frame to hold with women. For that alone, it is worth watching. But somewhere in the middle of the first season, something began to bother me about the underlying message the show was sending. Finally, after Hank gets into yet another fistfight with a random dude who slighted some random woman, it hits me.

Hank Moody is a white knighting chump. A feminist’s dream. The alpha male who will spill the blood of other men and sacrifice his own self-interest to protect the honor of the lying whores and skanky sluts he bangs whose supposed deep-seated decency Hank can’t stop extolling, even when all evidence points to the contrary.

Think about it for a minute. What is the perfect man in a feminist’s eyes? He is first and foremost that charming cad who gets them wet. We all know the tingle is the necessary ingredient on the way to female fulfillment. Second, he is utterly nonjudgmental, no matter how badly the women in his life behave. Everything, ultimately, is his own fault, and he feels deeply sorry for “hurting” women, even when he can’t help but continue “hurting” them. Third, he will defend a woman’s honor at risk to his own well-being, health and reputation, even when the woman in question has little objective honor worth defending. Fourth, he will forgive everything bad women do to him, absolve them of all their sins (they know not what they do, lord, for they have mere vaginas), and fight those who would disagree.

An egregious example of Hank’s knee-jerk white knighting is in his relationship with the character Mia. Mia is an underage sexpot who seduces Hank in a bookstore and fucks him without telling him her age, then adds insult to injury by punching him in the face, hard, during sex. Later, she steals his newest manuscript (the only one he has written. no copies. what a maroon!), reads it, and passes it off as her own, going so far as to show up at Hank’s agent’s office to pitch her “new book” to a roomful of cackling skank-ho broads who, naturally, love this “new voice”. Throughout the later episodes, there is a constant undercurrent of impending doom awaiting Hank as Mia hints at spilling the beans about Hank’s statutory rape if he should ever decide to reveal she is not the author of his book. In fact, the statutory rape specter is the leaden apparition that haunts the entire show, and infuses it with the drama necessary to propel the plotline forward.

And all through this, Hank barely registers the slightest bit of anger or resentment toward Mia. If anything, he is protective of her, like a father, at one point explaining that she’s “not malicious, just mischievous”.

Hank, you silly stupid fuck, you douchebrained fool. Any sane person would agree that a woman duping a man into a possible statutory rape charge, stealing his labor of love manuscript, passing it off as her own, receiving the financial and social rewards of that book while depriving the true author of same, threatening to scream rape should the aggrieved man reveal the truth, and finally having the man’s ass thrown in jail on rape charges…

is a grade A 100% malicious bitch.

And yet, the writers felt it necessary to infantilize Mia and demonize the men who would treat Mia as the calculating succubus she is.

Is there anything more puke-inducing than unthinking white knighting? If his backasswards behavior in the face of such treachery is supposed to humanize Hank Moody, it doesn’t. It just makes him look like a chump. A fun, sexy chump, to be sure, but a chump just the same. Let’s see if the upcoming season four corrects his doleful trajectory and knocks some sense into his hyperchivalrous melon.

My point of all this is that the underlying message in Californication is not pro-male, or even pro-lothario. It is yet another shot across the bow of dignified, bold manhood, whether that manhood is exemplified in the form of the hapless but successful beta provider character played by Dean Coontz, or in the wanderlusting lothario of Hank Moody. It is not different than the message of any other TV show of the past twenty years churned out by Hollywood –

Men are stupid malcontents, and women are paragons of unassailable virtue.

The writers took the easy way out, which is too bad, because this show could have been more than merely entertaining. It could have been a cultural touchstone.

Which brings me to a larger issue. What the fuck is up with statutory rape? It’s a joke law made up by joke legislators without a scintilla of real world experience with women. Am I supposed to request age identification from every full-bodied young woman who comes onto me? There are 13 year olds out there who look like grown women. At the borderline of 16 to 18 years old, many women could easily pass for mid to late 20s. It is well known by neuroscientists and psychologists studying these things that women mature faster than men. Women’s brains gel into adult-shaped contours sooner. A full breasted and wide-hipped 17 year old hottie who flirts with me knows exactly what she is doing and what she wants. She is no child to be coddled. And yet, I could be thrown in jail if I slept with her assuming she was an older girl, even if it was something we both consensually desired.

