Feed on
Posts
Comments

Telling A Girl How You Will Seduce Her

Nov 5th, 2009 by

A while back on this blog Chuck left a comment suggesting a new type of game routine to run on women. It involved telling a woman exactly how you plan to seduce her, in step-by-step detail. I thought this idea was nifty so I tried it for myself. The following conversation is not verbatim (who can remember their conversations in minute detail?) but it’s close enough to the spirit of the interaction.

Scene: A local pool hall. Stick in hand.

ME: I’m gonna need you to move aside so I can take this award-winning shot. You might want to take a picture.

GIRL: [sarcastically] Oh excuse me! I don’t want to interrupt your concentration.

ME: [I take the shot and scratch] You’re bad luck.

GIRL: [laughing] I’m sure that was it.

ME: [I leave to get a beer at the bar, then return and sit on a stool next to her. She is sitting comfortably out of earshot of her friends.] I have a confession to make.

GIRL: I don’t like the sound of this.

ME: The pool thing was just a ruse to capture your attention. I know it worked because you’re still sitting here, hanging on my every word.

GIRL: I don’t know if I’d call it hanging. Maybe laughing at every word.

ME: [thinking to myself this girl is filled with spit and vinegar. it’s on!] I’m going to seduce you and I will tell you how I will do it. First, I noticed you from across the room. I don’t think you saw me noticing you, but that doesn’t matter.

GIRL: [wide-eyed look] Ooookay.

ME: Then I decided I would talk to you. It was a quick decision; less than one second, really. I avoided any possible discomfort of breaking the ice by teasing you with the first words out of my mouth.

GIRL: [folding her arms and nodding her head] This is getting good.

ME: Then I gently knocked your ego in line by saying you’re bad luck. This part was important because all women are born with bigger egos than they deserve, and this makes romance difficult.

GIRL: So this was all a script then? That’s not very romantic.

ME: The concept was scripted, not the words. Now notice how I’m sitting here with my body a little turned away from you. I do this so that I don’t look like I’m *that* interested in talking with you.

GIRL: Why would that make me interested in you?

ME: Women want men who show some disinterest. Also, you may not have noticed this, but when I came over and said I had a confession to make, I put my hand on your forearm. Briefly. It was too quick and subtle to be obvious. It’s important that I break the physical barrier in a non-threatening way as soon as possible, but to do it so that you barely notice. It’s an art form.

GIRL: Actually, I did notice.

ME: You’re just saying that now. As we sit here and talk, I’m going to move my body a little towards you as you begin to impress me more with your conversation skill. Soon, we will be facing head on.

GIRL: What if I turn away?

ME: You won’t, but if you do, I turn my back on you until you rejoin the best conversation you will have all year.

GIRL: That’s a big claim!

ME: It’s also another part of my seduction of you. A little arrogance is attractive to women.

GIRL: I’m not a big fan of arrogant men.

ME: Just wait, you will be. So now you see I am smiling, but not too much. Smiling too much looks goofy. You’ve said a few funny things that impressed me.

GIRL: I think in a seduction it’s the man who’s supposed to impress the woman.

ME: This is what most men think, but it’s not true. A good seduction surprises you. Next, I ask you questions that show I’m a discriminating man who wants more than just looks in a woman. Looks are overrated. So for instance, I will now ask you if you have more than 20 pairs of shoes.

GIRL: I don’t, but what difference does that make?

ME: A girl with too many shoes is high maintenance. You’re not high maintenance, are you?

GIRL: I probably am, but don’t let that stop you.

ME: Now I mirror your body language and facial expressions. This is a subtle psychological ploy that makes you think we are soulmates. It’s all on the subconscious level.

GIRL: Really.

ME: I can see your interest level is peaking. Here comes the best part. Right when I notice your interest level is high, I disqualify myself as a potential lover.

GIRL: Disqualify?

ME: Yes, I will tell you, like I’m telling you now, that we could never work out, you’re way too cynical for me.

GIRL: I’m cynical? I guess after all this I am.

ME: Then I would tell you a story that warms your heart, such as the time I saved my 3 year old niece from falling down the stairs. I might also drop a mention of my stripper ex-girlfriend, which will intrigue you.

GIRL: Intrigue me? I’m not lesbian, if that’s what you mean.

ME: No, you would be intrigued in the same way men are intrigued by women in sexy cocktail dresses and high heels.

GIRL: You’ve really given this a lot of thought.

ME: Hold on… finally, I will tell you to join me on the couch over there, so that we can talk in more privacy about deeper things. Then I would whisper a secret in your ear, which would arouse you. Whispering is very arousing. If the moment is right, and it usually is, I would kiss you. Since you are now twirling your hair, I would expect the kiss will happen.

GIRL: [stops twirling her hair] How does twirling my hair mean a kiss is going to happen?

ME: Hair twirling is a sign of romantic interest.

GIRL: Or maybe it’s just a habit.

ME: Maybe, but not likely. After the kiss, if I’m feeling it, I would invite you back to my place to admire my photographs.

