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Reader Mailbag: Happiness Maximization Edition

May 6th, 2009 by

Email #1

Just came back from a great night out, I’ll try to make this brief.

I am beta by every standard you can have. I am 24 and I’ve had one girlfriend, who I had for five years. She’s my only lay.

I have severe one-itis for a girl at work. She has a boyfriend. She’s loyal to him. I know how ridiculous this sounds.

The point is that I just came back from a night out with her and another guy, who isn’t her boyfriend. The other guy is better looking than I am. He speaks something like three languages. He is “exotic.” He has known the girl for a lot longer than I have; he has a personal nickname for her.

Despite that, I rocked the whole night. This guy didn’t stand a chance. It was brutal. Six months ago, she would have been all over him, and I would have been sitting on the sideline, feeling empty and depressed. I want to note that I haven’t sarged once in those six months. (I have only ever sarged once, and it was barely, with two friends sarging and me being relegated to the ugly friend while they fought over the hot one.)

How did this happen? Application of game, pure and simple, reading a lot of theory, but most of the stuff I can actually use has come from your site – not really practical tips (although these have helped), but just how you think about yourself.

I’m a little buzzed, so I can’t formulate this as well as I want to without being even more long-winded than I’m already being. But I just wanted to say thanks – sincere thanks for putting this stuff out there. In the reproduction competition of life, I am still losing. But I went out tonight and I had fun – something I can’t say I’ve had while “out” for most of my life, but twice in the last three weeks, I’ve gone out and done this. I’ve gone from staying at home and feeling fucked to going out and participating in life, even a few nights being “that guy” who is driving the life of the party.

So even if I’m never a guy who can attract women consistently (although my belief that this is impossible fades day by day), application of the principles you espouse on the site have enabled me to actually be able to engage women in a way where I’m having fun, she’s having fun, where there is sexual tension and attraction, things that I have not really ever experienced as an adult. It is a feeling I can only describe as amazing.

Do I think you can be an asshole at times? Yeah. Who doesn’t? But I’d be the first guy to raise my hand to object to anyone who says what you’re doing is destructive, bad, etc. I’m biased because it’s my life, so it feels much more immediate, but just the fact that what you’re publishing on your site has been this useful, not to merely manifesting happiness, but virtually constructing it, in this one important arena of a man’s life – washes away a multitude of sins.

Best to you and yours, thanks again.
B.

I beam with pride when I read emails like this one. My hatred and evil brings love and good into the world. What was that sucking noise? Ah, yes, another steaming load of useless new age twaddle circling the drain.

First off, if you’ve had a girlfriend for five years that you were banging then you are not a beta “by every standard”, unless she is fat or ugly. Truly incorrigible betas can’t even manage that. So don’t beat yourself up too much. You’re not losing “in the reproduction area of life” because there are millions of men who aren’t getting any pussy at all and have to satisfy themselves with fleshlights. At your age with your one long-term girlfriend, you are, in fact, right smack in the middle of the oat-sowing bell curve.

Second, don’t fret about consistency in picking up chicks. From my experience and from what I know of naturals who do well with women, you will have brief periods of scarcity. This is the ebb and flow of the sexual market. Don’t panic and try to force your way out of those normal, cyclical downtimes. Foolish consistency is the hobgoblin of beta minds. If you get into the self-defeating habit of ticking off the days and weeks since your last lay you will poison the well of your carefully cultivated alpha essence. Alphas never care about time since last bang because they don’t operate from a scarcity mentality; they know another woman is always within reach.

It is a feeling I can only describe as amazing.

Just wait until you jizz up her nose and she sneezes it out.

Do I think you can be an asshole at times? Yeah.

Don’t forget a narcissistic prick.

I’m biased because it’s my life, so it feels much more immediate, but just the fact that what you’re publishing on your site has been this useful, not to merely manifesting happiness, but virtually constructing it, in this one important arena of a man’s life – washes away a multitude of sins.

You wrote something important here — happiness is not granted from on high nor is it a wispy feeling that randomly alights on your mood. Happiness is constructed. It is the direct result of actions taken that further your genes’ goals of survival and reproduction. The better a man becomes with women, the happier he will be. Only monks dedicated to stripping themselves of their humanity and disembodying their consciousness from their physical shells can be said to rise above this happiness equation. Sure you could be a monk, but it’s easier to learn game. And a lot more fun.