This is abject bullshit. The law makes it a necessity to demand age identification with every young woman a man might want to fuck who could conceivably pass for a teenager. This means background checks on women in their 20s. And what about women who lie? They exist, lots of them. Is a statutory rape charge for the man the just response — the *fair* response — to a lying woman who wanted the sex as much as he?

It’s time to end the charade of statutory rape. If the “underage” woman is physically developed, and she consents to the sex, there is no rape charge, period. For chrissakes, there are 14 year olds in parts of the world getting married off and pumping out children of their own.

[crypto-donation-box]

Posted in Culture, Misandry, The Good Life | Comments Off

Common Pickup Mistakes Men Make

Jul 7th, 2010 by

Complain

Those two guys from the Independence Day post were swapping complaints about the ratio of girls at the venue. Little did they know, the two women they would eventually approach overheard their bitching. “Let’s get out of here. There’s nothing going on. There are no chicks.” Then, on a dime, they switched on their happy faces when they noticed the girls and decided to hit on them.

There are two problems with this seemingly innocuous behavior. One, bitching and moaning will infect the positive attitude you need to properly seduce women. Even if you are a pro at altering your demeanor to suit your company, the simple act of verbalizing a negative feeling can subtly influence your facial openness and attitude. Highly feminine and intuitive girls can pick up on that.

Two, and more importantly, you don’t want women you’ve yet to meet getting ringside seats to your dr. jekyll mr. hyde facade. File this under incongruency. When a woman overhears you complaining about the ratio (and more women can hear what you say in their proximity than you might imagine), and then gets introduced to your smiley, good times self, she’s going to register the disconnect. Why start a pickup attempt unnecessarily handicapped?

I suppose PUA gurus would call this “being in state”.

Argue

Men get argumentative. “Why would you root for Uruguay and against your own country?” This is often a fatal error. Women do not like to argue (barring the exceptions that loiter this internet outpost). Women like to win arguments; they just don’t like the process of arguing to achieve the satisfying win. Men argue because it is a natural part of our being — as natural as farting loudly and laughing in triumph. So men tend to project their comfort with arguing onto the women with whom they interact. Remember, projection is a cognitive bias of both sexes, (though a more frequent failing of women.)

Men may think that by arguing with women they are demonstrating alpha characteristics like masculinity, boldness, and assertiveness, but what women usually think of argumentative men is that they are annoying, bitter, and tingle-killing. Save the arguing for ugly or otherwise unavailable bitches you aren’t trying to bed.

Confuse Aggressiveness for Cockiness

Similar to the above, men have a bad habit of confusing male-centric aggression for female-centric appreciation of cocky indifference. This is commonly referred to as the overplayed neg, and happens when one has crossed the threshold from seductive backhanded compliment to vaj-shriveling awkward insult. The two men who accused the women of being “anti-American” are good examples of men who fell victim to this typically male foible. They probably thought they were being edgily attractive, but instead their edginess thudded heavily like a lead weight.

The overplayed neg is the bane of game acolytes everywhere, and it is why so many newbies give up and turn against the only solution that can give them hope. Once the neg is mastered, though, a whole world of delights opens up. A better way to neg the anti-American women and display superiority without off-putting hubris is by leavening the insult with charm. For instance:

WOMAN 2: I wouldn’t have rooted for America.

THE DEVIL IN UR DREAMS: That’s weird. Are you a Uruguayan spy?

WOMAN 2: Haha, I just think America isn’t as good at soccer. They don’t really deserve to win.

THE DEVIL IN UR DREAMS: Uruguay does not deserve a spy as amateur as you.