GIRL: And if I declined to go?

ME: I would take your phone number instead.

GIRL: And I would give it?

ME: You would give it.

GIRL: And you wouldn’t call.

ME: Who knows? But you would relish the anticipation.

We talked for another twenty minutes, and I did eventually secure the digits.

A photo of a heavily bearded man on Halloween:

IMG_2380

[crypto-donation-box]

Posted in Game | Comments Off

The Most Beta Comment Ever Left On This Blog

Nov 4th, 2009 by

On my post about lying for sex, “notaloser” recently left this comment:

I would NEVER lie to a woman in any way to get sex. NEVER. I respect women and know that lying to them impedes their ability to make good decisions for themselves. Nobody ever has the right to take that autonomy away from anyone under any circumstances … the very idea of lying to a woman to fraudulently get sex is appalingly misogynist. Lying  to a woman to get sex is very emotionally/sexually abusive to women and has lasting effects … ask any women.  Your desperation is hardly an excuse to proceed with what constitutes sexual misconduct. You have a lot of problems, dude, and this lack of awareness is probably why women don’t want to sleep with you in the first place.

Do you hear that? NEVER!

“notaloser” is a classic white knight of the particularly noxious variety — besides the hypocritical nature of his misplaced chivalry (it’s a lie to assert you will NEVER lie to a woman), his pious posturing perches poon on pedestals so prominently that no woman would ever be able to see him as anything other than a bootlicking servile sap. His is the sort of blushing indignation that, if freely and sincerely expressed and acted upon, would absolutely kill his chances with any girl except fat desperate closeted dykes.

Lying to girls for sex is perfectly fine, because it is not the man’s job to simultaneously seduce women and help them make good mating decisions. Women are responsible for screening their prospects; it’s called personal accountability. Only feminist men who believe women are emotionally underdeveloped children think like notaloser and want to protect women from men’s libidos.

In some ways, lying for sex is win-win for men. If it works, he gets sex, and if his lie is eventually discovered, she will be likely to forgive it if she has fallen in love with him. If it fails, and she finds out that, for example, his real job is less prestigious than the job he claimed to have, and she leaves him because of that, then he has successfully screened out a whore who views him primarily as status candy.

I don’t recommend lying on practical grounds, but as a moral matter it’s a dead end. Men and women lie all the time to get the best deal they can on the sexual market. To illustrate the absurdity of believing otherwise, I’ll re-word notaloser’s comment:

I would NEVER lie to a man in any way to get love. NEVER. I respect men and know that lying to them by wearing make-up, getting nose jobs, or playing coy about my age or desire to marry a man who makes more money than me impedes their ability to make good decisions for themselves. Nobody ever has the right to take that autonomy away from anyone under any circumstances … the very idea of lying to a man to fraudulently get love is appalingly misandrist. Lying  to a man to get love is very emotionally/financially abusive to men and has lasting effects … ask any men who wake up next to a disturbing morning face.  Your commitment desperation is hardly an excuse to proceed with what constitutes emotional misconduct.

“notaloser” is probably a woman pretending to be a man who has been hurt by an asshole boyfriend in the past, because no man, no matter how much he claims to believe in the feminist agenda, could possibly write such a beta comment with a straight face. “Fraudulently get sex”? “Sexual misconduct”? A man would have to be psychologically castrated and/or flamingly gay to make such blubberingly pussboy assertions. I suspect it’s a biting beaver sock puppet.

Note: Many of you are wondering why David Alexander did not get recognition for the most beta comment ever left on this blog. This is because DA does not write beta comments; he writes trollish freakboy omega comments. That is a different world of loser altogether.

[crypto-donation-box]

Posted in Beta, Comment Winners, Ridiculousness | Comments Off

The Omegas Among Us

Nov 3rd, 2009 by

Standing on the long escalator into the bowels of the Woodley Park metro, a small Asian woman excused herself to get by me as she strode down the descending steps briskly. Just in front of me, a family of four stood like grazing cattle on both the left and right sides of the escalator, heavily obstructing the passage of the tiny woman who was now trying to squeeze past them. As she squeaked “excuse me, excuse me” multiple times vainly searching for openings to circumnavigate the human cattle, they smirked and refused to budge and began spitting a fusillade of comments at her. “This is an escalator, not stairs.” “It’s not us that’s supposed to move, honey.” “You never ride an escalator before?” “Don’t be a little bitch, we ain’t moving for you.” “Son, just stand still, she ain’t supposed to be racing by like this.”

After a few seconds of this witty banter and threat of physical altercation, the Asian woman richoted off the man’s gut and shot out of their gauntlet of flesh. Briefly disoriented, she composed herself and resumed her jog down the escalator as the guffawing family continued flinging accusations and insults at her. When she reached the bottom she looked back up at the family, muttered something unintelligible, and flipped them a petite Asian bird. The father yelled back “fuck you bitch, you dumb bitch” then looked over his shoulder at the rest of his family and at me and my company, a vapid grin creased across his inbred face, laughing sourly as his fat sow wife and two kids took his cue and laughed along with him. His son, a boy of perhaps five, repeated his dad’s words: “yeah, you bitch!” The dad tenderly put his hand on his boy’s head and tousled his hair, and a few more “fuck”s and “bitch”s were shared in solidarity amongst the family members.

