Which man is smarter today? Tiger Woods, who got married? Or George Clooney, single and never without a happy smile on his face?
If Tiger had read my blog and taken my eminently sensible advice he would not be facing the dire prospect of a nine digit cut in pay for doing EXACTLY what his wife, Elin Nordegren, did when she married one of the most desirable bachelors in the world — namely, fulfilling the alpha directive. As alpha females should be free to pursue and coax commitment from the highest quality men, so too should alpha males be free to pursue and bang numerous hot women. It would only be fair.
Beta males at least have an excuse for getting married. They might not find another woman. Alpha males have no excuse.
Men are burdened with a duality. We feel impelled to commit to a chaste woman but we will happily sleep around with raging sluts. Women, too, are creatures of duality. They relish the emotional connection with the great boyfriend who dotes on them and pampers them but they succumb helplessly to their raw sexuality with the ideal lover. The god of biomechanics is, if nothing else, a practical joker.
There are very few men who embody both the great boyfriend and the ideal lover in equal measure. In fact, my experience in the trenches of modern decadence leads me to conclude there are NO men like this. 50/50 internal power sharing between lover and supporter, manifestly expressed in perfect synchronicity with a woman’s unspoken needs for the one or the other masculine archetype, is the myth of “the One” perpetuated by the feminist grievance industry to keep women unsatisfied and constantly searching. The truth is that most men, by innate character, lean one way, and a few men of purity wholly abandon their soul’s struggle and jettison one archetype to fully embrace its opposite.
How do you know if you are closer in character to the ideal lover or to the great boyfriend? To answer this for yourself, consider the following scenarios, and then decide if they accurately describe how you would behave in your own life.
Holiday shopping (Kwanzaa not included)
The great boyfriend thinks of the gifts he will buy others before he thinks of himself. His time shopping is spent with a gentle smile envisioning the look on his lover’s face when she sees what he bought for her.
The ideal lover thinks of all the fantastic shit he will buy for himself before he thinks of others. His time shopping is spent with a joyous grin perusing the electronics section, and only after he has sat in the massage chair at Brookstones for a while does he put in a token effort to find reasonably acceptable gifts for his girlfriend.
Family
The great boyfriend showers affection on his family. He is especially affectionate with little nieces and nephews.
The ideal lover is either fighting or drinking with his family. He is the first to teach his little nephew how to flip the bird and what it means.
Sex
The great boyfriend is a master of foreplay and delaying his own gratification. He is a slow and steady lovemaker. The look of surrender on his woman’s face during orgasm brings him almost as much pleasure as his own climax. Sex is often preceded by the lighting of scented candles and the playing of soft jazz.
The ideal lover is selfish in bed. He may eat his woman out for an eternity one night while hurting her anally another night, slowly grind into her missionary style or jackhammer her like a rutting cape buffalo, but always know that everything he does sexually to her is in service to his penis. He will often not know nor care if she came, and what usually precedes sex is a rough hand up her skirt.
Compassion
The great boyfriend will listen intently when his girl has had a bad day, careful not to brusquely offer any pointed suggestions to alleviate her sadness, instead opting to massage her shoulders and make her some soup.
The ideal lover will attempt to take his girl’s mind off her worries with hot sex. It will usually work.
Values
The great boyfriend appreciates his girlfriend’s values, and this is reflected in his mature respect for her political views, even when he disagrees.
The ideal lover only cares for one value — his lover’s commitment to the righteousness of sexual abandon. He’s apolitical as far as she knows, because he’s very good at mentally dismissing her silly political beliefs as the earnest naivete of an unworldly little girl.
Compatibility
The great boyfriend understands that much of what makes a relationship successful are shared goals and interests. He loves spending time with his lover doing things they both enjoy, and he will put in the extra effort to learn about those things she likes to do but which he is either unfamiliar or uninterested. For instance, if she likes tango dancing but he’d rather play pool, he’ll spend a night or two attending tango classes with her and making her feel worth his sacrifice.
The ideal lover understands that what makes a relationship successful is not spending too much time together. Quality over quantity, and in his world the best measure of quality is how often intercourse is happening. He will occasionally treat his lover to romantic nights out, but when she wants him to join her on her trip to Antartica he’ll stroke her cheek lovingly and tell her to have a good time by herself.
These examples should give you an idea where on the testicular spectrum you fall. Are you a Latin lover or a loving partner? Like I said, most men lean one way or the other, a few embrace an extreme, and only Master Casanovas balance their dual essence so evenly that their women are always breathlessly infatuated with them.
The men who have complete command over their women are the men who intuitively know when to disarm with the tender ministrations of the great boyfriend or the lustful recklessness of the ideal lover. When you are aware of this ever present immutable female desire for dualing male archetypes, you will find it that much easier to direct a woman’s emotions, like Mozart conducting a symphony. A woman’s loyalty is as much a function of your ability to seduce it out of her as it is of her character.