When I was applying myself to learning game material, David DeAngelo’s Cocky/Funny series had a big impact on me. As he stressed, you can’t have the cocky without the funny. The two go together to form a perfect union of seductive prowess. Cockiness alone conveys arrogance, the stink of the man trying too hard to impress or dominate. Funny alone is the province of the class clown, the entertainment monkey. But fuse them, and you have an attitude that is irresistible to women. Add a 10″ cock and it’s game over, maaan, game oveeer!

Leave in a Huff

What’s worse than getting rejected? Getting rejected and giving the girl the satisfaction of knowing her rejection got to you. I can’t tell you how many men I’ve observed get blown out and then leave the scene of the accident with a parting insult or a noticeable sulk in their body language. Why would you treat some random chick worth no more than a humid summer day’s condensation on a single short and curly to the pleasure of your petty meltdown? The best response to a rejection is no response. Say goodbye as if you were parting company with a gas station attendant.

Maxim #45: Before sex, no girl you are attracted to is important enough to merit an emotional reaction should the pickup attempt turn bad.

[crypto-donation-box]

Posted in Game, Rules of Manhood | Comments Off

The Greatest Job In The World (For A Man)

Jul 6th, 2010 by

What would be your criteria for the greatest job a man could have in the world? I’ll list what I think should be your criteria:

  1. Continual exposure to a variety of young, pretty, naked women
  2. Willingness of a significant subset of those young, pretty women to sleep with you
  3. An occupational dynamic that requires leadership skills in the form of ordering young, pretty women to do your bidding
  4. Very little competition from other men in the field, or on the job
  5. Relatively high pay
  6. Relatively high status
  7. Minimal amount of rote work
  8. Maximal amount of fun and creativity
  9. Lots of travel to exotic and charming locations around the globe
  10. Plenty of opportunity to discreetly cheat, if married or otherwise committed

Is there a man alive with working testicles who wouldn’t agree with my description of the perfect male job? No, I bet not.

So what is the greatest job in the world?

Meet Richard Kern.

Kern has been taking photographs of attractive naked women for 25 years in countries around the world. Young women in various states of undress. Naked women in pools. Naked women in showers. Naked women smoking pot. Naked women combing their hair. Naked women on all fours scrubbing the floor. And, presumably, naked women sucking his dick after work hours.

I know what you’re thinking. Kern is not gay. He’s married to a hot chick more than half his age. Kern is in his 50s, but he looks younger and, more importantly for men interested in picking up younger women, he *acts* like a man half his age. His is a life of unrelenting joy and exquisite pleasure. If there is a heaven on earth, Kern has found it. When asked if he has slept with any of his subjects, he is not coy, admitting that he’s had a number of sexual relationships with the ladies he photographs.

Surprisingly, Kern does a lot of his shooting with a pocket digital camera. He prefers capturing in voyeuristic style the natural beauty of the girl-next-door, the kind of girl you most want to despoil. Kern is almost clinical about the sexuality of his subjects that infuses his work, going on for impressive lengths about the shape, size, color and texture of the great megafauna of breastessesss constantly bouncing in front of his camera lens. Reminds me of someone else.

Some may wonder if it’s Kern’s job that attracts the girls, or if the job is merely incidental to Kern’s seductive alphaness. It’s more the latter, but no doubt photography, and the men skilled at it, are especially attractive to women, probably for the reason that any visual-based skill or artistry, being primarily the domain of maleness, is naturally intriguing to the visuo-spatially challenged sex. But that is a minor effect. The status of Kern’s job, and his status within the field, is the predominant attractor when we separate his personality from his achievements. Men who excel in female-oriented fields are also very attractive to women.

I bet you’re curious about Kern’s wife. I was. So I found this illuminating documentary video of Kern and Martynka. It’s short, about 11 minutes. You should watch the whole thing. It is 11 minutes demonstrating the power of pure game. What comes out of the video is just what a natural player Kern is, and the classic seduction and alpha male dynamics which hold powerful sway over the pretty Martynka’s emotional fidelity to her husband.

Some choice quotes:

Interviewer: Do you ever get jealous?