The father swiveled his head and made eye contact with me, presumably in search of proximate allies, but I didn’t give him the satisfaction of laughing with him. Instead, I curled my mouth downward and narrowed my eyes, making sure my disgust for him and his Morlockian broodclan was obvious. My eyes swooped slowly over all four of them — a white family from out of town, judging by the faint hillbilly accent I heard. There was the father with close-set eyes and a face wider than it was tall, the sweaty stringy-haired fat pig mother who wheezed with each labored breath, the little boy (a rapscallion in training no doubt), and the little girl. I sneered one word, audible enough for them to hear: “class”. There was a still moment when it seemed as if he and his wife were registering my reaction and deciding what to do about it. The father’s smile dropped and he turned back around.

Fortunately for him, he did nothing. Maybe he could read the seething contempt on my face and sensed the lurid scenario playing itself out in my mind, the visceral desire I had, given the slightest pretext, to shove his filthy loser face into the escalator machinery, ripping his eyes and mouth and flesh and sinew off the bone and kicking the fat brood sow so hard in her bloated belly she is rendered infertile, as her children mewl helplessly nearby. Yes, he made the right decision to shut his trap. He knew, on some deep level, I was his better, and he would get no succor from me.

My intuition and keen eye has guided me well in seeing the big picture. America is currently fracturing hard and deep into two, irreconcilable groups — the genetic losers and the genetic winners. And the chasm between them is growing wider, a leap from one side to the other in either direction ever more incomprehensible. I am, in my humble outpost at the cultural hinterland where PC politesse yields to the merciless attack machinery of my wrecking ball truths, turning the mirror on civilization, and stripping bare the sugar coating civil society sprinkles on our discourse and beliefs to protect losers like the family in this story from the ghastly knowledge of their own worthlessness.

There was once a time when the lower ranks of society would admire the upper ranks, and work hard, however ineffectually, to acquire the habits and virtues of the upper classes on a journey of personal betterment. There was once a time when the upper ranks understood their duty to the lower ranks, and constrained themselves publicly in an act of noblesse oblige, to serve as example for their lessers. Today, that dynamic is destroyed. The losers know they’re losers, but they no longer give a shit. They wallow in their wretchedness like pigs in mud, sticking a porky hoof up the pinched sphincter of anyone who would encourage them otherwise. The winners know they’re winners, and despite their tissue-thin rhetoric to the contrary, know that it wasn’t hard work but the luck of the DNA draw that they aren’t rolling around in the sty with the pigs and who, if you get them behind closed doors and pry liberally with single malt scotch, secretly believe the left hand side of the bell curve barely even qualifies as members of the same human species. So now we have two groups, staring distantly at each other across the tar pit of our shredded national identity known as pop culture, who don’t give a shit about the other, and are feverishly living their lives to guarantee that a shit will never have to be given.

If you think this is sustainable, you have only to sense the bubbling resentment surfacing not only in the urban jungle where resentment is the engine of self-delusion, but in once placid regions like small towns and college campuses, to know it is not. Soon, there will not be enough gated land behind which the elites can barricade themselves and continue peddling their hypocritical pissant platitudes. The orc hordes will swarm like locusts and devour everything in their path. Even the danegeld will lose its power to pacify, if for no other reason than that the source of funds will not keep up with the hungry multiplying maws of the beasts of chaos. If you feed it, they will come.

The West is doomed. Unfortunately, there is no rescue from this cycle of inevitability. There are solutions, but they will never be accepted, for the languor and the stasis has metastasized, an ablative bunker mentality has burrowed deep in the national psyche. And so the decline will play itself out to the bitter end, quietly or explosively, it doesn’t matter.

The past 40 years have witnessed a cognitive stratification on a scale I believe is unparalleled in American history. The unspoken philosophical forces of credentialism and good breeding, coupled with the substrate of economies requiring abstract mental prowess to successfully navigate, have never been more actively practiced than they are now, and in so blatantly a fashion to what is said to the contrary. Assortative mating is the buzzword of the moment, but more significantly it may be the one true philosophy if pragmatic adoption is any measure of truth value. Yet confront the overclass with this untidy ugly truth and you will be treated to a stream of sophistic shit so thick you’d think the actions of a genocidal regime could be happily rationalized.

Come to think of it…

When words and deeds tug so hard in opposing directions, something’s got to give. The center cannot hold. And so, because I am a blessed humanitarian, here is my patented solution for saving America:

  1. Build a wall at the southern border and kick out the last 30 years’ worth of de facto invaders, and cut off all immigration for two generations. It makes zero sense to add more misery to an already growing and spiteful underclass.
  2. Alpha males need to start fucking and having babies with hot lower class women.

