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Girl Screws Tucker Max, Broadcasts Her Sluttiness

Oct 2nd, 2009 by

I stumbled across a truly unintentionally hilarious tell-all. Some college chick banged Tucker Max during his promotional bus tour for his movie and she wrote about it on the internet.

I Slept With Tucker Max, the Internet’s Biggest Asshat

The fun starts before we even get past the title! The author’s name is Courtney, but here at the Chateau she’ll be known by the moniker “Suzy Semeneater”. Here’s some advice Suzy S.: Banging a guy and happily announcing it on the internet isn’t the best way to drive home your point that the guy is an asshat.

Tucker Max is a blogger-turned-author-turned-movie-producer who’s basically famous for drinking to obliteration and having sex with girls whom he later savages in graphic detail on his site, TuckerMax.com.

This reminds me of all those SWPL chicks who infest the blogworld claiming, every time they stumble across a game related blog, that chicks don’t really want assholes, and that insisting they do is just men making excuses for wanting to treat girls like shit. Yet here we see Suzy S. willingly fucking a guy she admits “savages” women on his blog.

You get what you give, ladies. Give your pussies to assholes, you’ll get nothing but assholes in return.

By the way, I am a huge proponent of asshole game for the reason that, in my observation and in the observation of men who aren’t satisfied with banging beta-settling fatties and fuglies, most women of fuckable quality (i.e. higher than 6, lower than BMI 23, and under 30) respond Pavlovian-like to assholes. And I kinda enjoy being an asshole sometimes.

It was a Monday night, about a quarter to 11, and I was watching TV with my roommates. I’d asked a few people to go out but no one was feeling up to it. Then, I got a text from my friend Steph: “If you want to meet Tucker Max, come to Cafe 210.”

I was a longtime fan and I’d been dying to meet him, so I got dressed as fast as I could and ran out the door. It was only the second week in school, and in my apartment I was already getting teased for my promiscuity. My roommates laughed as I left and told me to make sure to bring him back! “Yeah, like I’m gonna have sex with Tucker Max,” I thought.

Maxim #26: If a woman says the word “sex” in conversation with you or about you, no matter the context, it means she’s thinking about having sex with you.

I was expecting a huge line at the bar, but when I showed up, it was totally dead. I asked the bouncers if they’d heard anything about Tucker Max coming there. “I hope not,” one of them replied. Inside, I found some of my friends and some girls who were clearly Tucker’s tour groupies assembled. We waited a little while, and just when I thought he wouldn’t show, Tucker finally arrived.

“And then a seismic tremor swept through my san vaginus fault!”

Immediately a drunk girl latched onto him, hugging and kissing and falling all over him. She was cute, and I was just about to sigh, “Well, he’s already got his hook-up tonight,” when my friend Rosie snarled, “That’s pathetic. Who wants to be that girl?”

Maxim #27: Pussies are more pliable in the company of competing pussy.

Game tip: You’ll improve your odds of scoring by attending events that feature male celebrities. Counterintuitive? Maybe, but here’s what happens. The celebrity can only take home at most a handful of girls in attendance. The rest will be left with their meatflaps quivering for cock. A roomful of horny chicks, jealous and lubricated, is easier pickings than a roomful of egotastic bitches with sandpaper between their legs.

Regardless, we worked our way into the crowd surrounding Tucker, until we were face to face with him. I shook his hand, and told him I was a huge fan. His response? “Will you f–k a virgin?”

Tucker Max has tight cocky/funny asshole game.

“Yeah,” I said, “I’ll f–k anyone.” Big mistake.

This is the female verbal equivalent of parting her pussy lips and inserting a speculum for ease of access.

Tucked yelled for his friends to go get some kid, apparently the aforementioned virgin, because he’d “got one” for him.

“Wait, wait, wait,” I interrupted. “Is he cute?”

“No,” said Tucker. “He’s fat.”

I replied that I had standards; Tucker replied that I was a whore.

Naturally, Max’s minor celebrity status allows him to get away with stuff that a typical beta couldn’t. But then I’ve seen plenty of non-famous guys playfully call girls whores and watched as their eyes lit up with lust. If the typical beta first achieves the goal of ridding himself of bad habits that betray his low sexual status, he too will find that calling girls whores works like gangbusters.

Finally, Steph handed me her camera and suggested that Rosie and I ask to take a picture with him. We did, and this time, Tucker blatantly looked me up and down.

How many women’s mags (and men’s mags for that matter) advise men to be discreet about checking out the goods on a date? All of them? The truth is that making it obvious you’re checking out a girl is good game. The trick is to do it with a critical eye, instead of a drooling mouth.

“34 C?” Tucker asked.
“32 C,” I replied, “but good guess. What, are you trying to touch them or something?”
“Oh, I know I can touch them,” he said. “But I like to guess first.”

Here’s a question for my readers. In what context would “34 C?” work as an opener? Your answers will count towards your final score.

When I went back to sit with my friends, they’d been joined by a couple of Tucker’s tour guys. Eventually, the man himself showed up.

“So,” he asked, scooting in next to me. “Are you coming back with me tonight?”

I’m on the fence about describing this as Apocalypse Game. Max’s threshold for apocalyptic pussy prying is naturally lower than it would be for a man who isn’t enjoying a measure of fame.