Martynka: No, I actually… it’s a weird thing… but it turns me on that he’s like shooting 18 year old hot girls. I find it exciting. I don’t get bored of him in that sense, because… I know it sounds weird but I actually thinks it’s cool he’s out, hanging out with like some 18 year old girl in her bedroom, showing him her tits, and um, it keeps things exciting for me, cause that little bit of jealousy makes my obsession last longer.

You don’t say!

I remember when I wrote that “women want you to cheat” post it engendered howls of indignation from my many female commenters. Oh, how you say… what was it again?…. oh yah…

Watch what women do, don’t listen to what they say.

What about the proposal? Certainly an inveterate and experienced womanizer like Kern would know better than to drop to one knee and beg for indentured servitude. Does Richard Kern follow my advice and propose to Martynka like an alpha male? Does a herb load in his pants?

Interviewer: So you guys got married in June. Was the proposal special, was it kind of romantic?

Martynka: It was very Richard style.

Interviewer: What was it?

Martynka: He didn’t really propose. But it was really cute. Cause he was so nervous about it.

Interviewer: So he kind of proposed but didn’t propose?

Martynka: No, he didn’t even say what it is.

[Scene switch]

Interviewer: Tell me about when you proposed to Martynka?

Richard: Oh, um, I couldn’t actually say the words that you have to say to do that, and, um…

Interviewer: Will you marry me?

Richard: Yeah. So, I, um, I didn’t have a birthday present for us, see, and I knew she had to get married to get a green card, so I tried to pass it off as my birthday present.

Interviewer: She said it took like 45 minutes to understand what you were asking.

Richard: Yeah, I never actually said it. [Ed: Richard almost sounds proud of this. Ha!]

But this was my favorite Kern-ism:

Richard: I’m fine with being married as long as I don’t have to talk about it, or acknowledge it.

Talk about a cunt-wetting frame.

By the way, Kern stole Martynka away from her much younger boyfriend. As the internet nerd herd might say: THIS.

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Posted in Rules of Manhood, Self-aggrandizement, Status Is King, The Good Life, The Pleasure Principle | Comments Off

A Patriotic Independence Day Story

Jul 5th, 2010 by

It was early evening and the sun still blazed on the horizon, casting shards of soft yellow light across faces and dewy beer pints. Sitting on the bar stools to my right were two white women. I could tell they were friends by their isolationist banter. I looked over and visually judged them; both were in their late 20s or early 30s, frumpily dressed, and of average attractiveness. Not hard on the eyes, but not boner inspiring, either. They didn’t exercise with weights; the first betrayals of droop were beginning to intrude. They looked like typical city yuppies, likely SWPL to the bone. One smiled invitingly at me. I decided neither one was good-looking enough to warrant an effort to hit on them, so I smiled back perfunctorily and returned to my dinner. (Note to Satoshi Kanazawa at ‘Psychology Today’: this is what is known as male mating choice.)

By the by, two men approached the women seated to my right in what looked like an obvious pickup attempt. There was no other reason for them to have struck up a conversation with the ladies; where the women were sitting was out of the way of the main patron thoroughfare, so a cold approach meant, quite accurately, “I have designs to fuck you for the least amount of resource investment and on the shortest timetable possible”. The men ably paired off with the women, (a smoothly executed maneuver that suggested they had discussed beforehand which of the two women appealed to whom), and a dry four-way commenced.

Because of my proximity to their group, I couldn’t help but overhear the ensuing rapid fire chit chat. The men sounded like they had some rudimentary understanding of game, or at least of how to be cool enough not to trigger a woman’s anti-dork alert system. They were able to stay in set for about ten minutes before the whole thing dissolved in a debris heap of… well, judge for yourself. What follows is the critical excerpt of their conversation.

MAN 1: You guys watching the World Cup? That Ghana game was incredible.

WOMAN 1: The one where they played Uruguay?

MAN 1: Yeah, Ghana was robbed of a goal. It’s too bad we didn’t beat Ghana. The US had a pretty good team. I think we could have taken Uruguay.