When historians ponder the fall of the Roman Empire, they point to the multicultural Germanicization of the legions and the outsourcing of military affairs to barbarian mercenaries. When they reflect on the causes of Mayan collapse, deforestation is fingered as the culprit. When future revolutionary historians on the fringes of polite society offer reasons for the implosion of the American Empire (coming *very* soon to a booming multiplex theater near you), they will hold up this photo. And heads will nod in unison. Mutterings will be heard: “We saw it coming.”
What’s wrong with this picture? Let us count the ways. I’m going to go out on a limb here and assume the hairdresser is swisherrific. I mean, just look at that belt buckle. Would we be able to win WWII if we had to fight it over again with the current crop of American men? Or would we chastise the fearful warmongering Americans for antagonizing the millions of moderate Nazis? Phony umbrage and secular piousness are the cheap and easy virtues of a soulsucked people. So easy, you can do it too! I’ll get you started. “Xenophobe!” Congrats, you’re now better than Jesus.
The assistant has a foreign name. East European. She has that cute, scrunchy apple face so sexually arousing in the Slavic women, but unfortunately her Old World charms will be lost in a matter of weeks, due to exposure to the froo-frooiest of American culture from working in a hair salon that caters to a dying breed. (And I’m not referring to the dog.) I do not envy her boyfriend who will wake up one morning to the realization that his beloved has become fully Americanized. Home cooked dinners and surprise blowjobs will be nothing but a sweet memory.
When a free nation is invaded by a foreign force wthout lifting a single weapon to defend itself, when it puts itself in hock to a Communist overlord, when it has 152 varieties of color protecting conditioner on its store shelves, the doomsday clock has moved a minute closer to the midnight hour.
Then there’s the woman getting the queen bee treatment. Yenta! It’s not just an electric car. Her smile may be a mile wide, but her eyes betray infinite sadness. By the way she is smothering her dog with affection I safely assume she is childless.
And of course, the dog, a term I use loosely to describe the shitting Roomba sitting on her lap. Is that a flower tucked in its head fur? No wonder the dog’s face says “Shoot me please.” Normal dogs are not coddled and pampered like substitute children. A normal dog’s face says “Bacon? Bacooooon!!”
Examine this picture. You should feel a foreboding deep in your gut. You won’t know why exactly, but it’s there. Best not think too long about it, there’s another mp3 to download.
It’s been said that when Tiger Woods is dominating on the fairway his opponents lose their composure and begin piling up the bogies. An analogy could be made to relationships. The greater the dating market value disparity between two people the more likely the partner with less power will lose composure at the slightest threat of loss. Another way of saying this: The partner with less hand is more emotionally invested in the relationship.
Tiger Woods may be a goofy looking guy but have no doubt — millions of hot women the world over would love to bang him. This means whichever woman lucks out in the marital lotto with Tiger is automatically the partner with zero emotional hand. (Financial hand is another matter. Thanks to insane anti-male divorce laws a world-beating alpha male like Tiger Woods can be brought to his knees by a single throwaway lantern-jawed blonde like Elin Nordegren.) Nordegren has little hand being married to Tiger and her hindbrain knows this, which is why she went psycho on him when she presumably suspected him of cheating and chased him down with the long iron.
The Tiger Woods Effect works in either direction. Look back on your own dating career. With which women did you behave in the most wretchedly beta manner? The hot ones, right? It’s usually the women who are relatively significantly higher in dating market value who will cause a man to forget everything he’s learned about women and throw alpha to the wind as he begs pleads and cajoles her for more love. Let’s say you are a 6 and your girlfriend is a 9. How long do you think it’s going to be before you’re writing her sappy poems and buying her flowers? Two dates?
Similarly, if you’re a girl who’s dating Tiger Woods and you catch him throwing a flirty glance at a waitress, you might do something crazy like this. (Thanks to Justin for the pointer. My readers always come through with great links.)
I believe it’s a good idea for men to get practice dominating a woman so fully she loses all dignity around him. Date at least one woman who is lower than you in dating market value and watch with wonder how little effort you have to put into the relationship. This will instill you with the right attitudes to have with the hotter women you truly wish to date — namely, aloofness, carelessness and selfishness.
“Hi, I’m an interpretive guide for the Truitt exhibit. What do you think of it so far?”
I looked over and saw a short, cute girl with a seeing eye dog in tow. At least, I figured it was a seeing eye dog because one, it had the telltale handlebar thing strapped to it and two, it was a dog in a museum, where pets aren’t normally allowed.
I scanned the nearly blank white canvas on the wall before answering her. “I’m struggling with it. If I had to turn this in as an assignment for art class I’d probably get an F.”
I was at the Anne Truitt exhibit, in search of beauty amongst blocks and drawings of lines. For those who aren’t familiar, here is a representative sample of her work:
Are you scratching your head? Keep scratching plebe. You wouldn’t recognize art if it bit you on the ass.
The short cute girl eagerly continued our conversation. She was quite earnest. I was charmed.