Email #2

I met a girl with a ‘prior engagement.’ She lives with him, and likes him but somehow found herself on my lips. It was on an overnight cruise. She was receptive to my touch; every kiss, however, would end with her withdrawing and looking down in shame, touching. She did not reveal to her friends this dalliance of hers.

How would you overcome such resistance?

Note: This question is more hypothetical in nature; I did not take her number.

bien respectueusement

A.M.

She’s feeling like a cheap whore. As well she should. Your job, should you decide to accept it, is to communicate your nonjudgmentalism and the premium you place on secrecy in your affairs. “I believe that a good life, a fulfilled life, is one where we explore the possibilities, and never deny ourselves genuine happiness. There is nothing worse in life than regret, wouldn’t you agree?”

When she looks down, draw her attention away from her great shame. Take her hand and pull her to another location, point out the birghtness of the moon to her, and force her mind to occupy itself with positive feelings. You want to drown her guilt in a cascade of competing emotions. Venue changing is of utmost importance. So is establishing an immoveable frame. When she mutters regret under her breath, or looks down at her lap after a makeout, ignore the beta bait. Pull back and talk about random things. In her horror at the surge of her own uncontainable desire, she may blurt out details of her ‘prior engagement’, as if you should care. Ignore her. These are the words of a woman in the process of rationalizing what she is about to do despite her misgivings. Never attempt to engage her logically by talking her into an affair. That will backfire. Always… ALWAYS… remain in the realm of feelings. Good feelings. Whimsical feelings. …HORNY feelings.

Email #3

Feel free to publish this but don’t include my name or address.

She cheated. I don’t want her back. I want to crush her ego to the point where she will regret this action forever.

You know the answer.

Anon

Unlike the spineless pissboys and pissgirls who infest the ranks of our postmodern society (and this blog) with their limpdicked self-help dribblings to “move on” and “be the better man”, I will give you a chalice of hearty vengeance straight up and garnished with a gleeful cackle. Drink it down and feel it nourish your soul. After all, revenge is as sweet as love, and as natural. We would not possess the feeling if it did not most times work to our benefit.

First, I have to assume something about you and her. If she is crawling back to you hoping to wash away the stain of her sin by offering her only begotten womb to hang on the shaft of your cock, take her one more time. Keep the video camera running out of view while you are ripping apart her anus. Have bra and panties from another woman (purchased if necessary) lying strategically under your pillow for her to find during or after sex. When she has run crying out of your home, send a copy of the video to her parents with the words “A girl who was raised right” and a copy to the man with whom she cheated with the words “She loves you.” Go to a payphone in another city where you cannot be traced and call her employer, notifying them that she has been pilfering company property, and as you are a friend of another employee of that company who tipped you off (do some research and find out who her friends are where she works) you thought they should know. Tell human resources you must remain anonymous because the tip-off friend is worried that she (your girlfriend) has an explosive personality and might do something drastic.

If, on the other hand, she is not coming back for more sex, your options are more limited and you will have to do additional legwork to exact your vengeance. Do you have old sex vids of her in possession? Do what I wrote above. If you don’t have sex vids, find out if she is still seeing the guy she cheated with? If so, go to him in the spirit of two brothers meeting to discuss a family matter and offer him cash to make a lurid sex video of her and pass it on to you for public exposure. Your goal is to drag her reputation through the mud; girls live and breathe by their reps. If the new guy loves her, this tactic probably won’t be fruitful, unless you are willing to pay handsomely.

If the sex vid option is unavailable, do some research to locate and meet all her ex-boyfriends. Almost all exes would be happy to stick the shiv in for shits and giggles. Dig up as much dirt, true or not, as possible from them, along with pics and any love notes or saved emails, compile it into a prurient email novella and pass along to all her friends using an anonymous remailer so you cannot be traced. Be sure to have taped recordings of your ex bad-mouthing her current girlfriends (almost all girls have called a BFF “fat” or “slutty”) and insert them into your email as an audio file. Start a blog called “Mylovenoteto[name of your ex].com” and update daily with pics and torrid gossip. Always deny involvement.