WOMAN 2: I wouldn’t have rooted for America.

MAN 1: What do you mean? You wouldn’t have rooted for America against Uruguay? [smiling crookedly, a pained lifeline to a sucker punched rapport in its infancy] That’s weird. [looking at his buddy, then back at the girl] Are you anti-American?

WOMAN 2: Anti-americaaaaaan??! [looking at her girl buddy, open-mouthed, then back at the guy] Haha, I just think America isn’t as good at soccer. They don’t really deserve to win.

MAN 2: You always root for the home team, even if they suck.

WOMAN 2: I don’t. Ghana and Uruguay are real soccer countries. They have so much more tradition. I would have totally rooted for them against America.

MAN 2: That’s anti-American!

WOMAN 2: Well, whatever, you can call it what you like. We don’t have to win everything, you know.

Tempers flared, then subsided as the men worked diligently to keep the pretense of a seduction going. The conversation fizzled to a snippy end and the men left for another bar. The women giggled as they recounted the awkwardness of the interaction, placing the blame for the failed seduction entirely on the men, as is the wont of the unaccountable and unreflective gender.

I would not claim the men performed with verve. Their game — if you could call it that — was haphazard, verging on slapstick. They let their anger bubble to the surface, and allowed their alpha prerogative to remain calm under pressure accede to the juggernaut of their hothead emotions. As noxious as the women were, calling them out on their anti-Americanism would only have served to confirm their self-satisfied pseudomorality of nation-state transcendence. If it was pussy the men wanted, a bristle-backed argumentative posture is not the way to get it. If, however, they merely wanted the exquisite sadistic pleasure of getting under the women’s skins, there are better ways than raw effrontery to accomplish that.

Allow me to demonstrate. Here is how the conversation would have transpired if I was at the helm and had it in mind to cruelly twist the shiv in their stunted SWPL souls.

THE DEVIL U LUV: You guys watching the World Cup? That Ghana game was incredible.

WOMAN 1: The one where they played Uruguay?

THE DEVIL U LUV: Yeah, Ghana was robbed of a goal. It’s too bad we didn’t beat Ghana. The US had a pretty good team. I think we could have taken Uruguay.

WOMAN 2: I wouldn’t have rooted for America.

THE DEVIL U LUV: Interesting. So you wouldn’t have rooted for America against Uruguay?

WOMAN 2: I just think America isn’t as good at soccer. They don’t really deserve to win.

THE DEVIL U LUV: [totally straight face] Hm, you know, I agree. I like the way you guys think for yourselves. Not many people are cool enough to root for a foreign country.

WOMAN 2: I suppose…

THE DEVIL U LUV: It’s important to be cool, wouldn’t you agree?

WOMAN 2: [starting to feel the burn] I guess… are you mocking us?

THE DEVIL U LUV: Not at all. I like you guys. Stay cool. [exit, stage sweet victory]

******

On this 4th of July, We the post-Immigration and Nationality Act of 1965 People should spend a moment to reflect on the tenuous grasp the inheritors of the great American tradition have to their homeland. When you wave your sparklers with your kids this holiday weekend, cast a wary eye at your neighbor. A disease has metastasized in huge swaths of the American population and threatens to suffocate the grandiose and noble idea that ironically nourishes their trite impudence. The host which ennobles has become the rotting carcass upon which to feed. Gnawing and chewing parasites dripping venom and toxic bile have replaced the immune boosting white blood cells and defiantly proud armies of red blooded corpuscles of a body politic once happy, grateful, and giddy to be alive. And not just any sort of alive; the kind of exalted living that comes from knowing your good fortune to have been born in a prosperous country culturally superior to so many alternatives. Yes, superior. The very word sends shudders down the spines of the mincing globocrats and mewling equalist butterfucks.

