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Snow = Gina Tingles

Dec 19th, 2009 by

Sitting in Tryst, watching the snow fall and eating a delicious smoked salmon sandwich, I couldn’t help but notice the glow of horniness on girls’ faces. I muse. Does a heavy blanket of snow trigger the provider beta attraction switch in women? After all, in prehistoric times in the northern lands a good snowfall meant wet, cold, and poor foraging prospects (food buried under snow). A technologically proficient and future time oriented beta would have planned for big snow events so that when they arrived he would be the go-to guy with the warm shelter and stored smoked meats. The sexy stud would have been building snow forts until his feet got too cold and he trundled home to the cave to an empty fridge. (My fridge is empty and I’m down to half a roll of TP. You ladies and your messy nether regions are paper hogs. Gaia is displeased.) I wonder if extreme weather inspires women’s lust for resource providing men?

Getting lots of looks as chicks walk by and I wink at them through the window. It must be the confidence I display in the face of uber inclement weather. Or my rugged pea coat.

A girl has tied her labrador up to a post. She sits behind me. The dog is rambunctious and pees on a Lexus SUV parked in front. I turn around and tell her her dog just peed on a Lexus, and that she has it trained well. She laughs. Love? Of course.

Guys, if you live in the snow path go out now and ask passing women if this is good quality snow for snowball making. Tell them you want to make snowballs “that only hurt a little.” That should get the ball rolling.

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Posted in Girls, The Big City Life | Comments Off

Science Continues Validating CH Reductionism

Dec 18th, 2009 by

As I’ve been saying all along, female beauty is objectively measurable and not a function of the beholder’s eye.

The distance between a woman’s eyes and the distance between her eyes and her mouth are key factors in determining how attractive she is to others, according to new psychology research from the University of California, San Diego and the University of Toronto. […]

They discovered two “golden ratios,” one for length and one for width. Female faces were judged more attractive when the vertical distance between their eyes and the mouth was approximately 36 percent of the face’s length, and the horizontal distance between their eyes was approximately 46 percent of the face’s width.

“We already know that different facial features make a female face attractive – large eyes, for example, or full lips,” said Lee, a professor at University of Toronto and the director of the Institute of Child Study at the Ontario Institute for Studies in Education. “Our study conclusively proves that the structure of faces – the relation between our face contour and the eyes, mouth and nose – also contributes to our perception of facial attractiveness.”

Just think how many wars, inventions, poems, novels, symphonies were created because some woman’s facial bone structure developed a few millimeters in a pleasing direction.

***

Ogling voluptuous women will help a man stay healthy.

A rather bizarre study carried out by German researchers suggests that staring at women’s breasts is good for men’s health and increases their life expectancy.

According to Dr. Karen Weatherby, a gerontologist and author of the study, gawking at women’s breasts is a healthy practice, almost at par with an intense exercise regime, that prolongs the lifespan of a man by five years.

She added, “Just 10 minutes of staring at the charms of a well-endowed female, is roughly equivalent to a 30-minute aerobics work-out.”

I like looking, but fondling is my preferred method of interaction. This probably explains why titty bars have never held my interest for very long. I’ve got to have and to hold the goods.

If 10 minutes of staring at big round tits is equivalent to a 30 minute jog, what does one hour of titty fucking equal? A triathlon?

In addition, she also recommended that men over 40 should gaze at larger breasts daily for 10 minutes.

If you’re an alpha, you are free to gaze for 30 minutes, directly at the boobs and without blinking. Omegas must avert their eyes immediately, and their brief glance must be sidelong and then quickly evaporate under a burn of shame.

***

It’s funny when tired, hoary platitudes crumble. Guess what? You CAN judge a book by its cover.

Observers were able to accurately judge some aspects of a stranger’s personality from looking at photographs, according to a study in the current issue of Personality and Social Psychology Bulletin (PSBP), the official monthly journal of the Society for Personality and Social Psychology. Self-esteem, ratings of extraversion and religiosity were correctly judged from physical appearance.

Researchers asked participants to assess the personalities of strangers based first on a photograph posed to the researchers’ specifications and then on a photograph posed the way the subject chose. Those judgments were then compared with how the person and acquaintances rated that individual’s personality. They found that while both poses provided participants with accurate cues about personality, the spontaneous pose showed more insight, including about the subject’s agreeableness, emotional stability, openness, likability, and loneliness.

The study suggested that physical appearance alone can send signals about their true personality.