I have two options. One: dignity. Two: a good story to tell later. So I snuck off and texted my best friend, Matt. Should I f–k Tucker Max? His response: You will be a GOD in my eyes.

Matt: Beta of the Month candidate.

It’s done. Around 1:30, I told Tucker that I would, in fact, go home with him. “Oh, I know,” he replied. “We have a cab waiting, let’s go.”

Han Solo game is getting overexposed.

We got into the cab with everyone at the bar waving and giving the thumbs up. The best part? I didn’t even know most of them.

Your parents must be proud.

Tucker took me back to the Hampton Inn where he was staying, showed me his tour bus (which was pretty sweet) and I met his dog, whom he talks to like an somebody’s aunt talking to a baby, except that he told him, “Say hello to the new slut!”

Some of the best sex I’ve ever had was with girls I utterly degraded.

Finally, in his room, he wasted no time getting completely naked. Like, no foreplay at all. Well, girls? Here’s everything you wanted to know about Tucker Max: His body is nice, but a little too hairy. He’s a great kisser. He screws like he’s jackhammering a sidewalk. I faked orgasm to get him to stop. After he was finished he told me we were going to do it again in the morning. Great! I should have gotten up and left, but then he wanted to chat.

What, no mention of his penis size? For a girl to write about banging an asshat celebrity and not mention anything about his dick, true or not, means one of two things:

  1. She enjoyed the jackhammering, her protestations to the contrary notwithstanding.
  2. She’s totally OK with being used like a convenient receptacle.

I agree with Max and Roosh that there’s no reason to concern yourself with giving the girl an orgasm, particularly if you intend the girl to be nothing more than a one night stand. If you’re alpha enough, she’ll happily go on banging you no matter how sexually unsatisfied she remains. Only milquetoast betas with high-pitched womanly voices like A.J. Jacobs (who was on the Elliot in the Morning radio show today talking about his article which I excoriated) tenderly and diligently work to assure their lovers’ orgasms until their tongues go numb.

We talked about normal things, like how he eventually wanted to get married and have kids, which was a shock.

I like to tell cheap lays that one day I plan to open an orphanage in Calcutta, because I have so much love to give.

He said that he wasn’t interested in being in relationships, and I told him I liked being in them, at which point he totally misunderstood me and proceeded to tell me that we couldn’t date.

At which point she wanted to date him even more.

“You’re not a real person,” I replied, by way of explanation. I also told him about this guy I was kind of hung up on and he was surprisingly nice and insightful, telling me that I was a cute girl and that I shouldn’t pin my hopes on some dude at my age.

😆

Has there ever been a better advertisement for being an asshole to get what you want from girls than the things girls tell their asshole lovers the morning after? Hey, dude, if you’re reading this, your angel was jackhammered by Tucker Max. No need to treat her to dates. A little grabass in the bar and a beeline to your futon should do the trick.

The next day, he woke me up for sex, as promised. It was worse, because he was panting this time, and when he was putting his clothes on, he farted loudly, multiple times. I called a cab, and he gave me 20 bucks for the cab which I gladly took. (Hey, I’m in college.) He hugged me and said, “I’d totally hook up with you again. Call me if you’re ever in L.A.”

Secret society.

Eh. I think one episode of stunt sex is all I’ll ever need.

Translation: “Eh, I think one episode of hot sex is all I’ll ever get from him.”

(If you want to read Tucker’s account — which is slightly different from mine — you can read it here.)

In Tucker Max’s version of the pickup (which is amusingly, and unsurprisingly, much shorter than Suzy Semeneater’s) he describes her as being “very cute”. Here’s a pic of the girl:

theslut

Mmmm… nyah.

Writer and student Courtney A. attended Penn State University, where she accumulated lots of stories.

Any guy who marries this girl is a fool. Any guy who meets this girl and doesn’t fuck her on the first night is a fool.

[crypto-donation-box]

Posted in Culture, Funny/Lolblogs, Girls, Sluts | Comments Off

Let’s You And Her Fight

Oct 2nd, 2009 by

I’ve written a post for the new men’s interests and issues online magazine ‘The Spearhead‘ (great name, btw) for a weekly series I’ll be doing over there called “Friday Night Game”. Here’s an excerpt:

Unless you are a man who mostly runs day game (i.e., meeting girls outside of venues designed for contrived social interaction) you will rarely encounter a woman alone. In bars, nightclubs, museums, at shows and events, a woman normally will be with other women. In these circumstances the opportunity to run “Let’s you and her fight” game is limitless. You should incorporate this tactic into your game right now.

Go read the full article over there. And check out some of the other articles by various contributors. Good stuff.

[crypto-donation-box]

Posted in Game | Comments Off

Roman Polanski: Alpha Male

Oct 1st, 2009 by

How do you recognize the alpha male? Ye shall know him by the shamelessness of women who aren’t his mother willing to defend his indefensible misdeeds. Despite drugging and violating a young girl like a porn star, feminists, pundits, sanctimonious Hollywood liberals, and even the victim herself have rushed to excuse Roman Polanski’s crime:

In 2003, [the victim Samantha Geimer] wrote a generous Op-Ed in the Los Angeles Times, saying Polanski should not be barred from receiving a Best Director Oscar for “The Pianist.”

“I don’t really have any hard feelings toward him, or any sympathy, either. He is a stranger to me,” she wrote.