A vector of patricidal vengeance, a boiling plume of acrid anti-native stock spite, travels up and down our coasts, from Miami to Boston, LA to Seattle, in our newsrooms, our boardrooms, our schools, and our social gathering places, carrying a message of spastic hate for America, her founding ideals, and the historically great figures who have traveled her hallowed corridors. Pockets of internal organs are infected, Chicago and Austin. These are not traitors in action… mostly… but their souls are traitorous in configuration. Their feelings are the knee-jerk bleats of a bastard people at growing unease with the country they are required by law to call home. A nation of latchkey kids — stupid in their ahistorical ignorance and frightened of the breaking surf of censored knowledge about to crash on their heads — has been in open revolt against its beneficent parent for generations now, and the opiate of distracting technoporn and glam mags can only hold off the coming reckoning for so long. They live for the comforting swaddle of the trend, and right now every trend is pointing in the direction of dialectic anti-patriotism.

In reaction, hordes of indignant evangelist armies in middlemarch shout their loyalty from rooftops. But theirs is the rearguard wail of a dumbfounded, shellshocked bit player forced by circumstance and disposition to play by the stronger enemies’ rules. It is the enemies’ first principles they must attack and subvert, but servility and cowardice prevent them from unleashing the hell they must if victory is to be total. They scream guns and glory for wars they know deep in their hearts serve no true American interest. They laugh jovially at diversity seminars that they then attend dutifully, mouths shut, for they have families to feed. They stupidly stand four square behind leaders who have checkmarked the correct ideological box despite all evidence to the contrary putting the lie to those leaders’ presupposed beliefs. They retreat to a chapel ghetto as the gleaming city around them shatters to the ground, confident that the Word and the Faith will see them through. They fight incoherent losing battles with phantom threats while ignoring or resignedly acquiescing to the real threats in their midst. They toe the line of rebellion, then quickly scuttle back under a counterstrike of nerve-rattling platitudes and orchestrated insults.

Soon… sooner than you think… the status-fueled citizen hate will yield to indifference, and exhausted resignation, if it hasn’t already. (We Americans do things on a sped-up time schedule.) And then the final days of America will descend, a tattered curtain closing on a dream corrupted by the nightmare of human nature and the willful blindness to the motivations of our enemies, internal and external. There is no stopping it now; it must play out. The smart man, making his way through this current decaying epoch, has but one choice before him — one self-interested choice — and that is the path of hedonism.

Many eons from now, when anthropologists are picking through the remains of the American Empire and piecing together a narrative for why things went so horribly wrong, may they come upon this blog post as an answer to their questions. For I truly believe that nothing else than that small snippet of a conversation on a rooftop bar in an American city circa 2010 between two typical youngish men and two typical youngish women better illuminates the cause of America’s decline and the depravity of her people who are the nominal heirs to Washington, Jefferson, and Franklin.

When the World Cup comes around again, I will be rooting for the soccer-indifferent USA to crush the smaller soccer-fanatic countries. And I won’t apologize for my loyalties, even as I laugh at soccer for being the girly, flop-happy sport it is.

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Posted in Culture, Girls, Goodbye America, The Big City Life | Comments Off

Teutonic Efficiency Smothers Latin Flash

Jul 3rd, 2010 by

Status whoring citizen of the world SWPLs cry into their artisanal beers. I laugh. It’s also nice to see a European team that actually looks European (hi, France!). Before any of you start bitching, how many were complaining that Ghana looked too Ghanaian? Yeah, that’s what I thought. No one.

I wonder how good the USA would do if we had our best athletes playing soccer instead of baseball, basketball and football? I bet we would rule FIFA like the petulant peasant province it is.

(This post certified gig bait.)

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Posted in Current Events, Globalization | Comments Off

Dealing With Beta Friends

Jul 2nd, 2010 by

“AZ” wrote:

I am rooming with one of my buddies from college and we go all the way back to freshman year. I am from [foreign country] and I started college when I was 17, and as I grew older I began to act more like a man, but my buddy has not. He will talk for hours on end about inconsequential shit, how this 6 looked at him, and how he wants to pound crotch all day long etc, yet does nothing about it. What is driving me to the edge here and making me write this email is that [REDACTED]. At this point I’ve been trying to help him out, introduce him to game, get him to be less of a looser, but I have given up hope.