“Truitt was a minimalist who wanted the viewer to experience her work as an emotional reaction, instead of a visual object. (something something something)… it’s conceptual art that draws out memories in the viewer… (something something something)… and the colors are meant to represent just the color…”
As she spoke, her eyes looked directly at mine, as if she could actually see me. Her gaze was intense. It made me a little uncomfortable and I looked to the dog for reassurance. I began to wonder if she was really blind, or if she picked the dog up from the shelter and liked the handlebar thing, so she never removed it. In the middle of her speech, she reached down without looking and patted the ground with her hand, feeling for the dog’s leash which had moved a foot away from her. Yep, she was blind. I breathed a sigh of relief and thought about picking my nose, but checked myself. Some blind people have rudimentary vision. She might be able to see my blurry finger drilling into my blurry face.
She was such an engaging converationalist that I found myself fully committed to chatting with her. It didn’t hurt that she was cute with a perfect ass. If there was female game, she had it. As we volleyed back and forth on the artistic impact of Truitt’s bare bones oeuvre, I felt an old, familiar urge well up inside me. I was gaming this chick. Teasing, banter, light touch on her elbow. The raw energy of a possible seduction electrified the air around us. My crotch grew three sizes that day!
None of my teasing involved her blindness. It never came up. It’s funny how a rollicking conversation can overlook the most obvious questions, like “What is a blind girl doing in a museum giving tour guides of a visual artist’s exhibit?” Then I noticed something else; this girl was getting attracted to me through nothing but my words. She moved in closer, she smiled wider. But, she couldn’t see me. She couldn’t see my well-timed cocky grin, or my alpha body language. I could have been a potbellied bald leprosy victim rubbing my hands together nervously for all she knew.
That’s when it hit me. How, after all these years, could I have ignored the potential of blind girl game? There are so many fewer variables to worry about. No need for style, grooming, or calculated backturns. You don’t even have to smile. All you need is the seductive allure of your words. If you are a man with powerful verbal game, your talents will be best appreciated by a blind girl. In fact, you could easily score a 9 or 10 blind chick if your game is only good enough to score 20/20 vision 7s. Removing a woman’s visual judgement bumps your skill level up two full points.
Downside: When slipping her the midnight hummer, make sure to tell her it’s not a hot dog.
Stuff White People Like needs a new entry on its illustrious blog: Going Primal. Yes, the wave of the future is going back… all the way to the Paleolithic. Trendy white status whores have jumped on the Primal bandwagon, as evidence mounts that our pre-agricultural hunter-gatherer lifestyle was healthier for us. In a complete reversal of SWPL values, vegetarianism is out and meat-eating is in. Chuck Taylors are out and barefoot running is in. Sex with condoms is out and raw dogging is in. (Ok, I made up that last one. Someday the world will catch up to me.)
For the past four months I’ve been on the primal diet — low on grain carbs, high on meat, fat, and evolutionary harmony. I will now tell you my results on this diet.
First, the main changes I made:
I stopped eating bread, french fries, baked potatoes, pasta, donuts, pastries, cereal (mostly), cakes, and pretty much anything else wheat- or potato-based. Rice consumption was limited.
I radically cut back on my sugar consumption. This was more difficult than it sounds, because the Standard American Diet is full of sugar, usually in the form of high fructose corn syrup. If you don’t believe me, try walking down the cereal aisle at Safeway and finding a box of cereal that doesn’t have sugar or HFCS as one of the first three ingredients. Sugar, if you’ve been living in a closet the past five years, is incredibly bad for you in anything more than the quantities you would find in a single fruit. It spikes your insulin and causes your body to store calories as fat. It ages you. It enervates you. There’s no upside to sugar.
I started eating bigger lunches and smaller dinners. In fact, I skipped dinner entirely a couple days each week.
I intermittently fasted, sort of. A day every other week I would barely eat anything.
I started eating more nuts and more fish in the low mercury, fisheries friendly form of sardines and wild salmon. I actually like sardines so this was not a challenge for me. A big problem with the modern diet is that our omega 6-omega 3 ratio is completely out of whack. Fish, flax, and nuts are high in omega 3s and eating them restores the balance.
I drank a glass of red wine and ate a small square of 90% dark chocolate every day.
I substituted the bread I used to eat with more veggies. Broc, brussel sprouts, red pepper, eggplant, squash, cauliflower, grape tomatoes, leek, cucumber, asparagus.
Berries were in, big time. Frozen blueberries are best. They eat like candy.
Since I was still unsure of the health merits of the primal diet’s high fat recommendations, I didn’t go crazy with the bacon, beef, or butter. I didn’t want my LDL cholesterol to go through the roof. I did add more Irish Gold butter and saturated fat to my diet, but I generally tried to eat fish and nuts for the bulk of my fat calories. Vegetable oil was out (way out) and extra virgin olive oil was in (way in).
Dairy was tricky. The primal guidelines are circumspect on the health of dairy, but since I am of the heritage that evolved centrally located to the spread of the lactase persistence gene, I figured milk, butter, yogurt, and cheese (glorious smelly cheese!) would do me no harm. I continued indulging.