The alpha male is a morally neutral concept. George Washington was an alpha male. Richard Ramirez is an alpha male. The alpha male can be a paragon of virtue, or a demon of vice. More often he is the latter, which tells us something very disheartening about the female psyche.

This is why my definition of the alpha male remains, however disturbing to those who find it necessary to impart moral gravitas to men who luxuriate in the love of women, the most elegant and encompassing description of the species to be found anywhere on the internet:

The alpha male is defined by the hotness of the women he can attract, the strength of their attraction for him, and the number of them who find him attractive.

Childless or dynastic. Death row or duty-bound soldier. Fop or Founding Father. Men at the apex of disparate social niches have commanded the loving sexual attention of multitudes of women. The dispassionate GodGene cares not how we achieve the ultimate mission in life, only that we do.

I wonder if a beta male could get away with the “rape rape” technicality in the court of public opinion?
Rhetorical.

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Posted in Alpha, Ugly Truths | Comments Off

Go To Speed Dating Events Where The Women Rotate

Sep 30th, 2009 by

Speed dating sucks, but if you’re set on attending speed dating events make sure you know beforehand that the women will be the ones rotating from table to table. Science explains to us why this is so:

The researchers found that the speed daters who approached their partners relative to those who stayed sitting would experience a greater romantic desire and chemistry toward their partners, and were more likely to respond “Yes, I would see this person again” to their partners. In other words, the people who rotated from person to person were less selective than those sitting, regardless of which gender was doing the rotating.

When men rotated, women (the ones sitting) were more selective. But when women did the rotating, men (the ones sitting) were more selective. Nothing else changed in the experiment, so it was the act of doing the approaching (or being approached) that helped determine a person’s selectivity toward their partner.

The researchers go on to tentatively, yet giddily, conclude that “gender norms” and “subtle institutional gender bias”, such as that exhibited at professional speed dating events where the procedure is to always have the men rotate, could account for why reams of past research has shown that women are more selective at dating.

“Although Western civilization has become increasingly egalitarian over the past century, certain social institutions remain gendered, some in subtle, almost invisible, ways. The present research identified powerful consequences of a particularly subtle gender bias: the near-universal tendency to have men rotate and women sit at heterosexual speed-dating events. […]

“Speed-dating scholars have appropriately adopted many procedures from professional speed-dating companies, so it is not surprising that this gendered norm [men rotating] has largely persisted, even for events organized and hosted by scholars. The present results, however, present a cautionary note: Even subtle gender norms can have important consequences for romantic dynamics.

Indeed, when researchers adopt a procedure without controlling for it, they risk missing a component of what they study. In this case, researchers just assumed that since men rotate in real-life, they should do so in speed-dating experiments. This may have skewed the results of past studies that used this speed-dating procedure, especially those that examined women’s “selectivity” — selectivity that may have been a result of the procedure itself, not the women.”

Maxim #81: Whenever you hear or read the words “gender”, “gendered”, “gendered norm”, “subtle gender bias”, or “increasingly egalitarian, yet there remains…” know that you are dealing with a leftwing equalist, blank-slate believing fruitcake who cannot deal with the fact that men and women are biologically different from birth.

So does the study really demonstrate that women are not as selective about dating as was previously believed by all of humanity for the past thousands of years? Eh, ya gotta read the disclaimers:

“What implications do the present findings have for the extensive literature demonstrating that women are more selective than men when choosing mates? On the one hand, this sex difference did not significantly reverse at events where women rotated, so on average there was at least an overall trend in the present data for men to experience greater romantic approach (i.e., to be less selective) than women.”

Answer: No. But thanks for playing!

I’ll explain what is going on here. One, the fruitcup researchers want desperately to cast doubt, however threadbare, on the burgeoning scientific and cultural acceptance of the important role played by biological determinism. They are emotionally invested in inflating and slanting the data to conform to their worldview. Scientists, particularly those in the soft girly sciences, are not immune from emotional bias. This is why I believe the time has come to shove it back in their faces and institute affirmative action and quotas in universities and social science departments to force them to hire academics with a realist bent. Diversity will be their strength, by force of law.

Two, while the reversed rotating speed dating study doesn’t do anything to overturn the extensive research showing that women are the more sexually selective sex, it does highlight an important concept of game that men should be aware of: namely, the principle of perceived higher value. Men who remain seated at speed dating events while the women bounce from man to man are essentially boosting their alpha male status. As any man who’s lived a day knows, when a girl approaches you either directly or indirectly (via a proximity indicator of interest) she will perceive you to have higher status than if she were the one being approached. The facts of your actual status are irrelevant. Perception is reality, so if certain body movements and positionings cause a girl to perceive you have higher status than her, she will be more open to a romantic tryst with you.

The researchers misjudged the rotating speed dating women’s universally shared desire for higher status males as lowered selectivity. The women weren’t being less selective; they were being just as selective as they always are, except now there were more higher status (i.e. seated) males for them to choose from. If anything, this study demonstrates that more men learning game will not result in women adopting stronger selection filters for men with only the tightest game. I have said before that more men running game is analogous to more women with beautiful faces — both will increase the total number of gina tingles and boners, respectively, at least until enough millennia have passed for new evolved preferences to emerge. Game, like beauty, exerts a power over the opposite sex too primal to be denied.