That’s it. A wall is cheap to build when compared to the costs of maintaining a military presence in a third world tribal cesspool. And upper class alpha males used to fuck and breed with their hot secretaries until said secretaries began going to college and getting higher paying jobs. Now, because of peer pressure, social finger wagging, or expedience, alpha males have forsaken fucking hot lower class women in favor of co-worker lawyer cunts, and the result has been a ghettoization of the genetic misfits to breed exclusively among themselves. Spread that upper class alpha seed around and you begin to rebuild the common mission and shared trust of a nation, one recombined double helix at a time.

In the meantime, I’m arranging my life in such a way that I minimize the amount of time spent in the company of losers. They’re fucking depressing.

[crypto-donation-box]

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

How To Propose Like An Alpha Male

Nov 2nd, 2009 by

Despite my well-researched and logically unassailable warnings to the contrary, some of you who read me will someday decide to marry the woman of your best available options. If you do insist on acting in such a personally disadvantageous way, you should at least pop the question like an alpha male. That’s how you set a precedent.

Here are some suggestions.

Alpha move

“Whaddaya say we get hitched?”

Superalpha move

“Whaddaya say we get hitched, my number one bitch?” Then slip this ring on her finger:

diamondgirl

If your woman is not willing to wear a ring with the diamond on the inside, away from public view, then you’ll have all the proof you need that she is a grubby status whore. This ring is pure deviousness; there is no way out for her. She can’t accuse you of cheapness; the diamond is in there. And if she wears it she can’t go around advertising her ring finger for inspection by all of her yenta friends to show that she is prettier than them to be able to land a man with discretionary cash to blow on a useless rock. I would almost be willing to spend cash money on this diamond ring just to see the look on my beloved’s face.

Alpha move

Walk up behind her, wrap your arms around her, lean over her shoulder, and while placing the ring box into her hand whisper in your deepest, most gravelly voice: “Let’s do this.”

Superalpha move

Same as above, but instead of an engagement ring box, put two tickets to Vegas and a brochure for the Elvis Chapel in her hand.

Alpha move

“You know, I never thought I’d hear myself saying this, but… ah fuck it, let’s go crazy and get married, babe.”

Superalpha move

“You know why I’m asking you to marry me? Cause you’re the kind of girl who would sign a pre-nup. That’s what I cherish about you.”

Alpha move

“How long we been together? Five years? Ten years? It’s time…” Slide the ring box over to her.

Superalpha move

“May as well dot the i’s and cross the t’s and get married already.”

Alpha move

Take her to a secluded nature spot. Dance with her under the clear moonlight. Gaze into her eyes and slip the ring on her finger, saying nothing.

Superalpha move

Take her to a secluded nature spot. Dance with her under the clear moonlight. Gaze into her eyes and slip a handcrafted origami paper ring on her finger. Tell her “You know you want it, babe.”

Alpha move

“Marry me, lovechop.”

Superalpha move

“Marry me, dirty whore.”

You’ll note that the common theme to these examples is the refusal to drop to one knee or to ask for her hand in the traditional (read: beta) way. There is no “Will you marry me?” nauseating pleading, and there is certainly no doing it on your knees like the indentured servant you are about to become by agreeing to ratify your copulations with a marriage license.

Some alpha males get married for social or religious reasons, and for them following my proposal advice above will go a long way toward ensuring they enjoy many years of grateful wifery and minimal backtalk. But for the truly self-aware alphas who have transcended petty societal concerns and stifling tradition, marriage is seen for what it is — a self-inflicted prison sentence to curb one’s masculine allure. These men will never worry about when or how to propose, for the issue has been rendered moot by clear thinking.

[crypto-donation-box]

Posted in Alpha, Marriage Is For Chumps | Comments Off

Ugly People Made Me An Atheist

Oct 30th, 2009 by

Sometimes, dark ominous thoughts intrude, and a feeling of utter hopelessness overwhelms me. I wake up in the middle of the night in a cold sweat, fearing that god may exist, and that I will be punished in eternal hellfire for my many, many, MANY years of sinning.

And then I see people like these…

ugh1
ugh2
ugh3
ugh4

…and a wave of relief sweeps over me as I happily reaffirm that god does not exist, and I am free to go on sinning without worry.

Made in his image, indeed. I wonder if game would help these guys?

(Hat tip: el chief, for pointers to the omegas among us.)

[crypto-donation-box]

Posted in Biomechanics is God, Globalization, The Id Monster | Comments Off

People Of Walmart

Oct 30th, 2009 by

Behold, the greatest website since lolcats: People of Walmart.

Here is a candid photo of an attractive, slender, wholesome American mother:

iwouldtap

I’d tap it.

I’ve added People of Walmart to my blogroll, because it’s just that worthy. When future historians ask why the great American empire fell, People of Walmart is all the archived evidence they’ll need to find the answer.

(Thank reader Ovid for bringing us this breathtaking view of the left behind side of the bell curve.)