Beer: Though beer is grain-based I couldn’t give it up. Sacrifice beer for immortality? Tough call.
A sample breakfast: Two hard boiled eggs and watered down grape juice. A lump of cheese.
A sample lunch: Salmon fillet, veggie, brown rice.
A sample dinner: Sardines, cucumber drizzled with olive oil and garlic, cheese on sliced tomato, glass of red wine, handful of walnuts, dark chocolate.
I also supplemented with a variety of OTC (and some not-so-OTC) life extending drugs that I call my arsenal of immortality. Here is a picture of that arsenal:
Some other changes I made while following the primal diet/lifestyle:
Wind sprints in place of long distance running (with my Vibram Fivefingers, the lady catchers!).
20 minutes of afternoon sun. On cloudy days I popped a few vitamin D + K2 pills.
Circuit training. There are a bunch of exercise stations in the park down from where I live where I go to do chin-ups, pull-ups, and sit-ups. I can crank out twice as many pull-ups when a cute girl walks by.
My results on the primal diet:
I’m more constipated. My poops are harder and darker, like Chic Noir’s lovers (you go girl!). Luckily, the stool is small and pellet-shaped, so evacuating is not a painful process. On the toilet I feel like a rabbit with a rectal machine gun. Rat-a-tat-tat!
I fart and burp less. I consider this an unwelcome development.
My skin is smoother and more flushed. There is more oil in my facial skin, but fewer blemishes.
My libido is up. Morning wood is a regular occurrence, as are sex dreams involving two or more women. My juice is thick and milky. My erections pierce the heavens.
When I cut myself on the hand, I noticed the wound healed faster than my cuts used to before going primal.
My hair is darker, and in the biggest surprise my few gray hairs appear to have reversed color. My hair also grows faster, and my pubes are a dense canopy of velcro. Rock on, hippie.
My hand temperature fluctuates wildly. Weird, but maybe it’s related to the changing season?
I sleep better (more REM dreaming) but I can’t say I have more energy. Energy level change: Inconclusive.
My mood is, I think, worse. I dunno, but whole wheat bread and pasta seems to pick me up.
No change to my game.
In a couple of months I will have blood work done. I’ll let you know if the primal diet has significantly altered my lipid profile.
The final verdict: Jury is out. Theoretically, the primal diet, based as it is on mimicking how humans used to eat for millions of years before grain agriculture rotted their teeth out, has a lot going for it. The thinking goes that our digestive system has not evolved as much or as quickly as, for example, our skin color or brains have, so the best living is the lifestyle that closely matches what we ate for most of our evolutionary history. But there are arguments against a one-size-fits-all primal diet, as succinctly relayed to me by Randall Parker:
Okay, we’ve evolved a number of adaptations to dietary changes. For example, upregulation of lactase into adulthood. Very important for the spread of humans in some (though not all) parts of the world. Similarly, Mediterranean peoples are much better adapted to alcohol than northern Europeans. Northern Europeans are better adapted to alcohol than East Asians with their facial flush reaction to alcohol.
Grains: Obviously populations that adopted grain farming experienced local selective pressures that other populations didn’t experience. Hunter-gatherer types are going to have different allele frequencies for digestion and metabolism than, say, populations that were already doing grain farming a few thousand years ago.
I am confident that some people have genes that make the paleo diet more beneficial to them. Ditto for other diets for other people. We aren’t all at equal genetic risk of adult onset diabetes or obesity. This is due to local selective pressures. e.g. eskimo genes must be different due to their high meat and high fat diets. Ditto genes in people living in areas with lots of fruits.
Some people really do benefit from eating like an ape man. I think absent genetic tests we’ve got to each try diets and see what works for us. Parenthetically, Steve [Sailer] sees it the same way:
What If It’s All Been a Big Fat Lie? asks an important article in the NYT Magazine. For decades, the medical profession has been trying to stomp out heretics like Dr. Atkins who question the orthodoxy that the only way to control your weight is to eat a lot of carbohydrates and very little fat. I tried the low-fat plan and gained 40 pounds because I was hungry all the time. I shifted to a less extreme version of Atkins’s diet (to be honest, it was Suzanne Somers’ anti-starch and anti-sugar version, which emphasizes vegetables as well as meat) and lost it all in an easy year. (Over the last three years, I’ve gained half of it back because it’s hard to stay on it when you are away from home, although the market is starting too supply more prepared foods appropriate for this diet.)
Here’s my theory on why doctors got obsessed with high-carb diets. Around 1970, they started seeing a lot of East Asians in the medical profession. They were mostly all skinny. How did they do it? They ate rice! If starch is good for East Asians, it must be good for everybody else, right? If you don’t believe that, then you must be some kind of racist who thinks there are biological differences between people from different parts of the world, you scum.
So, it was high-carb East Asian diets for everybody! But what if your ancestors hadn’t been evolving for the last few hundred generations on a high starch diet? What if you still had caveman genes for processing foods? Hunter-gatherers eat meat and vegetables. Perhaps, the East Asian ability to thrive on rice was a recent evolutionary adaptation.