Godspeed, Avatar of the Light!

[crypto-donation-box]

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April 2009 Beta Of The Month

May 5th, 2009 by

Drumroll please. Presenting the reader submitted nominees for the April 2009 Beta of the Month contest…

April 2009 BOTM Candidate #1 was submitted by reader Ben. It’s our first video submission for BOTM. It needs no introduction. I dare you to watch this all the way through without retching. If you’re short on time, start watching around the 5:30 mark.

Feeling nauseated? Some of you may be so aghast that you doubt the authenticity of this magnificent specimen of beta. Surely this must be a satire of lovesick losers? A frat hazing joke? Sorry, I’m afraid it’s the real deal. From his comments to the video:

“Love Story” Genuine real life love story of one man’s journey through time as he gives his all for one chance at a dream. Entirely filmed, produced, and directed by the man you see and him alone over the course of nine months. […]

I believe the person I made this video for is living somewhere with her family and I truly hope they are all happy and doing well. I made this video to present on youtube because it was the only way I felt I could reach out to her to let her know how I still feel.

Everyone should fully respect her privacy and wishes because I don’t know how she views me now after all this time. We were together for two years and I don’t know why for certain she was gone. I sincerely only want her to be happy even if that means me being out of her life. She is an awesome person who deserves the very best and I just hope she is able to see this.

File under: Oneitis.

Yeah, buddy, listen… this cheesy cornball shit won’t work to do anything except strip you of your last shred of dignity. Your flexing biceps can’t save you now.

This guy is a great example of the sort of suckass whose supplicating weakness you don’t notice right away. He’s good-looking, well built, and smiling like an idiot. But those muscles are painted on. Underneath the surface lies the beating heart of a natural born beta. Which just goes to prove that the tell-tale mark of the beta isn’t how you look, but how you behave.

I guarantee his ex watched this video in horror, her vaj slowly sealing shut like King Tut’s tomb. After the pity wore off, she recaptured her feminine essence by letting her new guy take her anally. There would be a little rectal tear.

The female commenters are hilarious:

this is so sweet, i can’t wait until i meet the guy who will care so much for me as you care for loren.

It never ceases to amaze how women can lie to themselves so effortlessly. Are women that removed from the workings of their own desire that they can’t recognize their true natures? Any beta with thoughts of romance reading the above will get the wrong idea and the vicious cycle will continue — girls saying they want one thing, logical guys with neediness issues giving them what they want, girls getting annoyed and dumping logical, needy guys.

***

April 2009 BOTM Candidate #2 was submitted by reader Five. It’s the cringeworthy love story of the billionaire owner of the Red Sox who pours his heart out for a nascent cougar who, in turn, plays him like a fiddle.

It reminds us a little of a Lifetime movie: Fabulously rich Red Sox owner falls head over heels for an attractive, much-younger woman who initially rebuffs her bigshot suitor but ultimately relents and begins planning a wedding.

“Initially rebuffs”. Yes, she played him good. I’m sure it was a great sacrifice for her to “ultimately relent”. A smart, aging broad with the wall rapidly approaching knows to pull every trick out of her playette’s handbook to land a Daddy Warbucks pot of gold. Especially when he’s a groveling beta. Rule #1: Delude the chump that her depreciating pussy is worth more than it is. There’s a billion dollar lotto to win, and a state-sanctioned half-billion (pity poor Mel Gibson, the fool) if she can get him to sign on the dotted line and leave him when she gets bored by his obsequious fawning.

Now, if I had a billion dollars, I would leverage that pile in conjunction with my game to pull a steady stream of hot stripper pussy until I’m lying cold in the grave. Vagina varietals, if you will. No wedding ring required. But this guy, this titan of industry, this captain of capitalism, what does he do? He pens sappy love poems to a has-been 6:

Dear Linda,
A man needs a muse. Well, he doesn’t really. He doesn’t need nearly as much as he generally thinks he does. A man is greedy. Greedy for what he doesn’t think he has and what he thinks he wants.
We probably wouldn’t have wandered far beyond the basic necessities without that pushing us. Progress is one of its most important byproducts.
So you will ask, “Why are you writing this?” Because a brief encounter-and-a-half with you gave a cool spin to this little blue planet from my vantage point.
We feted the Celtics tonight and the skies opened. The sun emerged and created a giant rainbow between the city and the park. We were transfixed.
You only saw it if you were in the right place. I was in the right place when I noticed you.
I barely know you. I don’t have any illusions about capturing your heart. But the world is brighter, better, lighter and warmer when a man imbues a woman he knows — even tabula rasa — with the attributes that I believe reside in you. It’s the small things that ultimately matter, the subtle things.
I am honest. I don’t play games. And I see no reason not to say that I’ve been smitten by you and you’ve done me a great service.
You’ve very innocently made my world brighter, better, lighter and warmer.
So thanks.
No response is necessary because a man doesn’t need nearly as much as he thinks he does.

Here’s a pic of the Billionaire Beta’s muse:

Yenta-rrific!

This was her e-mail response to his passionately putrid overture:

A man may not need as much as he thinks he does, but courage and honesty should be acknowledged. I am not so naive as to believe I actually possess the qualities you attribute to me. But thank you.

Like a Stradivarius. No doubt she was actually turned off by his betatude, but with that much money in play, it makes sense to feed his delusions and keep him chasing. Why are so many rich dudes so goddawful with women? Is it low testosterone? A belief that their cash buffers them from their worst instincts with women? A refusal to learn what makes women tick? Or is it that all that dough allows them the luxury of indulging their most cloyingly romantic beta impulses?

There’s a theme to this month’s BOTM contest: Superficially alpha guys betraying their beta souls.

The voting:

Addendum

I noticed in the reader submissions that some of the female readers don’t quite grasp the concept of “beta”. For example, here’s a submission from Bhetti:

A 42-year-old man who authorities say fathered 14 children with 13 different women in Genesee County and owes more than $530,000 in child support has been jailed for dodging payments.

Thomas Frazier was ordered jailed Thursday and could spend 90 days behind bars if he doesn’t pay $27,900, The Flint Journal reported. Court records say he hasn’t made payments in the child support cases in six years.

“I tried to find someone who would love me for me,” said Frazier, who also described himself as a victim of a poor upbringing. Frazier said he thinks he fathered only three of the children – two daughters and a son.

Helpful hint: A guy who fathers 14 kids with 13 different women is the dictionary definition of an alpha. I understand you women may not see it that way, but the only judge that matters in this high stakes game of American Alpha is the pussy. Betas don’t father bastards. Betas father other men’s bastards.

[crypto-donation-box]

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Why Game Will Never Suffer From Overexposure

May 4th, 2009 by

Blue line = “fleshlight”. Red line = “dating tips”.

(Hat tip: many readers.)

[crypto-donation-box]

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Game Will Help Ugly Guys

May 4th, 2009 by

I was lounging in placid contentment on a sofa in a local lounge like a proper post-history, citizen-of-the-world nihilist enjoying the flume ride down the rump of American decline when I spotted a somewhat unkempt man with awkward mannerisms take a seat at a small table to my right. He was a little more homely than the average man, nearing 40, and bereft of any fashion sense. (For those who need the catharsis of another 800 comment thread on race, he happened to be black.) He moved in an ungainly way, as if hobbled by a long-ago hip injury. I watched bemused as he tinkered about his table, moving his chair in and out, fussing with napkins wedged between the ketchup bottle and salt shaker, and generally projecting an air of Rainman-like social unease.

A minute later, a woman approached him for what appeared to be a first or second date. Looks of recognition led me to believe they had met before. He clumsily stood from his chair, his motions so quick and jerky that the chair made a loud screeching noise as it was pushed back violently from the table. She was a black woman, in decent shape (read: not fat), and a point or two higher than him on the cross-gender physical attractiveness scale. He took a couple steps toward her and held his arms out for a hug, or a reasonable facsimile thereof. I surveyed her facial expressions. She was clearly not enthused about being there. She walked tentatively toward him, a crooked smile perched on her face, and prevented him from achieving his goal of a full-contact hug by arching her body away from his and giving him the long-distance “two pats on the back” pseudo-hug.