[crypto-donation-box]

Posted in Funny/Lolblogs, Goodbye America | Comments Off

The Lie Of Locking Her In

Oct 29th, 2009 by

It’s a nagging crescendo in my ear. Family is saying it, friends are hinting it: When are you going to settle down? Usually the words they use are along the lines of “Is she the one? You should think about sticking it out with this one. Do you want to be alone the rest of your life? Do you think you can play the field forever?”

Yes, I think I can play the field forever.

Why do people balk at those who choose the lifestyle of the love mercenary, of the wanderlust warrior? Envy, mostly. Sincere concern, rarely. These voices — social pressure that sows self-doubt — will influence most men. Very few men have the fortitude to live the life of Oswald Hendryks Cornelius. Marriage, and probable divorce, is in the cards for most men.

Why do men bother to get married? There’s really nothing in it for them. All that marriage offers a man can be had in a loving, long term relationship. So why? These are the best reasons rationalizations I can think of:

  • I have to lock her in because the snatch must flow.

As any dead-eyed married man will tell you, the sex is always hottest until that first bite of wedding cake. Sure, marriage might mean fewer extended dry spells, and a more consistent output of pussy, but the quality of that output is going to take a nosedive.

Fact: Once in a secure relationship (and nothing is more secure for a woman than marriage — the law sees to that) a woman’s sex drive plummets. If you like your girl to move around a bit in bed and actually, you know, enjoy getting jackhammered by your beefy breach, marriage will see to it that she reads a trashy romance novel and sighs with boredom while asking “you done yet, honey?” while you huff and puff your way to another anti-climactic climax.

Fact: Women pack on the pounds after getting married. What good is consistent sex if it’s with a hippo? No wonder so many married men sneak away in the middle of the night to jack off to internet porn.

Fact: Your wife’s pussy will always be the same. Yep, one year, five years, ten years — that pussy looking back at you is like an old, very old, friend — that you no longer want to have sex with. Familiarity breeds contempt. When you’ve memorized the length and location of every pube and the droop of labia draggle, you’re going to ache for fresh meat. For men, variety is the spice of life. If older men maintained the libido of their younger selves you’d see extramarital affairs shoot through the roof.

  • If I don’t marry her, she’ll leave me. And then I’ll be alone.

There are two things wrong with this reasoning. One, if you don’t have the confidence to score another woman in case of a break-up, then you don’t have the confidence to keep your current girlfriend attracted to you. It’s a self-fulfilling prophecy. Think you’ll be alone, then you will be alone, even when you’re not. Or: Fear is the mindkiller.

Two, marriage is no insurance policy against being unceremoniously dumped. Maybe it was at one time, but not anymore. A woman loses NOTHING that can compare to what you will lose if she decides to divorce you. Worse, in 2009 America there is every incentive in the world for a woman to divorce at the slightest drop in her attraction for her husband. Financial, legal, social, sometimes even sexual. The god of biomechanics does not take a holiday from reality once you slip a ring on your beloved’s finger.

  • I might not do better.

Sure, but then you could lament the same thing in non-marital relationships. Look at your LTR. You might not do better. Look at your fling. You might not do better. Look at your fuckbuddy. You might not do better. Look at that old pic of your college sweetheart. You might not do better.

So… how is marriage going to save you from this fear-induced soul searching? It’s not. If anything, marriage is only going to rub your face in your testicular impotence. If your wife thinks you can’t do better, she’ll begin to treat you like women treat every man who can’t do better — shittily. Except now, she’s got the long arm of the marital law on her side, so you don’t even have the option to find out if you can do better without taking a world class ramming up the ass. As bad as dry spells are, they’re even worse when the pussy you used to tap has closed up shop and taunts you nightly from across the bed.

  • She’ll stop loving me if I don’t marry her.

Assbackwards. Women don’t stop loving men for any reason except one — he turned beta. What about cheaters? Nope. Talk to women about their most cherished loves. You’ll notice something. Scorned women harbor their deepest love for the men who gutted their hearts. Not marrying her is more likely to have the opposite effect; the more you resist, the stronger her love for you.

Sure, some women do eventually leave men when it becomes clear to them that they aren’t going to propose. But that’s not the same as losing love for those men.

  • She’ll never agree to a non-marital long term relationship.

You’d be surprised how quickly women will agree to your terms when you have her gina tingle on lockdown. And if she doesn’t agree? Find yourself a woman who does. The mere threat of leaving her over this issue will often be enough to bring her around to your way of thinking.

  • I’ll just get married when I’m older. Late marriages have a lower divorce rate.

The reason younger marriages fail more often than marriages later in life is because younger people in their 20s have more options in the sexual market. Options = instability.

But don’t crow about the benefits of later marriages. For one, older women don’t have as many prime fertile years left in which to bear children. Two, later marriages often feel more like business propositions than ecstatic vows of love. That is not a good thing.

  • I’ll live longer as a married man.

Leaving aside that this statistic may be more myth than reality, what benefit is it to you to live a few extra years shuffling along painfully in well-worn slippers and gazing longingly outside windows at youth frolicking with the joy of health and vigor? My take on getting older: It’s immortality or bust.

  • It’s the right thing to do.