This principle of perceived higher value doesn’t work in the reverse: A woman’s value is almost entirely a function of her looks and the fact that she has a vagina, so there is little a woman can do, outside of makeup and good lighting, to alter a man’s perception of her beauty. Truly desperate ugly girls could slip a vision impairing drug into his drink, maybe a funhouse mirror drug that causes him to think she looks like Katy Perry.

Besides teaching men that they should refuse to get off their seat at speed dating events, this study helps confirm some other valuable body language power moves I’ve written about, like the forearm grab and the importance of keeping your back to the bar. I’d further suggest learning the “finger curl come hither”. Curl your finger and motion for her to come to you; the power dynamic will be all in your favor. As D likes to say, in an affected haughty French accent: “Zay come to ME!”

Women will often test men for their commitment to their repertoire of alpha power moves. How many times have you talked to a girl across a small distance in a loud room and she motioned for you to come closer to her? Beta bait. Alphas never bite; they respond “No, you come here.” Subtle, not so subtle? Douchey? Who cares, the shit works to light up a woman’s loins.

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Posted in Biomechanics is God, Dating, Rules of Manhood | Comments Off

Which Is Harder On A Woman’s Looks: Fat Or Aging?

Sep 29th, 2009 by

The pursuit of deep philosophical inquiry is a heritage of the West. This post continues in that noble tradition.

For purposes of comparison we begin our thought experiment with two slender (~ BMI 19) 20 year old women of above average attractiveness. They are both at the peak of their beauty. Which will steal their most valuable asset the quickest and render them sexually worthless — the horrors of aging or the disfigurement of obesity? Let’s find out!

Girl A is our gluttonous subject. Boy, does she like food. Recently, her boyfriend got complacent with the regular sex and regressed to a house trained beta, prompting her to fill the emptiness in her vaj-shaped soul with Krispy Kreme donuts.

Girl B is our control. She has good eating and exercise habits (read: primal diet. not a vegetarian. lifts weights. doesn’t run marathons.) and stays slim. The only force that takes a toll on her beauty is aging, which happens to everyone. Assuming average genetics, she will age about as fast as the typical woman, meaning a slow decline up to 30, then a rapid acceleration to the wall between 30 and 40, followed by an afterburner turbocharge at the point of impact sometime around age 45, after which she will be invisible to all men except the most desperate herb dregs.

We begin the experiment. There are 3500 calories in a pound of body fat, and 200 calories in a Krispy Kreme original glazed donut. Girl A goes on a donut bender and eats 1.05 Krispy Kreme donuts per week per year. 1.05 Krispy Kreme donuts per week doesn’t sound like much, does it ladies? Keep reading. She does not substitute smaller portions in her other meals or increased physical activity to counterbalance the extra calories from the donuts. At this rate of donut consumption, Girl A adds 5 pounds of unsightly fat to her frame every year. Keep in mind, too, that Girl A is aging as well as getting larger.

Meanwhile, our control, Girl B, has been suffering the indignity of aging without her even knowing it for the first five years or so after age 20. But unseen at the molecular level, her body is breaking down. From age 20 to 21, no one will really notice a change, especially not her boyfriend who sees her every day. Only in the aggregate over blocks of a few years will an outward change become noticeable. From 20 to 25, her body remains tight and right, while her face sheds some of that exquisitely soft baby fat of her late teen years and becomes more chiseled, angular. At age 25, she is still near-peak in facial beauty, but subtle changes have taken hold; her skin no longer glows without artificial accentuation (ladies pinch, whores rouge) and her flesh has lost some gravity-defying firmness. She would not pass the quarter bounce off a Marine’s cot test, but her ass remains delightfully squeezeable.

Now we do the first set of comparisons.

  • At one year in (21 years old) Girl A is five pounds heavier. Since she is young, the fat sits on her well. Her boyfriend notices the small weight gain, but his boner is largely unaffected. He continues fucking her joyfully, although his eye wanders a little more when they’re out in public together.
  • At 21 years old, Girl B has aged one year. Superficially, no change in her beauty. Her boyfriend is none the wiser of the tragedy that will eventually befall his beloved.

What happens at age 25?

  • At 25, Girl A has gained 25 pounds. Trouble brewing! Her boyfriend definitely notices her added padding, but mostly chooses to avoid confronting her about it, instead prefering the method of passive aggressive mutterings about other women’s skinniness, hoping that will spur her to get back in shape. He is beginning to regret spending 20K on that diamond engagement ring. His eye wanders a lot more now, he showers her with fewer compliments, and the frequency of their sex has dropped in half. He stays an hour later at work.
  • At 25, Girl B has aged five years. Her face has become mature, having sloughed off the last remnants of teen years softness and firmness. A tiny hint of crows’ feet appears, along with a few dimples of cottage cheese where the bottom of the ass meets the hamstrings. She is attractive, but in a different, less feminine way now; her’s is the attractiveness of a strident hard-charger, piercing the air before her like a wedge of sharpened flesh when she walks down the street. Good exercise habits have delayed any major drooping of her ass. Her boyfriend still finds her hot, but familiarity and the ancient stirrings of his manly seed-spreading spirit have caused his eye to dilate with greater gusto when appreciating the delicacies of younger women.

On to age 30.