“As we predicted, physical appearance serves as a channel through which personality is manifested,” write authors Laura P. Naumann, University of California, Berkeley, Simine Vazire, Washington University in St. Louis, Peter J. Rentfrow, University of Cambridge, Samuel D. Gosling,University of Texas at Austin. “By using full-body photographs and examining a broad range of traits, we identified domains of accuracy that have been overlooked, leading to the conclusion that physical appearance may play a more important role in personality judgment than previously thought.”

Living in the city has honed my threat detection system. I can, with a split second scan of a stranger’s face, tell you with better than random accuracy the character of that person. This has aided me when walking back from lovers’ apartments at 2 AM through vibrant neighborhoods.

I don’t think I need to tell you the significance of this study with regards to alpha body language and game.

***

Why 99.9% of history’s accomplishments have been achieved by men:

Researchers using functional magnetic resonance imaging (fMRI) to study brain activation have found that men and women respond differently to positive and negative stimuli, according to a study presented today at the annual meeting of theRadiological Society of North America (RSNA).

“Men may direct more attention to sensory aspects of emotional stimuli and tend to process them in terms of implications for required action, whereas women direct more attention to the feelings engendered by emotional stimuli,” said Andrzej Urbanik, M.D., Ph.D., chair of Radiology at Jagiellonian University Hospital in Krakow, Poland.

Like a little fifteen year old girl, defending her feelings inside.

How does that old saying go? Men win the argument to win the group. Women win the group to win the argument. Which preference is more likely to lead one away from the truth? I’ve said it before: Suffrage is the poison pill that eventually destroys the body politic of a nation.

PS: There were two obscure pop culture references in this post. Can you find them?

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Posted in Biomechanics is God, Vanity | Comments Off

November 2009 Beta Of The Month

Dec 13th, 2009 by

We’re getting near the end of the year when the final beta — the One Beta to rule them all — is voted upon for inclusion into the pussywhipped Hall of Infamy. Last month’s winner, sent in by reader waysa, was the Croatian tennis “pro” (loosely defined) who begged and pleaded not just for sex, but for marriage!, from a has-been single mom cougar. Let’s hope for the Croat’s sake he was angling for the future divorce payday from his wealthy older lady lover.

November 2009 BOTM Candidate #1 was submitted by Mike (“Anonymous” technically got there first, but any submission signed anonymously is excluded from receiving props). A picture tells a thousand words:

The great thing about this picture is that no matter what the reason for this unfortunate man’s prostration, his action sullies him with the mark of the beta. And a really nauseating beta at that. If he lost a bet, he is a beta for playing poor odds that would result in him paying up in such a pathetic manner. If it’s a fetish, then this is proof that some fetishes are the domain of losers. If you must have a fetish, make it something alpha like collaring your woman. Beta fetishes: peeping tom/voyeurism, flashing, bang my wife, wearing women’s skin as suit and tucking junk between legs. Alpha fetishes: BDSM, amateur porn filmmaking, public sex, ceiling mirrors, saying “giggity” when you successfully close the deal.

If he’s doing it as penance for some horrible relationship transgression, he wins alpha points for the transgression but immediately gives them back and then some for agreeing to this form of punishment. If he’s doing it as a clownish joke to get on the internet, well… there are some self-deprecating jokes that you should never do. Good rule of thumb: If the Jackass guys won’t do it, neither should you.

If this photo portrays exactly what is happening — a sackless boyfriend dropping to hands and knees so his tired girlfriend can sit on him and humiliate him in public — then the beta on display here is so strong it defies explanation.

******

November 2009 BOTM Candidate #2 was submitted by Ross W. Have you ever wondered what happens when an inborn beta becomes a little too aggressively creepy in his pursuit of a taken woman? Well now, thanks to Lamebook, you can read a stellar example of just such a specimen.

lee

I’m not going to categorize all the ways this guy Andrew misunderstands the nature of women. Suffice to say, he fails the Jumbotron test. Spectacularly.

By the way, Carla’s reply was better than Lee’s. Brevity is the soul of spit.

******

November 2009 BOTM Candidate #3 was submitted by Patrick. It’s a radio broadcast of a “War of the Roses” prank that features a cuckolded man literally begging his cheating live-in girlfriend to stay with him. Listen to the whole thing but pay particular attention starting at -02:50.

I honestly had a hard time making it through to the end, it was that bad. If I had to distill the beta essence in a few words, it would be “What can I do to make you love me?” Which is what this pathetic cur says. Over and over. Even after being told his mewling is not helping his cause.