Right thing? I don’t give a shit. Good man? Fuck you! Go home and play with your pud. You wanna good life — don’t close! You think this is abuse? You think this is abuse, you cocksucker? You can’t take this, how can you take the abuse you get in divorce proceedings?

  • It’s good for society.

You’re right, it is. But since when did society give a fuck about you?

  • But I really love her.

Did you not really love her before you dropped to one knee?

  • I want to have kids.

This might be the only halfway acceptable reason to get married. If you want the best for your kids, raising them in a broken home is not the way to do it. But even here, women have the upper hand. No matter how much you love your kids, if a divorce happens (50% chance, 70+% chance the wife initiates it) you are going to be paying child support for the new lingerie your ex-wife buys to sexually please her blogger lover.

I don’t see how any man could want kids, though. Kids are a complete fun suck. They don’t get enjoyable until ages 11-13, after they’ve evolved from bratty ingrates and before they’ve turned into brooding ingrates. If men would think long and hard about kids, they’d come to the same conclusion I did: Changing diapers or sex in the woods? The choice is clear.

To all those imploring that I settle down, I say: Don’t hold your breath. Yes, I will get older. But then, I would have gotten older in a marriage, too. Yes, there is a risk I could live out my final, rapidly deteriorating years in solitude. But then, marriage is no guarantee of a life lived loved. A signature on a dotted line and a jointly filed tax return does not protect you from living loveless and solitary. There is also the small matter of my inquisitive eye. Even when I love the girl I’m with, it seems that when I’m out I can’t help but admire another beautiful woman in the vicinity, and to desire her in the most intimate manner. I imagine scenarios flirting with her, making her smile and her eyes sparkle, her legs cross and uncross in sublimated autoeroticism. This urge of mine does not have an off switch.

I know that hedonic convergence does not magically manifest in the gleam of a gold ring. Life is a parade of worry and high wire risk, of love and loneliness, and no socially manufactured arrangement exists to insulate you from your dreaded fears. To imagine otherwise is beta.

[crypto-donation-box]

Posted in Biomechanics is God, Marriage Is For Chumps, Pretty Lies, Self-aggrandizement, The Good Life | Comments Off

Science Validates Game

Oct 28th, 2009 by

Many housebroken betas and feminists (two sides of the same coin in some respects) ask me to prove game works. They want double blind, controlled experiments. I usually reply that such a thing is nearly impossible. Surveys will tell us nothing, as we have learned by now that women will often say things utterly at odds with what they wind up doing. And the complexity of women’s attraction triggers is an order of magnitude more complicated than men’s. Women only need to look good. Men need to do A through Z, in the right order at the right time, and with just the right cocky grin. “Proving” female game is therefore a much easier proposition than proving male game, which, if it were undertaken, would require placing probes in random vaginas and following around players and poseurs for hours as they work their magic, then having hidden cameras in bedrooms to capture on film if the deal was closed.

But all is not lost for the hardened skeptics. Science is slowly, inexorably, proving that the maxims and many precepts of game are true and real. It has proven the effectiveness of the neg, and now a new study is out validating the critical game concepts of “fake it till you make it” and alpha body language.

Body Posture Affects Confidence In Your Own Thoughts

Researchers found that people who were told to sit up straight were more likely to believe thoughts they wrote down while in that posture concerning whether they were qualified for a job.

On the other hand, those who were slumped over their desks were less likely to accept these written-down feelings about their own qualifications.

The results show how our body posture can affect not only what others think about us, but also how we think about ourselves, said Richard Petty, co-author of the study and professor of psychology at Ohio State University.

When you act like an alpha, you’ll begin to feel like an alpha and consistently behave like an alpha. When you mimic the behavior of the powerful, you yourself become powerful in reality. This is why body language is so important to picking up girls. Jettisoning bad body language and acquiring good body language begets self-confidence, and the two interact in a positively reinforcing biofeedback loop.

It doesn’t matter if your self-confidence is unjustified. All that matters is that you act confidently and think confidently, however irrational. Not only does the act of faking confidence eventually morph into real confidence, it also has the pleasant side effect of making women swoon.

Recall Poon Commandment XI:

XI.  Be irrationally self-confident

No matter what your station in life, stride through the world without apology or excuse. It does not matter if objectively you are not the best man a woman can get; what matters is that you think and act like you are. Women have a dog’s instinct for uncovering weakness in men; don’t make it easy for them. Self-confidence, warranted or not, triggers submissive emotional responses in women. Irrational self-confidence will get you more pussy than rational defeatism.

Here’s an interesting result from the experiment:

[The study] suggests people’s thoughts are influenced by their posture, even though they don’t realize that is what’s happening.

“People assume their confidence is coming from their own thoughts. They don’t realize their posture is affecting how much they believe in what they’re thinking,” he said.

“If they did realize that, posture wouldn’t have such an effect.”

Can you consciously think your way into self-confidence? Yes, but Anthony Robbins tapes are probably not as effective as aping nonverbal alpha cues.

This research extends a 2003 study by Petty and Briñol which found similar results for head nodding. In that case, people had more confidence in thoughts they generated when they nodded their head up and down compared to when they shook their head from side to side.