We know that different metabolic responses to diet can evolve quickly. For example, milking domestic animals was only invented about 10,000 years ago, but the gene mutation giving lactose tolerance spread to up to 97% of Danes, while remaining virtually zero among East Asians, whose population was too dense to afford dairy cows. We know that hunter-gatherers like Eskimos have a terrible time when they switch from an all meat to a starch and sugar rich diet – they get horrible tooth decay and diabetes (not to mention alcoholism).
Europeans over the last 10,000 years have varied greatly in diet. About one fifth of European genes come from Middle Eastern grain farmers, while four fifths come from indigenous hunter-gatherers, many of whom made the transition over the last few thousand years to cow and pig farmers. Thus, whites in America tend to be highly diverse in terms of what diets are best for them. All you can do is try different diets to find what your body needs.
At this point I’m keeping an open mind and an eye on the latest research. Nevertheless, I predict that “going primal” will be the newest SWPL fad of the next ten years. At parties, pretentious SWPLs will ask “Is your beef grass fed?” instead of “Is your veggie burger low salt?” Anyone caught eating a burger in a bun will be quickly and mercilessly ostracized.
A photo of the truck that smuggles in SWPL border jumpers:
Beta backsliding is a fact of life. Even the hardest alphas will occasionally show flashes of humanity that rev their women’s shit testing engines. Most of these moments are brief and dismissible, but woe to the man who can’t recognize his embetafying ineptitude; he will slowly lose dominant control of his relationships until one day he’s so scared of his woman that he believes her when she says she’ll leave him if he goes through with a paternity test.
When you become experienced with women your alert system for beta backsliding is so honed that you can tell within seconds of your woman pulling away from you which of your behaviors was the cause. When your awareness of the sexual matrix is fully advanced, you will even be able to tell with frightening accuracy how your woman will react to your behavior *before she has reacted*. Like aural bullets of shit tests flying at you from all directions, your Neo Game will slow time and warp space, stopping her shit tests in front of you, which you then send right back at her with double the force. A master of female psychology (MFP) is indistinguishable from a clairvoyant, predicting women’s actions before they have happened based on nothing more than a well-developed understanding of a woman’s animal nature.
The day will come when you get so good at this that you will throw beta chum in the water just to amuse yourself with her predictable response, in much the same way women amuse themselves by wrapping lesser men around their fingers with ostentatious displays of cleavage or flirty signals of sexual interest.
Which brings us to our question: What does a man do when he has lost the upper hand and his relationship is on the fast track to fail if he doesn’t take steps to arrest it? First, he must assess what led him to his predicament. Did he hug her too tightly in public? Did he make kissy face with her in front of other men? Did he nestle his head in her lap? Did he say “sorry”? Did he cry after sex? Did he do all of these things plus tell her she’s beautiful? If so, then he shouldn’t be surprised if she complains about his PDA, or moans about spending too much time together.
When a woman pulls back, a typical man’s instinct will be to try and fix his flagging relationship. Men do; that’s how we’re designed. Unfortunately, more often than not this male instinct to action will drive the nails into the coffin of his dying relationship. Most men overreact, either in the beta direction or the alpha direction. A beta will coo and pout and swarm with rays of undying love until his woman is repulsed and leaves him with her heart light and unburdened. An alpha will control and demean and lash out like an angry tyrant until his woman falls into the arms of a more charming man.
I have a better way. My advice is so simple that any man — from alpha to omega — can follow it with success. It’s this:
The easiest way to revive a flagging relationship is to cut off all contact.
That’s it. No routines to memorize, no alpha body language to learn, no reframing required; just one simple solution: Cut off all contact. No phone calls, no texts, no emails, no midnight drive-bys at her apartment. Nothing until she reinitiates contact with you.
And I guarantee that nine out of ten times she *will* reinitiate contact. Women cannot resist chasing a man who has made himself unavailable. The disappearing act is every man’s ace in the hole; women are nearly powerless to it. They have no defense. All it requires of the man is willpower. If you find it hard to be away from your woman’s pussy for more than a day, then you will have to find substitutes while in the No Contact Zone. A man on top of his game will have other women to service him. Lesser men will need to turn to porn or hookers. Or eat a lot of tofu and lick plastic bottles to lower his testosterone.
Depending on length of relationship and severity of the man’s beta offense, the No Contact Zone can last anywhere from a couple of days to a month. The beauty of this solution to revive a dying relationship is that even those rare times when she does not reinitiate contact you will have saved yourself time and energy dating a woman who was likely to dump you soon anyhow. And on the flimsiest pretext, like getting a smile from a high status bike messenger.
Note that I did not say this is the *best* method for rescuing a relationship on the rocks. I said it was the easiest method with the highest return for the minimal investment. If you’re a busy guy who can’t be bothered to run expert level effortless-seeming game, or if you’re a recovering beta who isn’t yet confident enough in his LTR game to risk a more proactive approach to a dying LTR, then the No Contact Zone is for you.