The problem with betas is that they believe in the promise of hope instead of the disenchantment of reality. Listen to this guy closely. He finds all this evidence that his GF is cheating — the birth control, the new lingerie, the Facebook emails — and yet he continues nurturing hope that she isn’t doing what he knows deep inside she’s doing, and that she still has the capacity to love him. Hope is the great alpha killer, the destroyer of masculinity, the betrayer of dignity. It serves one purpose only — to trick you away from the path of righteous self interest. Weak people cling to hope. But hope is a faint siren song; as soon as you taste some success you will forget all about hope and wallow in the delights of reality.

Besides serving as cruel amusement for the coliseum, there is another very good reason for publicly shaming these wretched betas: their needy behavior feeds the treachery of women, which in turn poisons the well for every other man making his way in the mating market. By refusing to confront his bitch whore girlfriend in the only way that would earn any respect from her (and respect from women is measured in the oscillation of their tingle wavelength), the man in this radio clip unwittingly contributes to the romantic feelings between his girlfriend and her lover. Freed from the threat of his anger or his ultimatums or even his awareness, she is able to nourish her illicit love affiair with the thrill of secrecy and dangerous rendezvous. As we all know about women, a little mystery and taboo goes a long way to infusing a man with allure. You want your unfaithful girlfriend to really get the most out of her affair? Simple. Just play the fool and let her sneak around like a tramp in the night, her lover’s embrace made all the more compelling by the transgressive narrative. But confront her and leave her, and suddenly her lover is not so intriguing anymore.

There’s a reason women despise men like this guy Conor from the radio clip. When a woman cheats on you she does not want to hear that you still love her. All that tells her is that you have low standards and an even lower expectation that you could do better. It also confirms her suspicion that you love her for no other reason than the sex that she provides. Of course, alpha males also love for those shallow reasons, but they are smart enough to know that love can’t be requested. It must be earned.

******

The voting:

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Newsflash! MILF Beats DILF

Dec 11th, 2009 by

It’s not every day you see a mother-daughter couple where the mom is hotter and more bangable than her daughter. In fact, it’s so rare that the existence of such earns a place on this hallowed forum.

The mother is on the right. Judging by the somewhat prominent manchin of the daughter, my guess is that mom married a very testosterone charged alpha male, perhaps a corporate lawyer or a baseball player. You know how it is with genes; you do everything you can to ensure the best possible recombinatorial outcome but occasionally those damn genes throw you a curveball, like a daughter who looks more like rock ‘em sock ‘em pop, or a son who glows with the feminine softness of MILFy mom.

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What Does It Mean To Be Off The Market?

Dec 10th, 2009 by

Maxim #98: Marriage is no escape from the sexual market and the possibility that you may be outbid by a competitor with higher value.

Corollary to Maxim #98: Singleness is no guarantee of full sexual market participation.

Expert level commenter Whiskey left a comment about the Tiger Woods affair on a blog I read (at the moment I can’t recall the blog) in which he stated plainly that each woman with whom Woods had a tryst was one less woman available on the dating market to other men. His point was that twelve (in reality, triple that number) Tiger mistresses (or whores, or skanks, or courtesans, whatever you want to call them the concept is clear) means twelve beta men go without a woman at all. Some of the commenters took Whiskey to task, noting, perhaps not illogically, that a woman living as the sex toy of a billionaire golfer is not necessarily off the market. There are six other days in the week, after all. The typical fuckhole might see Woods once a month, which leaves her plenty of time to date other men.

Comforting thoughts, but I’ll throw my experiences with and observations of these kinds of women in the ring and lend support to Whiskey’s point of view. On a ledger sheet, sure, these provisional paramours have lots of downtime to date other men. But a woman’s emotional contours are hardly amenable to the ledger. Unlike men, most women are averse to boffing multiple concurrent partners. It is simply not in the nature of women to be psychologically equipped to handle with grace and steadiness the crass rutting with Cock A one day and Cock B the very next day. Women don’t operate like that. They see a cock they like, they want to be with that cock, and if they succeed all other cocks recede to invisibility, at least until either their preferred cock leaves for good or they grow weary of that cock.

What I am describing is not a slut apologia. The infamous cock carousel that spins like a possessed Stephen King-ian carnival ride in our major urban centers is open for business. But it’s a turgid carousel of consecutive rides, one women normally jump off of before clambering back on to sit on a new, fresh horsey. They aren’t attempting to straddle all the horsies at once.