  • At 30, Girl A is 50 pounds heavier. Oh my. She has formally left “chubby” and “pleasingly plump” euphemistic territory and entered the land of lardasses. The fat refuses to sit on her well; it hangs dolorously, it balloons insultingly. Her tits, while bigger, are also more pendulous, completely negating whatever benefit larger tits normally confer. Her boyfriend has stopped looking at her naked body entirely, and sex has dwindled to once a month with the lights off. She attempts to assuage her bruised ego by reigniting his passion with sex toys, lingerie, and pole dancing, but the effect on him is like that of watching a dog poop; sort of intriguing in its repulsiveness, and darkly humorous in the straining which accompanies the act. He has stopped giving her compliments or gifts, and forgets important dates, like her birthday. He stays at work two hours late. On the bright side, all that fat helps conceal the wrinkles normally associated with a woman turning 30.
  • At 30, Girl B has aged ten years. She, like Girl A, has crossed a Rubicon. There was a quickening diminishment of her beauty from age 25 to 30, but during that time she at least could console herself that dim lighting, exercise, and makeup were sufficient to hide from the general public the horrors besieging her from every quadrant. She looked in the mirror and she could still say to herself, with eroding certainty, that she was a hot commodity. Her boyfriend mostly seemed to agree with her self-assessment. After all, he was still with her, despite a couple episodes of cheating and that unfortunate incident when she found the receipt for a cubic zirconia ring. He doesn’t compliment as much, their sex life has become a bit routine, and he works an hour later every day, but mostly things are good.

35.

  • 35 years old. Girl A is 75 pounds over her 20 year old weight. She is a whale. Her boyfriend, having neither the courage nor the game to leave her for a sexier woman, sticks around out of a false sense of duty, and pity. Sex has stopped, except for those few times he’s so horny that he wakes her up with his dick in her mouth. She loves these times, as she imagines it shows he still desires her, but when she sucks him off and tries to guide his hardon down to her flabby distended pussy lips, his cock goes limp, quivering in fear. He has nightmares of her bloated labia attacking him, two roast beefs slapping him in the side of his head, over and over. As he no longer feels any urgency to please his fat girlfriend (he appealed to her lofty feminism and stated that marriage was a patriarchal conspiracy), he has regressed to a lesser beta, whacking off constantly to porn, throwing himself into his meaningless career, and playing video games til 3am. Girl A cries herself to sleep every night.
  • At 35, Girl B is 15 years older than her peak beauty. The deterioration has begun in earnest. There is no more hiding the ravages of aging; makeup, exercise, yoga, and night vision goggles can’t stop her face from betraying her lost beauty. Crows’ feet and laugh lines are permanently embedded. Hollowness perpetually encircles her eyes. Her skin has become inelastic, and her ass, finally, after years of squats in the gym, droops resignedly, as if to say “You gave it your best shot, but I’m tired. Let me go.” Luckily, she is still thin, almost at the same weight she was at 20, and her boyfriend, though he cannot deny that younger women excite his member more vigorously than she does, still finds pleasure in boffing her. Sure, it isn’t the visceral pleasure it once was, but he gets off, and that’s a day’s pay. But much else has changed for the worse. Compliments have dropped off to the level of the boyfriend with the 25 year old fattie girlfriend. He used to surprise her with flowers and nights out on the town. Now he surprises her if he comes home from work on time. He has cheated with a much younger woman, but hides it. He feels no shame for his infidelity, only a compulsion to continue doing it.

40.

  • Girl A is 100 pounds overweight. She is so disgusting to look at it arouses her loser boyfriend to physically strike at her in anger and hopelessness. She is having health problems, struggling to climb stairs or walk a few blocks. Her boyfriend refuses to go out in public with her; one time, when they were at the mall, he purposefully walked 20 paces ahead of her, and when a cute Banana Republic salesgirl asked him, when his fat wife was out of earshot, if he and his wife needed assistance, he, like the apostle Peter, denied his affiliation with her.
  • Girl B is on the cusp of sexual worthlessness, and she knows it. Wrinkles adorn her face, dimples dot her flesh, gray streaks her hair. Depressingly, her areolae have grown to the size of small saucer plates. But she is thin, which puts her head and shoulders above 80% of women her age in attractiveness. She can continue denying the reality closing in on her like a ripper in the night, because older men, chained to fat wives and out of the running for younger women, eye her up like an oasis in the desert. When a man thinks he has a chance, he allows his arousal to reach a fever pitch. Her boyfriend, though, has finally given up pretending to be attracted to her. Sex has become perfunctory, a chore not much more pleasant than taking a good piss. He throws himself into his career, his genetic algorithm impelling him to amass status and resources for a trade up to a more fertile woman.

Conclusion

Fat is the boner killer. Five years into the experiment, at age 25, Girl A’s relationship has degraded to the point of hurting her pride as a woman, while Girl B continues enjoying the love and affection of her lover. At age 30, ten years on, both women suffer the indignities associated with losing sexual market value, but Girl A, at 50 pounds heavier, has hit the wall sooner, and harder, than Girl B. At 30, Girl A is sexually worthless, and unlove-able. Girl B remains sexually enticing, though less so than at age 20, but enough of her value remains that her boyfriend does not entertain leaving her to try his hand at an upgrade.