“So great to see you!” He blurted out the words like a burp and maneuvered for a tighter hug and kiss. She deftly evaded his sneak attack and left him stranded, kissing the air a few inches from her right cheek, his lips pursed outward in puffy, parched hunger for soul-nourishing reciprocation that would not come.

Impatient with his bumbling overreach, she snippily replied, “Ok, let’s sit down.” He vigorously nodded his head and mumbled “Ok, ok” and they both sat at the tiny romantic table next to the window that would not be able to works its magic that evening on this couple. I turned away, unable to bear the sight of their slo-motion heart wreck any longer.

******

Game could have saved this man.

Pulling up in a Ferrari would not have helped him. Receiving a standing ovation by the staff and patrons when he entered the eatery would not have closed the deal with his date. She would have raised an inquisitive eyebrow at his Ferrari or his mini-fame, her loins would have briefly stirred, but she would still be left sitting across a man with crippling beta mannerisms. Her smile would have rapidly decayed to disgust. Her disappointment would have been palpable.

But had he not jumped up from his chair when she arrived; had he not lunged desperately toward her for the hug and kiss his demeanor suggested he hadn’t gotten since his Mom saw him off on his first day of school; had he teased her humorously about the scarf she was wearing on a mild spring day; had he moved slowly and gracefully with the practiced insouciance of a wanton Casanova used to bedding women much hotter than her; had he been dressed with a little more care; had he stopped smiling like a vapid goofball for two seconds; had he qualified her about her worldliness and sense of adventure –

– he might have gotten the lay. Maybe not a 100% guarantee of getting the lay, but a damn bit better than the 0% chance he had BEING HIMSELF.

Recently, the Audacious Epigone challenged Game as egalitarian wishfulness. He, like so many others who have yet to delve deeply into the world of Game for themselves, claims that game will only help those who are already gifted by genetics with good looks or income-boosting and social adaptability-enhancing high intelligence. Now I am not one to shy away from the ugly truths, so there is merit in what he says; given equal facility with game, a good-looking man will do better than an average-looking man. A rich man will trump a poor man. A witty man will pull more than a dull man.

But rarely is skill with game distributed so equally. As I mentioned in the comments to Audacious’ post, excepting fame and vast wealth the most powerful lifestyle change the typical man can make to improve his lot with women is to learn game. The psychosocial dominance and alpha mimickry that game teaches is worth a garage full of Ferraris. Give a beta a Ferrari and he’ll look alpha while driving. Give a beta the self-confidence and swagger of someone who drives Ferraris and he’ll look alpha all the time.

Realistically, homely betas wielding the power of game won’t bang dime pieces (much). But they will begin to experience the pleasure of banging chicks 1 to 3 points higher on the looks scale than what they are used to scoring. And for most lifelong betas, that nontrivial step up the pussy ladder will feel like nirvana.

It is no exaggeration to say that game would have elevated the status, and hence the pussy-lubing power, of the clumsy, homely beta at Busboys far beyond his natural no-talents. And for a mere fraction of the cost in time and energy than he would have spent raising his status in more conventional, and socially-approved, ways.

[crypto-donation-box]

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Who Wrote This?

May 4th, 2009 by

“Woe unto the Race if ever these lovable creatures [women] should break loose from mastership, and become the rulers or equals of Man.”

Hint: It was written in 1890.

Answer: Ragnar Redbeard (pseudonym), from his book Might is Right.

If only he were alive today to see how right he was.

[crypto-donation-box]

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The Biggest Beta In The World

May 3rd, 2009 by

The American media.

Got grovel?

[crypto-donation-box]

Posted in Beta, Goodbye America, Videos | No Comments »

The Most Exciting Sex

May 1st, 2009 by

I’ve written before that the path to sexual nirvana is through hot women. The hotter the girl, the steamier the sex. Simple formula. So put away your Zen and the Art of Existential Orgasm books and your handcuffs and mood lighting and liquor and rohypnol and owl masks and instead focus on landing yourself a hot babe. No need to overcomplicate things. Your penis cannot be fooled.

Once you’ve satisfied that basic requirement for nutblasting sex, there are ways to turbocharge the sex into the stratosphere of awesomeness. When you mix together certain ingredients you can achieve paralytic sexual bliss; the kind of orgasm that will stiffen your entire body as if it were a mere appendage to the centrality of your dick, and seize your brain in a white light-pricked near life experience.