Now some women of the craving simultaneous schlong variety do exist. But they are extremely rare. Aside from prostitutes (who medicate their perforating souls with the salve of money, drugs, and complete submission to the pimp), only the foulest sluts and most rapacious sociopaths are constitutionally capable of concurrent cock hopping for pleasure and personal gain. Some of these stone cold sluts were likely positioning themselves in Tiger’s target acquisition periphery, and he clumsily obliged like the stiffly off-putting former beta droid he is. But it is also likely that some of his mistresses genuinely fell for the tingly feelings his power and fame gave them, and they forsook all other men to focus solely on Tiger, even if it meant seeing him just once a month.

So Whiskey’s observation has merit. If a man is alpha and unburdened by moral considerations, he will have mistresses and flings and hotel bar hookups. And in turn, those mistresses and flings will drift off the dating market, de facto if not maritally de jure. When an alpha captures a woman’s heart, even if for only a few times a year, her yearning focuses like a laser beam onto him to the exclusion of more available betas in her midst. She will be happier daydreaming of her unavailable lover than talking in real life with second rate suitors.

Maxim #101: For most women, five minutes of alpha is worth five years of beta.

The Tiger Woods bimbo eruption has clarified the seedy underbelly of the sexual market within which we all operate, no matter how many Hallmark platitudes we recite to the contrary to assuage our pestering fears. People get wrapped up in the salacious gossip and revel in the downfall of a celebrity, but behind the jokes and snark of the gawking masses percolates a silent unease. Women spare fleeting thoughts that the men who love them might trade up to a younger hotter model if offers suddenly emerged. Men hide a slow moving but deep river of envy for any alpha male who makes the news by monopolizing enough women to sexually nourish the IT department of a large corporation.

Yes, in 2009 America, there are men who rule over harems. And there are many more men who are eunuchized by this dirty little reality.

Some of the quotes from Tiger’s flings are a case study in female rationalization.

Jamie Jungers (fling #??):

Jamie, 26, who bears a striking resemblance to Elin, recalled: “Tiger and I went back to the room and just started making out.

“It just went from one thing to the next. We ended up having crazy sex for two hours. I remember him picking me up and putting me against the wall. And that’s when it turned into wild sex. It was really good.

“Later I said to him, ‘I don’t know a whole lot about your marriage situation. I know it is very fresh. I know you just got married. I mean, is it going OK?’ He said, ‘Yes, it’s fine, she’s in Sweden with her family’.”

She’s banging a dude who just got married and she asks if his marriage is going OK. No one is that stupid. She asked because by asking she absolves herself of any guilt or accountability for what she is doing. This is how women think. They are submissive, empty vessels to their core.

Jaimee Grubbs (fling #???):

TIGER Woods was rated as “horrible in bed” by one of his lovers, it was revealed yesterday.

The damning verdict came from cocktail waitress Jaimee Grubbs, who says she had a 31-month fling with the married golf superstar.

One would think 31 months is a long time to fuck a man who is “horrible in bed”, but alphas get a lot of leeway. Or she’s just pissed she was turned in for a flashier upgrade.

The 24-year-old mistress told fellow contestants on US TV reality show Tool Academy she had also “hooked up” with George Clooney.

But while she was full of praise for the movie heartthrob, she mauled Tiger.

Telly pal Krista Grubb, 27, told The Sun: “She was showing all these texts saying they were from Tiger and George.

One she said was from George said, ‘When can I get in there again?’ He signed it G.

“She said she met him while working as a cocktail waitress in Los Angeles and they would meet up in Vegas and he was a lot of fun.

“Jaimee said George was amazing but wasn’t so nice about Tiger. She just kept saying he was horrible in bed.”

Let this be a lesson, men. If you want rave reviews from pump and dumps, live your cad lifestyle without apology. Women not only respect that in a man, they love it.

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Posted in Alpha, Current Events, Dating, Marriage Is For Chumps, Maxims, Ugly Truths | No Comments »

The Look Of Confidence

Dec 9th, 2009 by

Here is a photo taken in August 1939.

I found it on this excellent site which showcases very old photographs. The description of the photo reads: “Unemployed lumber worker goes with his wife to the bean harvest. Note Social Security number tattooed on his arm.”

Despite this man’s pauper clothes (there was little peacocking during the Great Depression), his jobless status, his search for employment or food at a bean harvest, and his home made out of canvas, he wears the confident smirk and mischievous gaze of an alpha male. What does he have to be happy about? Oh, his attractive wife. And by 1939 standards she is a real hottie.