At age 35, Girl A has gone from bad to worse. She is not only unfuckable, she is unwatchable. Whatever other good she does in her life (feed the homeless, help the starving children in Africa) is overshadowed by her grotesque rolls of blubber. People avoid interacting with her for fear of contracting a loser virus. Meanwhile, Girl B continues getting sex from her boyfriend, if not love. People enjoy talking with her, though she can’t help but notice that men’s eyes don’t light up like they used to when she walks in a room with a low-cut blouse and a thigh-revealing skirt.

At 40 it’s all over for Girl A. She is ballast on society. If she died, no one would miss her.

At 40, Girl B has accepted that the greatest source of her power, and hence, her happiness, is gone — her beauty teases with hints of a former loveliness, but that’s all it is; a tease. The men she finds most desirable don’t even see her. The men she sorta finds attractive are barely moved in her presence. The men she used to find unattractive and ignore she now talks and flirts with unabashedly, and only after much effort on her part does she get nibbles of sexual interest from some of these men. But worst of all, the absolute bottom of the barrel men hit on her relentlessly, like they never used to do, and this depresses her mightily. Girl B, lonely from the inattention of her boyfriend/husband, seeks an affair. To accomplish this, she has learned the art of the coquettish cougar pawing, whereby much skin is displayed and all coyness is tossed out the window.

What we have learned from this thought experiment is that fat hastens the day of reckoning by about fifteen years. So if you are a young fat chick, lose the weight pronto, cause you’re throwing away the best years of your life.

My advice to the ladies: Stay slender, and stay 21. Then you, too, can enjoy relationship exactness and complementarity!

[crypto-donation-box]

Posted in Hitting The Wall, Hungry Hungry Hippos | Comments Off

Men Work Longer Hours For The Wives They Wish They Had

Sep 29th, 2009 by

Reader gig left this comment to the previous post:

The noticing of how unattractiveness in women leads men to work longer is amazing. I see it everyday. I bet that much of alcohol abusers started so because of some unpleasant experience with women, specially sudden fattening of formerly attractive girls.

There is a widely held misconception that men who work long hours, or work later than they normally do, are doing so to please or otherwise impress their wives. In fact, much of the time just the opposite is true. Men will often work longer hours to *get away* from aging wives who are no longer attractive to them. It’s only the hottie wives who can inspire their husbands to get their work done on time and rush home for some lovin’.

Men who work long hours are essentially telling their wives that they’d rather spend time at the office amassing resources to attract a hotter, younger wife just over the horizon.

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Alpha Assessment Monday: Downlow Edition

Sep 28th, 2009 by

For the previous Alpha Assessment Monday, see here. All submissions go here.

Case #1

Submitted by Stone:

Here are excerpts from my interactions with women, for the judging. As a married man – and don’t start busting my balls, as I live in a foreign country with very egalitarian divorce laws, plus I picked my bride wisely – anyway, as a married man I have to adjust my game accordingly.

I only go after women when my wife is away, or when I am out of town. I don’t give out my number, and I don’t call girls I’ve picked up, because I wouldn’t like them returning my call some night when I’m at the family dinner table.

So for me, there is no number close, no kiss close, no other kind of close other than the real one. Which is hard, it only happens one out of twenty times or so. I could have a better close ratio if I focused on milfs/cougars, but as my wife is 24 and hot, I don’t want anything I get on the side to be too much of a compromise – otherwise I might as well stick with her. So anyway, after all this background, here are a few lines that I have adapted to fit my situation, and found they work fairly well:

Her: But you’re married!
Me: Of course I am, I’d have to be gay otherwise.
Her: ?
Me: Well, women always say “all the good ones are either gay or taken” – I’d be gay if I wasn’t taken, ’cause I’m good!

Her: But how could you cheat to your wife?
Me: Oh, so you’ve never cheated to your boyfriend?
Her: But that’s different, since I’m not married.
Me: I don’t see the difference. You break a promise and yeah, that’s bad, so you gotta make sure what you break it for is worth it.

Her: So what does you wife think about you being out to the club tonight, perhaps talking to other women?
Me: Oh, that’s fine, I can talk to other women. Actually, I can do anything to other women, as long as I don’t sleep with them. But, everything else is fine. Like, I could kiss you.
Her: I ain’t kissing you.
Me: I didn’t say you could. I just said I could if I wanted to.

And so on. Of course, not being able and willing to collect a number and follow thru with a couple of days hurts your success rate a lot, but I still do fairly well – actually, better than most of my single friends.

I like the idea of pressure cooker pickup. You either fuck close, or you hit the bricks. Gina’s for closers! Smart move not calling girls. As a married man exercising his options, you’ll want to minimize the paper trail. And an even better move steering clear of cougars. Too much time spent banging them out, however transient and insubstantial, will leave you feeling depressed. Stick to the young hotties.

Your first convo was good up until the last line. Too much explanation and self-promotion. When she tossed you the quizzical look, I’d have said “Only inexperienced and gay men stay on the market for long.”

Your second convo is too argumentative. You’re sparring with her about the definition of cheating. A total reframe was in order.

HER: But how could you cheat on your wife?
YOU: Who said anything about cheating?

If she presses, you tell her cheating implies lying, and you are completely honest in your relationships. This improved convo also serves the dual purpose of disqualifying yourself.