There’s one other thing you must know. If you don’t do this final step the right way then your No Contact Zone game will be for naught. Assuming she reinitiates contact (and she likely will), expect her to say something like this:
“Hey there! Haven’t heard from you in a while. What have you been up to?”
If your No Contact Zone game hit the mark, you will detect a hint of nervousness in her voice. Congratulations, sir, you have regained hand. BUT… you can lose it all if you in any way ACKNOWLEDGE the No Contact ruse. Like Fight Club, the first rule is to not talk about it. That means you act as if NOTHING IS UNUSUAL about your calculated time away from her.
“Hey, what’s up! Eh you know, the usual stuff, work, life. Did I tell you about my new hobby? Single malt scotch… oh yeeeah.”
This will, naturally, drive her mentally insane. Fitfully for us men, mental insanity in women triggers seismic gina tremors. She will invite herself over for (in her mind) make up sex. Your job is to step aside and let the hamster in her head spin itself to exhaustion as you fornicate to the wee hours.
One more thing. If she presses you on your absence, say by asking “Why haven’t you called me?”, you deny complicity in her frame. In other words, don’t allow yourself to get entrapped by her frame by answering defensively. Either deny her accusation (“You’re very forgetful. I called you a few days ago.”) or reframe the conversation to a focus on her clinginess (“I didn’t know I was supposed to call you every single second of the day. Aw, it’s cute that you think about me so much. Adorable!”)
Played right, No Contact Zone game is absolutely devastating to a woman’s sense of relationship entitlement and her bloated hypergamous ego.
Tough… tough… Hmm. I’m not usually challenged like this. After some serious reflection I’m going to go with the girl in the pink dress. Look at her oversized earrings and bright red lipstick. That’s a big clue she doesn’t like being ignored and will make it hard for you to hook up with her prettier friends.
Cuckolded men. A lot of readers emailed me this New York Beta Times story about the State of Paternity in America today. Before reading, you should grab your Pepto Bismol, because your stomach is going to turn. Get ready to descend into the hell matrix of the unwitting beta male raising another man’s child, where torments beyond your most chilling nightmares await.
The revelation from a DNA test was devastating and prompted him to leave his wife — but he had not renounced their child. He continued to feel that in all the ways that mattered, she was still his daughter, and he faithfully paid her child support. It was only when he learned that his ex-wife was about to marry the man who she said actually was the girl’s biological father that Mike flipped. Supporting another man’s child suddenly became unbearable.Two years after filing the suit that sought to end his paternal rights, Mike is still irate about the fix he’s in. “I pay child support to a biologically intact family,” Mike told me, his voice cracking with incredulity. “A father and mother, married, who live with their own child. And I pay support for that child. How ridiculous is that?”
Ridiculous is one way to put it. Evil is another.
Tanner Pruitt, who owns a small manufacturing business in Texas, paid child support for seven years after divorcing his wife. His daughter never looked like him, but it wasn’t until she was 12 that it began to bother him. He told the girl he wanted to check something in her mouth, quickly swabbed some cheek cells and sent the samples off to a lab. After the DNA test showed they weren’t related, he contacted a lawyer, figuring the lab results would release him from child-support payments and justify reimbursement from the biological father. But the lawyer told Pruitt his only option was to take the matter to court and that doing so might mean giving up his right to see the girl at all. It might also alert her to the truth. Pruitt didn’t want to chance either possibility, so he stayed silent and kept paying.“I spent thousands and thousands of dollars, and it hasn’t cost that biological father a penny, and yeah, I’m angry, but it would have been more harm to her psychologically than it was worth,” says Pruitt, who eventually fought for, and won, full custody.
This is why I support mandatory paternity testing (MPT) at birth. MPT would completely negate the risk of having to choose between loyalty to a child to whom the father has already bonded, and walking away to leave the child to the whore mother to raise. It’s a simple procedure that would intrude on no one’s rights or emotional well-being, similar to how the state requires driver’s tests for people who want the privilege of driving. By making it mandatory, all issues of trust are rendered moot. If it’s discovered the child isn’t his, the father is legally absolved of any further paternal or marital obligations, and is welcome to exit the marriage without having to pay one red cent to the bitch.
Any woman who even utters a peep against MPT has shown her cards. She is a filthy wretched cuntrag who wishes the system to be rigged in her favor — morality, fairness, and justice be damned. (hi anony!)
Some may question whether MPT is good for society, inasmuch as it dysgenically removes the option for women to carry the species forward by duping betas into raising and propagating alpha genes. This concern rests on a key assumption — that cheating women are making the eugenically correct choice. My suspicion, based on what I’ve heard about unfaithful whores, is that they are not. They are, instead, fucking around with assorted badboys.
Mike’s first inkling that something was amiss in his marriage was in 2000, when he was digging through a closet looking for the source of some mice. He didn’t find any nests, but he did come upon a plastic grocery bag of love letters to his wife, Stephanie, from her co-worker Rob. Confronted, Stephanie confessed to a fleeting affair but assured Mike that L., then nearly 3, was his.