Shouldn’t he feel ashamed to be dragging her to a bean harvest? Most modern men couldn’t imagine taking their wives or girlfriends on a bean harvest date. It would be a massive DLV. Not only that, but he’s obviously proud of the Social Security number tattooed on his arm. This is one step above waving your food stamps in the air like a certificate of accomplishment. What could be more beta than tattooing the government’s ownage of you on your arm?

Self-satisfaction will see a man through all sorts of tribulations. Radiating confidence, deserved or irrational, is what is most attractive to women. This man looks confident, and his wife stands by him. She has the mousy, hunched over posture of a woman in love. All else that’s objectively negative about him fades to insignificance in the matter of what stirs her heart. In glaring contrast, today we have the spectacle of wives divorcing their dutiful husbands (70% divorces initiated by women) for the sin of catering to her every whim by being “economic partners, lovers, …co-parents and best friends. [A]lso each other’s co-workers, editors and primary readers.”

I have a new system for learning inner game — I call it bean harvest game. This is where you take a woman on a really shitty date, let’s say to a soup kitchen to pick up your rations for the week, and refuse to act apologetic or ashamed of your anti-signaling station in life. Instead, you carry your unemployment and poor taste with the confidence of a master of the universe. Handicapping yourself this way means you have no crutch to close the deal. Everything desirable about you must flow from your internal state. If this doesn’t sharpen your inner game and hone your ability to reframe, nothing will. Expect to be amazed how many women will still sleep with you after running tight bean harvest game on them.

Addendum: I find this picture oddly sensual. I’ve never wanted to bone a woman from the pre-airbrushing era so badly.

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Posted in Alpha, Goodbye America, Love | Comments Off

A Test Of Your Game

Dec 8th, 2009 by

Tonight, you are meeting a woman at a bar. This bar is in DC and it serves the best beer in the city. (It’s not Brickskeller. Those of you who live here will know which bar I’m talking about.)

The woman is someone you’ve been dating for a few months. Expectations have been established. Not firm rules, but slowly congealing guidelines for acceptable behavior. She tells you she will be at this bar tonight with a former co-worker, a man you’ve never met, and she wants you to come out and meet her at the bar. You say “Yeah, I’ll swing by later.” You’re an alpha; everything is always later.

When you arrive at the entrance of the bar you spot your girl across the room, sitting on a barstool between two men. There are no other empty stools near them. They are all laughing and drinking amongst themselves. Your girl is looking good, her bright red lipstick a beacon in the dim bar light. They haven’t noticed you yet. You watch them for a second before proceeding into the room, dispassionately curious about their dynamic. Soon you will walk toward them — the two men flanking your woman whose vagina you have penetrated repeatedly and vigorously — with intentions to introduce yourself. You don’t know which of the men is her former co-worker, or who the other man might be. In fact, you don’t know anything of their synergy, but that you see their smiles and hear their laughter. You begin walking to them.

What do you do?

I want specifics. Don’t patronize this blog’s audience with the obvious. You may think your testicular fortitude unassailable, but few men who read here are so socially awkward that they would believe confronting the men at the bar in a jealous pique is “being alpha”.

Who do you address first? How do you address them? Do you wait for your girl to introduce you or do you thrust your hand in promptly, prodding handshakes? Do you put an arm over your girl’s shoulder? Do you kiss her upon meeting? Or do you keep a few feet of distance between you and her in the interest of avoiding the perception of “boyfriendiness”?

Think details. Go.

PS Some readers have emailed me asking if my “test of your game’” stories are pulled from my own life or made up out of whole cloth. Most of the incidents I describe on this blog are events I have experienced personally. So yes, you are getting real life scenarios to ponder.

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Posted in Dating, Game, The Big City Life | Comments Off

Alpha Assessment Monday: Late Night Coffee Edition

Dec 7th, 2009 by

Time for another round of alpha assessment, where readers send in their examples of game they’ve run and hope to be judged worthy of alphatude.

Case #1

Submitted by bills217:

This chick is my next door neighbor – I met her and got her number, but she will not text me back, no matter what I do (I hate talking on the phone so I never call). I am thinking she is hesitant because she is my neighbor, even though we never see each other at the complex and I haven’t had any in-person contact with her except for the one time we met and exchanged numbers.

Me: Call it a hunch but I’m feeling lucky today – I feel like you are going to respond to this text.

Her: I gotta hand it to you – you don’t give up.

Me: (obvious sarcasm) yeah well there are so few attractive girls in atlanta i didnt think i could afford to let you get away, which has been surprisingly difficult considering you live next door. lets grab coffee tonight.

Her: do you still want to grab coffee if i have a boyfriend?