You are not a special snowflake. You are a circuitboard of neurons, veins and chemical agents completely at the mercy of your material components acting in concert to keep you clueless about its essential goal. Soon, sooner than you think, you will degrade into your constituent parts and nothing you say or believe now will matter at all.

Game seems to engender predictable responses from the snowflake crowd. Bitter bitches and envious betaboys who want to keep you in your place will say “Oh but this isn’t natural! You can’t fake alphaness for long if it isn’t who you are.” But, in fact, you *can*, because the longer you fake it the more natural it becomes. With time, it won’t be fake at all.

Then they will say “Oh, but you’ll get called out once the mask slips. Your true colors will show.” Neither is this true. Hold the mask up long enough and like Jim Carrey’s movie character it fuses with your soul. But let’s assume for purposes of discussion that the anti-gamers are right about this point. Will it make any difference to men wanting to have more choice and fun with women? If the choice facing a beta is between no game and no sex, or game and three months of sex with hotter women until they clue in on his true nature, which choice do you think most men will take?

Finally, the doubters will cleave to their cherished pet theory that there are “naturals” and then there’s everyone else who shouldn’t even bother trying. But they miss the flaw in their thinking: Naturals also faked it till they made it. The difference between them and the competition they leave behind is that naturals began their journeys of faking it at a much earlier stage in life. Now, granted, their journeys likely began earlier because of genetic advantages they inherited at birth, but they didn’t sit on sofas waiting for pussy to fall in their laps. They chased, they pursued, they strutted, they mimicked, they boasted and they gamed until they got so good with women people started calling them naturals. And success with women breeds more success with women, until it doesn’t even look like they’re trying anymore.

Betas should take a page from the naturals’ playbook and fake it like a champ. Women will love them for it.

[crypto-donation-box]

Posted in Biomechanics is God | Comments Off

Alpha Assessment Monday: Tuesday Edition!

Oct 27th, 2009 by

Why Tuesday? For the same reason you should sporadically cancel dates on girls. Defy expectations.

Case #1

Submitted by G:

So a girl texted me with a question, which I answered with one word, then gave her the following:

Me: I had Chinese for lunch today. My fortune cookie read: “You have inexhaustible wisdom and power.” The Chinese are very wise people, indeed.

Her: So, I presume you turned the fortune over, and it also read “but your humility is exhausted”?

Me: The flip side read, “Consequently, you have no need for humility.” As I said, a wise people.

Her: ha. nice.

Pass or no pass?

Did you respond to her “ha. nice.” text with a smilie? Then you failed. Otherwise, you passed.

I do like the way you reined in your witticisms. Many guys go beta by laying on the wit too thick. One or two funny quips is all you need, sprinkled liberally with one word game. You’re not trying to entertain her; she’s there to entertain you.

Case #2

Submitted by Chris:

I’m at a friend’s wedding two weekends ago and I see a friend of the bride, who used to be fat, but has since lost a good amount of weight (and now looks decent, I’d say a 7).

I flirt with her a little early on, but ignore her until the end of the night. I’m dancing with some friends and catch her eye across the room. She waves at me to come where she is, but I shake my head and give her the “no, YOU come HERE” curled finger. She complies and we dance for a bit.

After about 10 minutes, I head to the bar for another drink. On the way back to my table to grab my smokes I pass her, hand her my phone and say “put your number in here.” On my way back I grab the phone without saying anything else.

I wait until Wednesday to call her – conversation lasts a solid half-hour. We make plans to meet up Saturday for dinner. I meet her at the restaurant, food is good, conversation is good. She’s still in grad school and pays for her own apartment, so she doesn’t have a ton of cash. So I pick up dinner but tell her she owes me desert. So she takes me to a Japanese place where we get some crazy thing that they light on fire. I ask her to come with me to another wedding in a couple weeks, which she agrees to. End of the night – no kiss close, but solid IOIs during the night.

Tuesday I send her a txt:
“You’re coming with me to a concert Friday.”

She instantly calls me and we talk for a few minutes and she agrees to go.

Yesterday, she calls me around 5pm, and I don’t answer. She leaves a voicemail saying that she can’t go out Friday night because she gets up at 4am on Friday and 6am on Saturday and that she’ll be too tired.

I wait until 1030pm to text her:
“That’s fine about Friday, but if you flake on me for the wedding you’re done.”

No response yet. I think I did well up until maybe the last text which perhaps was too asshole-ish. Thoughts?

+1 for flirting and then ignoring her.
+1 for the finger curl.
0 for the creative digit close (amusing, but it sounds like you forced the number close before building enough attraction).
-1 for the half hour follow-up conversation (ten minutes, tops).
-1 for the dinner date (dinners are horrible date ideas, and even worse first date ideas).
-1 for paying for her dinner (so what if she’s poor? plenty of poor girls manage to buy themselves shoes and handbags).
-1 for asking her to accompany you to a wedding before you’ve even banged her.
-1 for inviting her to two different dates (wedding and concert) so soon after the first date (neediness).
-1 for getting upset and not handling her flake with uncaring asshole humor.