Your third convo is fine, though I’d question the wisdom of throwing out such a huge disqualifier like “as long as I don’t sleep with them” late in the pickup. I’m assuming this was said during early game.

A question I often get (not sure why I get it, since I’m not married and never been married) is whether it’s better for married men on the sly to be up front about their marriages or to hide the fact from their targets. While I don’t advocate lying for practical reasons, I’m utterly agnostic on the ethicality of using lies as a tool of seduction, particularly when the seduction in question is specifically for a quickie, no muss no fuss fling. The fact is, a certain non-trivial percentage of women are turned on by the thought of poaching a taken man, and will act on it. “All the taken men are good.” Proudly displaying your wedding ring will attract these types like vaj to horse saddles. But a significant number, perhaps a bare majority, won’t have anything to do with a married man. It’s up to you to decide whether the increase in attraction intensity from a sizeable minority of poachers is worth the decrease in overall numbers of targets if you’re up front about your marital status.

Case #2

Submitted by Marrk:

I’m younger then most of the guys here, but I figure its best to get this shit straight early.

This is just the back story to my relationship with the first girl.

I met this girl (shes about a 7.5, 8 on a good day) when I was a Junior in High school ( I graduated last year) but back then I was pretty shy and didn’t really know how to approach girls.

I was introduced to her at a party and didn’t talk to her for another year I’d see her around and we’d make eye contact, but i was too shy to make a move. Around my senior year I see her outside of class and I was pretty stoned and decided to talk to her. She was straight up eye fucking me and normally I would have avoided eye contact or somthing and made small talk, but this time I just looked her straight in the eye and started talking to her. I don’t remember exactly what I said because I wasn’t exactly sober, but it ended up with my getting my dick sucked in the car.

GSS be damned. Chicks are getting sluttier. They just learn to skirt the spirit of the questionnaire by not counting blowjobs.

The problem started when I met this other girl. I would have tried to juggle both but all three of us going to the same school ,it just wouldn’t have worked so I told girl number 1 that I didn’t want to see her any more. What happened with girl number 2 is a different story, but lets just say I was Waaay too fucking nice.

Now that nice block of text brings me to the current situation. I’m back home and I haven’t seen the First girl in a year or so. She sees my status on Myspace and asks me how I been and what not. I didn’t know what 2 say because After I told her that i didn’t want to be close to any women at the time when we were in school together, She saw me making out with girl number 2 the next day.

So i just decided to hit her back and see how she was, It started with simple convo, like catching up or what ever VIA myspace ( I hate the shit) but eventually she asks for my number again. So we’re texting and shit and she’s like ” I miss you and the way you made me feel”.

Beta bait. Don’t take it!

After she sends me that, I almost replied right away with ” I missed you too” but i decided to kill some time and wait a couple of hours.

I replied with ” Well what do you miss about the way I make you feel”.

Damn, you took it.

And she makes me wait like 3 fucking hours and replies with some bullshit “good answer” at 4am.

Women are like finely crafted Swiss watches. Totally predictable.

So I’m like Fuck it, I’m not going to reply, and shes going to have to Call or text me again if she wants to talk to me.

Good save. When in doubt, DON’T REPLY.

Lo and behold, later the next day she texts me asking wassup. I don’t know if I made a mistake here because I was still pissed from last night and was giving her clipped, one worded responses.

Anger is hard to conceal and is often a dead giveaway that she has gotten to you. This was a golden opportunity to act aloof and indifferent, as if nothing was out of sorts between you two.

Then she’s like she wants to see me so I tell her I’m only going to be free this Sat. She tells me the following tuesday and I just told her I have a date on tuesday. She didn’t reply, or text me for like two days after that and then today shes like, Do you still want to see me on Saturday?. I told her I’ll see if I can make the time but don’t hold your breath.

Well played, mostly. But you should’ve eased off on the asshole game. She’s going back on her word (essentially, indicting herself as a liar) by agreeing to meet you on Saturday like you originally wanted, so you come out with the upper hand. The time to be magnanimous is when you have hand. A simple “Cool” should have been your reply to her capitulation.

I’m probably going to go and see her, but I’m not sure yet. Today is that saturday so I’ll probably have to make a decision soon, and when I do I’ll post up what happens.

Sorry about the block of text lol but i felt the need to be as thourough as possible to get the best feedback. What do you guys/gals think?

The asshole is strong in you, but your journey to the alpha side is not yet complete. Not every interaction with a girl is a challenge to prove your player prowess. As an alpha padawan you will come to understand the power of forbearance and vulnerability game.

Let us know what happened.

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Film Your Bangs

Sep 26th, 2009 by

Now there’s a second good reason — besides the obvious benefit of compiling a porn oeuvre of your ex-girlfriends to whack off to in your dotage — to film all your bangs. It just might save you from a false rape charge.

Ndonye has already been kicked out of college for the false report and has been hiding out since. She’s refused to talk about her recanted claims she was tied up and gang raped inside a dormitory bathroom after a video of the incident emerged and shot holes in her original assertions.

Prosecutors said she cracked and changed her story when they told her about a videotape.

“The turning point was when she was confronted with the fact that there may exist a video of some or all of the incident. The woman began to reveal the truth about what happened,” Nassau County District Attorney Kathleen Rice said.