If you recorded the answers of one million cheating whores at the moment when their doubting husbands questioned them about the paternity of their kids, only one woman would tell the truth to the man she married “till death do us part”. The other 999,999 women would lie. This is the juggernaut of female depravity you are up against, men. Never forget that.
CARNELL SMITH, an engineer-turned-lobbyist in Georgia, is the leading advocate for men like Mike. In 2001, after Smith’s own paternity struggle, he formed U.S. Citizens Against Paternity Fraud, to help the men he calls “duped dads.” In his most notable success, Smith persuaded Georgia lawmakers to rescind nonbiological fathers’ financial obligations, no matter the child’s age or how close the relationship. Smith then became the first man to disestablish paternity under that law.
Carnell Smith is a goddamned American hero. Step up to the Chateau gates, Carnell, you have more than earned your place at the table among the “King of the Alphas” greats.
With the scientific proof in hand, men like Carnell Smith began fighting back. A few months after Smith split up with his girlfriend in 1988, she announced she was pregnant with his child. Believing her, he signed a paternity acknowledgment for their daughter, Chandria.
Maxim #666: When a woman has incentive to lie, she will choose lying over honesty EVERY SINGLE TIME.
Corollary to Maxim #666: Treat woman like Soviet Russia — Trust but verify.
He obtained joint custody, paid her support and spent virtually every weekend with his little girl. When Chandria was 11, her mother sued to increase support. Smith decided to be tested, and the results excluded him as the father. In a lawsuit, Smith demanded Chandria’s mother pay back the $40,000 he had laid out in what he calls “involuntary servitude” and fraud. The court ruled against Smith, concluding that he had known that his former girlfriend had other partners at the end of their relationship and should have realized he might not be the father. By not exercising his “due diligence” and getting a DNA test early on, the court put the burden on Smith for not unearthing the truth sooner.
Did you get that? The court basically said to Smith “Hey, your fault for believing your girlfriend’s lies. What did you expect? She’s a woman. Women lie! So keep paying, bitchboy.”
If you are an American male, know this: Your women aren’t on your side. Your government isn’t on your side. Your law isn’t on your side. Your culture isn’t on your side. You are expendable. Your use is as cannon fodder for pointless wars, cannon fathers for bastard children, and cannon dollars for whoring sluts.
Would you die for this country that so despises you? Would you care if women who aren’t related to you or fucking you got raped? Would you care if *any* woman got raped? Orwell had it half right — a boot stamping on a beta face and high heels grinding into a beta crotch – forever.
Chandria now attends college in Georgia. She has seen Carnell Smith on the local news and on the Internet and cannot reconcile the man who seems to her so insensitive with the father she knew: attentive, seemingly proud of their relationship and eager to spend time with her. “He was what a father was supposed to be,” she says, “but when things changed, he completely disconnected. That’s just not fair. You’ve been in my life my entire life and for you to just cut that off for money, well, that’s not fair to anybody.”
Carnell Smith, if I ever meet you, beer’s on me. And I don’t buy beers for just anyone.
Chandria, if you think it’s not fair, you have but one person to point your accusing finger at — your whore mother.
For the rest of you rationalizers who think that Chandria’s bitter tears prove that rectifying paternity fraud should take a back seat to the welfare of the child, kindly redirect your effrontery at the perp who deserves it — the cheating woman. If the child suffers, the unfaithful mother should have thought of that before spreading for the thug du jour.
Child-welfare advocates say that making biology the sole determinant of paternity in cases like Smith’s puts the nonbiological father’s interest above the child’s.
Besides, society has increasingly recognized that parenthood is not necessarily bound to genetics.
Society is an ass.
“Having been involved in cases like these, I think the answer to ‘Is it my kid?’ is irrationally important to the cuckolded husband,” says Carol McCarthy, an officer of the Pennsylvania chapter of the American Academy of Matrimonial Lawyers. “My own biases are going into this because I’m adopted, so I’m real into ‘your parents are the people who raise you.’ I couldn’t care less who my biological parents are. My parents are the ones who went through all the crap I gave them growing up.”
And people wonder why I have so much hatred in my heart for sophistic bitch lawyers. (hi al!)
Let’s rephrase Mizz Carol McCarthy’s quote for clarity:
“Having been involved in cases like these, I think the answer to ‘Is it my kid?’ is irrationally important to the falsely impregnated wife,” says Carol McCarthy, an officer of the Pennsylvania chapter of the American Academy of Patrimonial Lawyers. “My own biases are going into this because my mother who unknowingly had another woman’s fertilized egg implanted in her womb went through with the pregnancy, so I’m real into ‘your parents are the people who raise you.’ I couldn’t care less who my biological parents are. My parents are the ones who went through all the crap I gave them growing up.”
There, that should uncloud Mizz McCarthy’s mind. PS Please put your head under a rolling bus.
WHY IS IT THAT we imbue genetic relationships with a potency that borders on magic?