Total score: -4

Is it any wonder she blew you off with an obvious lie?

UPDATE:

Her text the next day:
“Nope we are on 4 the wedding since it starts @ 5 I will have energy.”

Me, 2 hours later:
“I plan on being the center of attention so make sure you’re prepared.”

Her, the next day:
” you are too much!”

Me, an hour later:
” Did your phone break for a day?”

She’s got hand, and she knows it. She’s toying with you. You showed too much interest too soon by inviting her here, there, and everywhere. From now on you can expect this sort of impolite behavior from her, where she waits hours to text back and leaves you wondering about her feelings for you. You will be lucky to get the bang. If you haven’t banged, I suggest canceling the wedding date and offering a nebulous “better idea for a date” which you will call her later with details.

Case #3

Submitted by biktopia:

I was at my bf’s friend for dinner last week, and heard a interesting one,
this guy told me, that when he is going home with a girl he just met, and the girl says, i will just sleep at yours, nothing will happen, i’m not that kind of girl, then he knows for sure the girl will go to bed with him.
I will agree that this statement is 100% true.

This statement is contingently true. Her intent is 100% to go to bed with him, but execution of intent depends on his skill at affording her a plausible non-slut rationalization.

Case #4

Submitted by vicmackey:

girl i met about a week ago. dinner with common friends. very friendly talk and stuff. i do not game (just starting to know the Game) but i am usually pleasant and funny. we are both grad students.

anyhow, sent message today about going to get a beer. this is exchange:
——————
Me: Hi S.,

I am meeting a few friends tonight for a beer. I’d like if you could come.

It is going to be at 10pm at XX.

See you
F.
—————-
Hi F!

I’d have liked to meet up tonight, but I just got back from watching a friend in the Marathon and have been in X Park all weekend, so I’ve got about seven hours of work in front of me.

Let me know if you all go out again any time soon though; would love to join.

Hope all is well!

S.
———————
Me: call you next time then!

bye
__________________

any grave mistakes? suggestion for next steps?

Your first mistake is the tone of your date invitation. “I’d like if you could come” sounds needy, earnest and too polite to be appreciated by the crass beasts that American women have devolved into. Are you a foreign man from a feminized culture? If so, you’ll have to chuck the temptation to act chivalrously. A better invitation would be this (note the lack of punctuation): “im meeting a few friend for drinks. come and ill let you buy first round.”

Your second mistake was even bothering to respond to her blatant blow-off. Know this about girls: When they are interested in you, they will make the date happen. It doesn’t matter if her excuse was true (it wasn’t) or if it had any bearing on her ability to meet you for drinks (it didn’t), the fact is that she put you down nicely because you had not triggered a gina tingle. If you had coaxed a tingle she would have offered a second date idea. Instead, she left you hanging with that weak “let me know IF YOU ALL go out again” group hug LJBF.

Do you want to be Master of the Gina Tingle? Then you need to toughen up and stop treating women as something other than the smelly, tawdry, mudcaked, vagina following, venal animals they are. This means you need to summon your inner asshole. “Call you next time then!” are not the words of your inner asshole. Calling her from an undisclosed location at 1AM with lots of women’s voices laughing in the background and telling her to “wear your highest heels and bring some cash” are the words and actions of the asshole women love.

[crypto-donation-box]

Posted in Alpha, Game | Comments Off

Doubting Betas

Oct 25th, 2009 by

In the comments to my post about Steve Phillips slumming it with a pigfaced wreck who is 24 years younger than him, Half Sigma wrote:

The guy’s an aging jock who’s not famous (I’ve never heard of him before). When he leaves the TV studio and goes out in public, he’s just an old-looking nobody to all of the women. I don’t know why he thinks he can do a lot better in 22-year-olds. Few 22-year-olds in the United States are interested in men more than twice their age.

First, my claim isn’t a stretch. Phillips is better looking than 95% of men his age. So he’d turn some younger women’s heads based on that alone.

Second, while a 22 year old is not half my age, it is significantly younger than me, so I know of what I speak. 22 year olds are certainly interested in older men if those men have game. Since I can feel the shockwaves of HS’s astonishment all the way down here in DC, here’s a pic from one year ago of me and a 21 year old who is at least 5 points higher than Steve Phillips’ moocow mistress. Yes, there was banging. This pic won’t stay up for long, so enjoy it now.

[Too late! You missed it.]

Many men are crippled by doubt. They have no understanding of the possible. To these men I say: Stop listening to the jealous naysayers, the bitter betas, the furious fembots, the condescending scolds, the cackling cunts, your Mom, your Dad, your drinking buddies, your aging ex, your fat girlfriend, your boss, society, the world. They don’t have your best interest at heart. They never did, and they never will. You have no idea just what you are capable of as a man. Game is that powerful.

[crypto-donation-box]

Posted in The Good Life, The Pleasure Principle | Comments Off

« Newer Posts - Older Posts »