How do you deal with your beta friends that don’t want to learn? I don’t want to stop the friendship, and I have been trying to avoid him, but we hang out about 2 hours a day. How do I stop myself from cringing in his presence and resenting him for being himself?

If you are going to publish this in the mailbag please omit all personal details.

There were a lot of personal details, so I had to redact a full paragraph worth of juicy beta goodness. Suffice to say, it was nauseatingly bad, involving awkward hugs, egregious service worker tips, and invitations to cheesy strip mall restaurants. On the scale of game acumen, 0 being no game at all and winging it spergy style, and 10 being a Casanova for the ages, AZ’s friend was a -2.

Unfortunately, AZ, women do judge men based on the friends they keep. It is one of the more glaring psychological differences between men and women, and it has evolved for a good reason: men get all they need to know about a potential mate by looking at her for a second, while women need to recruit information about potential mates from a variety of sources, direct and indirect, because a visual impression is not nearly enough to trigger a woman’s full blown attraction for a man.

The ideal alpha projection attraction multiplier (APAM) social circle is a mixed clique of good-looking and socially savvy men and women, where you are the coolest guy among a group of slightly less cool guys, and the girls are hanging on your every word. You want to shine among your friends, but you don’t want to shine on the cheap by surrounding yourself with nerdos. Girls will not give you cunt watering points for being the exasperated leader of a bunch of social rejects.

A good example of what I mean is the movie ‘Swingers’. Jon Favreau’s character is basically a chill, decent guy with some issues connecting with girls. But he’s not so socially inept or teeth-gnashingly clueless that he continually embarrasses his cooler friends. Thus, Vince Vaughn’s character never experiences moments of crisis like you are in your email to me deciding whether or not to sever a friendship entirely for the sake of meeting girls.

I know some of my male readers will complain that a genuine alpha — a real man — never puts hos before bros, but that’s the kind of principled talk that almost always disintegrates in the acid wash of reality. If a male buddy you hang out with regularly is so blockheaded that he’s actually costing you chances to meet girls, you have to decide if the friendship is worth prolonged dry spells. For most men, that answer would be a resounding NO, despite their high-minded rhetoric to the contrary.

You see, a real man, besides having principles, also makes the difficult and unpopular choices. He screens out the losers when building a social circle of friends, and he dumps those who have demonstrated an unwillingness to take the advice of their betters to meet the high standards of the group. Your roommate is not special; there are many guys like him — stubbornly regressive, hopelessly ignorant, constitutionally spastic. A man like that is as much a product of his genes as he is of his environment. Maybe you enjoy his company when it’s just you two LANing it up Quake-style, and maybe he strokes your ego just by being there, nipping at your heels like an orphaned chihuahua. And that’s all good, until it’s time to go out into the real world and you find yourself making up excuses to avoid him. Am I right?

You can play that game for a while, but you’ll feel like crap constantly having to come up with reasons not to hang out with him. That he’s your roommate makes it doubly hard. Avoiding a college roommate is like avoiding your mom when she wants you to mow the lawn and your friends will be over in two minutes with a ride to the beach. Trap doors and escape chutes come to mind.

My advice to you is this: Give your friend one last chance to prove himself worthy of your company. But this requires some sacrifice on your part. Don’t just throw him to the wolves, blindfolded. Bite the bullet. Explain that his social skills suck, that he kills your chances with girls when you two go out together, and that he has to shape up fast if he wants to live the good life. Tough love is what we men are good at. Then offer him some tips, and show him where he’s fucking up. If he can’t abide your conditions for friendship, you have all the moral imperative you need to use him when he’s useful (playing video games) and dispose of him when he’s not (all real world activities). Get used to ignoring him. On your way out the door to parties, learn to visualize him as a lamp, an inanimate object you have no responsibility for placating. In fact, alpha males are skilled in the art of visualizing the vast hordes of male competition as lamps. Steal a page from their playbook.

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Posted in Beta, Rules of Manhood | Comments Off

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