It’s funny when smart people ask these kinds of questions as if they don’t already know the answer. It’s as if in the asking they absolve themselves of the guilt they feel for following the same amoral code that is followed by the proles and untouchables to whom they feel superior.
It doesn’t need to be answered, but I’ll answer it anyway, coyly: The reason we humans have evolved to be capable of wondering why we imbue genetic relationships with potency is because genetic relationships have potency.
Three and a half years earlier, at a federally convened symposium on the increase in paternity questions, a roomful of child-welfare researchers, legal experts, academics and government administrators agreed that much pain could be avoided if paternity was accurately established in a baby’s first days. Several suggested that DNA paternity tests should be routine at birth, or at least before every paternity acknowledgment is signed and every default order entered. In 2001 the Massachusetts Supreme Judicial Court urged the state to require that putative fathers submit to genetic testing before signing a paternity-acknowledgment form or child-support agreement, arguing that “to do otherwise places at risk the well-being of children.”
In other words, the same care that hospitals take ensuring that the right mother is connected to the right newborn — footprints, matching ID bands, guarded nurseries, surveillance cameras — should be taken to verify that the right man is deemed father.
Good to see the CH worldview is being considered. It’s easy to be right when you hold firm to your conviction that the truth, no matter how dispiriting, is your guiding principle. For in the end, the truth always wins out –
one
way
or
the
other.
Mandatory DNA testing for everyone would be a radical, not to mention costly, shift in policy.
So was WWII. But we fought to the end. The bottom line is this: Either men have equal rights to women under the law, or they do not. As it stands right now, the courts are deciding in favor of men as being lesser citizens than women.
In other news, Barack Obama’s health care plan would ensure government coverage of mammograms for all women over the age of 40. No word on coverage for men’s prostate exams.
“I got a picture in my head,” L. [the bastard daughter] said, “that the test people would call and say they had been wrong, that he really was my biological dad and that everything I had thought before never really happened.”
Fury and unconsolable sadness
she anguishes
pain is her fate
blame needing to be cast
she searches haphazardly
when her demon
stands right before her
hi mom.
Think of the worst things women can do to men. Draw up a list. I’ll start:
Flirt with other men in front of him.
Steal from him.
Cheat on him.
Give him an STD.
Entrap him with pregnancy.
Withhold sex for favors.
Prick holes in his condoms.
Dick sandwich.
Get fat.
Disrespect his privacy and gossip about him.
Falsely accuse him of rape.
Use the rigged divorce courts against him.
Cut him off from his children.
Cuckhold him.
Of all these monstrous expressions of the female id, one rises above the rest in sheer malevolence — the act of cuckolding. Nothing else, save perhaps a successfully prosecuted false rape accusation, comes close in distilled essence of ovarian evil. Cuckoldry is slavery. It is metadeath. It is soul murder. It is the motherfucker of all lies. As men, we are beholden to guard against it by any means necessary. Today, in 2009 America, that means refusing to participate in the corrupted institution of marriage and hiding your assets overseas.
Here are the faces of society’s ultimate losers:
If beta has a “look”, these men have it.
Carnell Smith is the man in the third photo. He is a genuine American hero; a warrior fighting the long hard battle for our benefit. Send him a note of appreciation and support. A nation is saved one righteous man at a time.
It’s been a while since I tested my readers’ game skills. Let’s see how you do in the following hypothetical scenario.
You’ve been dating a girl for a few months. Things are going swimmingly. The sex is hot, the time together is easy and carefree, and the affection is genuine. Pat yourself on the back, Lothario, you’ve had win for breakfast.
One pleasant evening you two are sitting at dinner and she drops the name of a male friend she’s known since high school. She’s randomly mentioned this guy before in conversation, and because you were designed by the god of biomechanics to be the most advanced alpha intruder alert system the world has ever seen, the first time she talked about him you had cajoled just enough information out of her to learn that they never slept together and he is just an old friend. Although, as with all women, you couldn’t be sure she wasn’t lying about the sex part, your dirty whore biodetection algorithm made a sweep of her facial expression when she answered your subtly probing questions and you concluded at the time that she was telling the truth.
So here you sit at dinner with her and his name comes up again. And again. She’s complaining about something he did which didn’t involve her, but her complaints are tinged with that peculiar female way of complaining — sprightly and histrionically — when thoughts of the man who has annoyed her have simultaneously tingled her gina. Now she doesn’t bring him up often, but he’s mentioned just often enough that you begin to wonder if she harbors latent feelings of attraction for him. You’ve met the man, and he is a good looking dude with a stoically masculine personality.
You sense — though your evidence is flimsy — that you are at some sort of dating crossroad. You smell an unintentional shit test blowin’ on the breeze. Danger is in the air. Up to now, you have handled her very well. Your alpha cred is intact. Her furrow parts freely and she orgasms wantonly when penetrated by the tumescent expression of your silverback essence. But now, you sit listening to her intently, holding your tongue, pricked by a needle of ambiguity.
What do you do?
Answer carefully. This will go toward your final score.