Investigators said the video showed no ropes, no ties and no force.

The bitch’s full name is Danmel Ndonye. DANMEL NDONYE. Shout it from the rooftops. A mass public shaming so great that it drives her to suicide would be justice well served. In the meantime, I’d settle for a few years behind bars.

So, lesson learned. Film your bangs, gentlemen. Thanks, feminists!

(My gameplan is to make the red record light as natural a part of foreplay as tender kisses on the neck.)

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Ephemeral Art

Sep 26th, 2009 by

A lovely and talented Canadian reader dear to me (she did my About picture) sent me a link to this incredible video of a 24 year old Ukrainian woman making on-the-fly sand paintings in time with symphony music.

She started doing these paintings a year ago on the beach. One of her 20 second paintings is worth more than all the postmodern sludge of the past 30 years.

kseniya-simonova

The matter is settled. Russian and Ukrainian women have been genetically selected for exquisite beauty above and beyond the call of duty.

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Science Proves Women Are Secret Sluts

Sep 25th, 2009 by

I was recently invited to join the moderated Yahoo group “Evolutionary Psychology”. Curious, I moseyed on over to take a gander and found a link to this study which raised my testosterone-laden eyebrow:

Study reveals complexities of female arousalSeptember 21st, 2009 in Medicine & Health / Psychology & Psychiatry

Challenging the idea that women’s sexual motivations are tied exclusively to romantic emotions or reproduction, a new study by psychologists at The University of Texas at Austin found women’s sexual decisions are motivated by a shocking array of reasons that range from the mundane (“I was bored”) to a sense of adventure (“I wanted to know what it was like before getting married”), and from the altruistic (“I felt sorry for him”) to the borderline evil (“I wanted to give him a sexually transmitted disease”).

“Understanding why women have sex is extremely important, but rarely studied,” said David M. Buss, evolutionary psychology professor. “One thing that’s interesting about our study is that it goes against the stereotype that men desire sex for pleasure while women have sex only for love or commitment.”

Detailed in their new book “Why Women Have Sex: Understanding Sexual Motivations from Adventure to Revenge (and Everything in Between),” Buss and Cindy M. Meston, clinical psychology professor, collected personal accounts from more than 1,000 women of diverse educational, ethnic and religious backgrounds on their reasons for having sex.

“We knew motivations for sex were more complex than what had previously been talked about in the literature—having a baby, love and physical pleasure,” Meston said. “But we were still astonished by the amazing diversity of sexual motivations—from curing a headache to feeling closer to God to getting their partners to take out the trash.”

Other findings:

• Thirty-one percent of women, at some point, purposely evoked jealousy in their sex partner, compared with only 17 percent of men.
• Eighty-four percent of wives, at some point, said they had sex out of a sense of duty, compared with 64 percent of husbands.
• Thirty-eight percent of women admit to “poaching” someone for a short-term fling.
• Fifty percent of women reported having sex to cure a migraine headache.
• Women, in general, are turned on by men with deep voices and symmetrical bodies.

Yes, women like to fuck. But there is a caveat. They only like to fuck men higher than them in status. Female hypergamy doesn’t disappear; it just acclimates to changing incentive structures. Tyler Durden was hitting upon a truth when he wrote about the existence of a matrix-like secret society. A small pool of alpha males really is hogging a disproportionate amount of vaj action when that vaj is at its most desirable. The fact that most betas eventually settle down with a road-worn, heart-stomped wife in their late 20s/early 30s doesn’t disprove the reality of the secret society.

Regarding the findings, is anyone surprised that women deliberately evoke more jealousy in their partners than do men in theirs? Chicks are natural drama whores. If they aren’t getting their drama fix their holes close up and become dry like sandpaper. The alpha male, with his beguiling aloofness, multiple partner juggling, unspoken ability to score new pussy on a whim, unpredictable outbursts of occasional anger, and steady stream of neg hits, is like a walking minstrel show to a girl. Snagging one as a boyfriend means the Shakespearean fun never ends!

I’ve written before that the men who are most successful at seducing women are the men who co-opt women’s tools of the trade. They steal women’s most powerful weapons and use them against her in the battlefield of mate choice. Seducing women as a woman seduces a man leaves her incapacitated, defenseless to your charms. They know not how to respond because they’ve encountered so few of your kind.

Eighty-four percent of wives, at some point, said they had sex out of a sense of duty, compared with 64 percent of husbands.

Audacious Epigone posted some General Social Survey data (reader beware: the GSS should be taken with a grain of salt on the subject of human sexuality and sex habits) purporting to show that married men have just as much sex as single men who aren’t losers with women. Note that if more wives than husbands are submitting to sex out of a sense of duty instead of a sense of lusty vigor, you can be sure that the sex lives of the single men are a hell of a lot more fun than the dreary two stroke tangos with dead fish that the married men stoically endure.

Thirty-eight percent of women admit to “poaching” someone for a short-term fling.

Preselection, yo. Experience with women compels a man to put his dog on a higher pedestal. Or his plasma TV.

Fifty percent of women reported having sex to cure a migraine headache.

Which is promptly restored from banging her noggin against the headboard.

Women, in general, are turned on by men with deep voices and symmetrical bodies.

If man was made in god’s image, was god symmetrical, or intriguingly idiosyncratic, like Lyle Lovett?

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