(above really smells like a shit test to me since she didn’t say anything about it when I got her number or as a reply to any of my texts)

Me: do you still want to grab coffee if I have a girlfriend?

Her: is she also one of the few attractive girls in atlanta?

Me: I had to look far and wide but I was able to find a few. Anyway, since you are so generally difficult I am taking that as a yes to coffee. I have plans at 8, I’ll knock on your door at 6.

Her: I won’t be home from work by then…guess you will have to get lucky some other day.

Me: Working past 6 on a friday? that is rough. You should get a better job. I am a pretty lucky guy so I think there will be another day soon.

This is a great example of a man “overgaming”. Overgaming is basically try-hard game, where every thrust by the woman is met with an overcompensatory parry by the man. Overgaming happens when two conditions are met: one, the man has recently jettisoned his beta baggage and is eager to lay the cocky/funny smackdown, and two, the man is emotionally invested in the outcome with the woman. Overgaming can often be worse than executing zero game, because women don’t really want to see you trying hard to impress them. A man with zero game sometimes gets the girl by sheer dint of ignorance; an empty mind is a mind in the moment.

A few points: gaming neighbors is tough because you sacrifice intrigue and unpredictability by the fact of you living next to her. In college, the girls who live in big co-ed group homes rarely hook up with their male roommates. They usually prefer to harvest cock from mysterious far away lands, like the dorm building down the block.

A man should never “feel lucky”. Your mindset should be that she is lucky to be even hearing from you.

Your texts are too long and obvious attempts at being witty. Pussy prefers pith. Thoughtful texts interspersed with Sundance Film Festival caliber dry humor is best left to her funny, smiling on the outside but hurting on the inside, horny hard-up orbiter male friends.

Sarcasm in texts doesn’t always translate. She might have really thought you couldn’t afford to let her get away, and judged by your performance so far, she would’ve been right. Sarcasm is best done face to face, after some initial attraction has been established. Otherwise you risk coming across petulant, peevish, and insecure. Sarcasm sits nearly as badly on men as it does on women.

Coffee at night? What happened to alcohol? You want to loosen her up, not rev her up. Last thing you need is a mentally alert broad overanalyzing everything you say to see if you meet her 462 bullet point checklist.

You failed the boyfriend shit test. If I were a girl I would think I had stung you. A better answer requires reframing: “Only if he pays.”

The problem with surrendering to a girl’s frame is illustrated nicely by her response to your “if i have a girlfriend” snarky reply. She was able to turn your words against you with a clever riposte: “is she also one of the few attractive girls in atlanta?”

Don’t call a girl who is being difficult “difficult”. You don’t want to draw attention to the fact that she is not interested in you enough to not make it difficult for you. Try to maintain a positive frame. If you study the Tomes of the Asshole Ancients you may be surprised to find that most assholes are rarely negative in their assholery. It’s a subtle art, but effective asshole game is not humorlessly critical of the girl. Clit Crit is the domain of the spurned greater beta or lesser alpha. Assholes may be abrasive, but they are not downers. (Note: If you *are* going to call a girl difficult, don’t sabotage your gutsy play by then rewarding her difficulty with the offer of a coffee date.)

Normally, taking the lead when arranging dates is a good thing, but you can’t lead a woman who isn’t sufficiently intrigued to want to be led. This is why your texts to meet at such and such a time sound controlling instead of authoritative.

Your last text reply is too long. Men who are losing control of the interaction will try a salvage operation by throwing everything and the kitchen sink at the girl. That may work for Lloyd Dobler, but it doesn’t work for most guys in the real world. I wouldn’t have even bothered responding to her last text. And why are you informing her, yet again, that you are a “lucky guy”? Remember the Rule of Value Demonstration: you build value by verbalizing an insignificant “problem” of low value, and by nonverbally demonstrating an actual trait of high value. A truly lucky guy doesn’t tell a girl he is lucky. He lets his luck speak for itself.

Relatedly, if you are going to verbalize your higher value, you need to be way more subtle than you are. When Mystery drops DHVs about the hot strippers he dates, it’s usually tucked within the confines of a larger story.

I give this text exchange a D grade. You understand enough to avoid the worst beta mistakes, but your insecurity stepping into a stronger role you are ill-prepared for shows here. Practice a few weeks of texting girls using nothing but One Word Game. Better yet, skip texting altogether and get them home the same day you meet them.

Case #2

Submitted by Grapedrink:

Here’s a lil’ background. I’m 18 and grad. last year,she’s 17 and is still in school.Light flirting during class led to her sending naked pics and playing hard to get over the summer.Haven’t seen her in several months and haven’t talked to her in a few months…This is what we texted to each other today

After a few mins of catching up….
Me : I gotta question for you
Her : what’s that?
Me : When you gon let me tap that?
Her: ahaha yuh so funny
Me : dead ass
Her : why yuh wanna sex meh?
Me : cuz we both know we want it
Her : who said we wanted it
Me : ur body language
Her : ahaha
Me : See? the signs are all there!
Her : Chile Boo!
Me : it’s cool,i know what your going thru right now
Her : Whats that?
Me : U feel honored,shy and horny
Her : not really
Me : ur right,your not shy. But 2 outta 3 is good enuff for me!
Her : ahahah
Me : ur too old to be playing hard to get sweetie
Her : yuh right & and who said I was playing hard to get
Me : Me. your beatin around the bush,and it needs to be the other way around if you know what I mean
Her : is that right?
Me : Realest shit I ever said
Her : sooo whats up then?
Me : ima come pick you up tonight at 9

There’s a few more texts of her saying how she’s going outta town tonight and Im basically getting a rain check…

So what do yall think?

I have nothing to add to this. It’s almost perfect except for the number of texts exchanged, and the bad syntax (but that’s acceptable since you’re just out of high school and she’s even worse). Shorten it up, cut back on the chatter, and you’ve got yourself a foothold. Ignore her for a while, I think she’ll respond without any additional prompting from you. If not, try contacting her in a couple of weeks to hang out.

Grade: A. This is impressive game for an 18 year old. I see bright future of womanizing and juvie detention centers for you.

Case #3

Submitted by tosh:

Ok then, your honesty has inspired me to share a story of my own as I’m keen to learn something from this recent experience… happy for you to tear this to shreds! should mention I’m a newbie to the site…

I dated a great girl since beginning of the year – she was incredibly sexy, smart, and funny – and everything was rocking along nicely. Without boring you with the mechanics of the relationship I broke up with her about 2 months ago after failing a major shit test (jealousy & insecurity related) & she’d started to become emotionally distant. Should repeat “I” broke up with her.

After that I cut off contact, until she chased & chased then we eventually hooked up again about 4 weeks ago. After 2 weeks of solid pounding not dissimilar to that when our relationship was at its best, out of no where she suddenly flaked on me over the weekend.

Again, not wanting to put myself in the place of beta chasing… when she called next time to say she wanted to see me, I was aloof but agreed to catch up, then cancelled on her a few hrs before I was spose to see her. When she called & texted again wanting to see me, I didn’t respond until after the proposed date with a simple text “hey def wanted to see you but something came up & didn’t have phone on me. Talk soon.”

A weeks now past… no contact either way. I’m thinking about her a lot & I’d definitely like to get back together with her but not sure how to go forward. Any thoughts?

First, glad to see you put into action my advice for winning back an ex-girlfriend (what is known colloquially as “tingle rekindle”). You preemptively breaking up with her when you saw the writing on the wall was a heads-up move that afforded you a couple extra weeks of glorious piledriving. Give yourself a pat on the back.

Unfortunately, you overplayed your hand. Keep in mind that a calculatingly reignited relationship rests on shaky ground to begin with, so any false move could be the excuse she needs to finally let go in full. Playing hard to get is great as a pickup strategy, but it can quickly backfire on girls with whom you share a sexual history. You blew her off twice when you didn’t need to, and you did so in an obvious way. The trap of try-hard works in both directions  – when you feel a need to impress and when you feel a need to unimpress. Take another stab at her but don’t expect much.

Grade: C+

Case #4

Submitted by young bachelor gig:

carnival was getting close, and all the guys were teasing the one among all who had a girlfriend. whenever the subjects of girls/booze appeared, guys would remark ” don’t talk about that near XXX, he has girlfriend”

then on the week before carnival, one of the guys said he couldn’t go, family matters. so our friend XXX had the perfect opportunity, there was a place in the car, in the hotel and even the parties’ tickets. the only problem was his girlfriend.

so he sends her a bouquet of flowers, anonymously. coincidentally, he arrives at her home soon after she received the flowers. facing such a filthy whore, who receives flowers from unknown people, he finished the relationship

then he decided to get back from carnival early, arriving back home on tuesday night. then he calls his devastated ex-girlfriend on ashes’ wednesday night, around 2 or 3 AM, and tells her that he couldn’t stop thinking about her, that he spent the whole carnival thinking about both of them together, and she comes to his home.

they are still together. it happened last february.

Grade: A+ for Asshole+. I loved this story. An emotionally charged powerhouse. No reason to include it in this post, except for the fact that it shows just how devastatingly effective game bereft of any moral or ethical consideration can be. And you just know she loves the shit out of him.

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A Common Mistake Men Make

Dec 4th, 2009 by

Needling a woman to be more upbeat.

“Why so sad? Be happy. How about a smile!”

“Hey, it’s not that bad, come on!”

“Let’s see a smile. Don’t look so down.”

“Where’s your holiday spirit?”

Why do you show you care about a woman’s emotional state before you’ve banged her? Remember, your reality first. Her reality a distant second.

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Cuckoldry Vs. Butt Rape

Dec 3rd, 2009 by

It seems that my spirited discussion of resolving the ultimate betrayal through mandatory paternity testing made the rounds on the internet. A male commenter at Overcoming Bias had this to say about the CHian contention that cuckoldry is on a par with rape, if not even more psychologically traumatic:

And as to whether it’s worse [for a woman] to be raped or [a man to be] cuckolded – I cannot even begin to understand the trauma or ostracization of the first (which by the way happens to A LOT more than two percent the population) while the second would only hurt because of the dishonesty. It’s a difference of several orders of magnitude!

Oh rilly? I think it’s time to put this assertion to the test with a leetle thought experiment. Imagine two highly unpleasant scenarios.

Scenario 1

You are walking past an alleyway when Big Bad Bubba comes up behind you and drags you into the dark alley, muttering “you look real purty for a grown boy” as he uses his bulk to press you into the damp brick wall, his beefy bear paws yanking your jeans and boxers down to your ankles. You try to resist but his strength is overwhelming. He smashes your face into the wall and sticks a knife to your throat, saying he’ll cut you if you scream. Suddenly, a seering pain shoots up your rectum. You struggle to get away but you are immobilized. The pain continues for what seems an eternity but is in actuality only one minute and 22 seconds. Punctuating his release with a great heaving grunt, Bubba withdraws, spent, and cackles as he walks off, the lingering musky stench of his sweat offending your nostrils. Vomit rises up your throat and you stumble to your knees, your hands grasping at pebbles on the ground. You are sure your innards are spilling out on a torrent of blood from your asshole, but luckily when you arrive at the hospital an hour later the doctors tell you there was no permanent damage to your poopenshaften and you are AIDS free. You go home, go to sleep, and call in sick the following two days. Over the following months you go to the gym more frequently than you used to, working out your shame and anger in the weight room. People compliment your improved physique. You tell no one of your ordeal.

Scenario 2

You are married to the love of your life. In the first year of wedded bliss, your wife gets pregnant. Nine months later an infant pops out. You are filled with so much joy you hardly notice the brief flicker of discomfort you feel when you ponder that the child looks nothing like you, nor do you pay much attention to all your relatives telling you how much the child looks like you. Time passes. You spend countless hours, days, weeks, months, years loving your child, wiping his ass, taking him to the park, strapping him in the car seat and struggling with the belts and clips, working extra long hours to afford a move to a better neighborhood so your child can go to a good school, sacrificing your beloved guitar gig with a local band to spend that newly freed up personal time helping your child with his homework, attending his soccer games, cheering for him when he scores a goal, instructing him how to swing a bat and build a model airplane, teaching him how to defend himself in a fight, disciplining him for a bad grade in english, setting aside a chunk of your income for his college fund, and generally reorganizing your life in almost every conceivable way for your child’s benefit. Then, when your child is age 10, through a series of fateful circumstances you discover he is another man’s biological son. Your gut implodes and your heart crashes. Your mouth has dried into a sticky velcro. You feel as if you have just seen everyone you love die horrible deaths in front of you. Your brain is scorched and the room spins for what seems like an eternity but is in actuality only two hours and 43 minutes. Over the next year you learn that, despite your best efforts at some kind of recompense or at minimum freedom from pain, the law has decided in its infinite wisdom to require you to pay child support for another eight years to the wife you divorced, in the interests of the child. Betrayal eviscerates your sense of self. Besides the obvious lie, you wonder at the cascade of lies in tow. Did your wife whom you loved so much ever really love you? Did anyone else know? Did they think you a fool? Was your dignity worth so little to the people who mattered to you most? You ask these questions already knowing the answers.

Now that you have considered these two vile scenarios I want you to vote which of the two, should you be forced to endure one of them, you would rather have happen to you. This voting is for my male readers only. Ladies, you can take a time out with your purple saguaros.

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