Public sex is a necessary precondition. There needs to be a real threat of getting caught. You must also be outdoors in the woods, communing with Mother Vulva. The crackle of twigs underfoot, the sun streaming through a canopy of oak leaves, the chittering of small and not so small woodland creatures, and the invigorating organic aroma of pristine air and decomposing brush will throw in stark relief the animalistic nature of your love. There must be people in the vicinity. The thrill of seeing people while fucking and not being seen by them is incomparable. It’s like a one-way mirror where the observed subjects going about their daily mundane routine act to heighten the depravity on the other side. If some of those people are children under the protective wing of their parents, even better. The wicked ascends on the backs of the innocent. The risk of despoiling in a most evil fashion the purest among us will inflame your lust.

There must also be clothes in the way. You will feel your boner harden like steel-forged nipples when you have to push up a skirt or pull aside running shorts and panties to gain access. Clothes — and the clumsy grappling to move them out of the way — will pump your blood with the urgency of fast and furious sex.

Your woman must be either an angel on earth, or a dirty whore. A middle of the road typical chick with gangbang experience under her belt or a commitment to the three date rule isn’t going to cut it. If you want to lift yourself to the heights of ecstacy you must feel like you are piercing the womanhood of a truly uncorrupted vagina, or, on the opposite end, spiraling downward into the pits of sin with a filthy slut.

One of the most exciting sexual experiences I ever had happened in the woods, mid-day, springtime. We had just finished a hike and I pulled her off the designated path deeper into the wood. She was wearing loose-fitting running shorts. She was married, and I knew this. I was fucking a cheating whore. I pressed her chest against a boulder that fully concealed us from view and yanked aside her shorts for rear entry. We heard voices approach. She balked, unconvincingly. No no no I don’t think this is a good idea. Ignoring her, I drove it in hard hoping to make her yelp in pain and was surprised by the wetness of her pussy. She had lubed up in mere seconds. The voices neared us. Some were the high-pitched squeals of children. I looked around the boulder and saw through the low branches of the trees a troop of girl scouts clambering down the hiking path, a few parents strolling lazily beside them. Forty feet separated the girl scouts from the penetrance of my manhood into my married whore’s cunt. They stopped; I held steady, cock buried to the hilt. A squirrel rummaged through dead leaves on the ground. My lover twitched. I had my hand her throat and felt her pulse with my fingertips. My grip tightened. One of the girl scouts wanted to go in the woods for a pine cone. We heard her pleading with her father. She took a few steps toward our boulder of love, then turned back around when someone shouted “doggie!” and they all went racing toward a labrador that had jumped in a large pond. The voices receded. I resumed my pumping action, inflicting scrapes on my lover’s cheeks and arms from pushing her against the stone. Her knees went wobbly with orgasm and she slipped down the rock a few inches, stifling the moan that wanted to rip out of her lungs. I halted her stumble and with a mighty final thrust unloaded inside her, a river of molten balljuice flooding her hole, my bulk mashing her face into the boulder. White spots danced in my mind as my peripheral vision temporarily faded. I had timed my blast perfectly to the happy squeal of a distant girl scout.

Later we passed them and the wet doggie who had jumped in the pond. I petted it on the head and exchanged pleasantries with the parents.

[crypto-donation-box]

Posted in The Pleasure Principle | No Comments »

February And March 2009 Beta Of The Month Winners

Apr 29th, 2009 by

The crack team at Chez Pussyhound fell asleep on the job and neglected to do followup posts announcing the BIG BETA WIENERS for the February and March 2009 BOTM contests.

What best exemplifies the Beta of the Month?

  • An unerring devotion to the betrayal of his masculine essence.
  • A complete lack of shame.
  • A willingness to debase himself for the skankiest of pussies.
  • White Knight Syndrome.
  • Sensitive Man Syndrome.
  • A lack of self-awareness.
  • Desperation and obsession.
  • Self-abnegation for little in return.
  • Inability to view women as anything other than flawless paragons of virtue and righteousness.
  • Unremitting chivalry.
  • Anhedonic.
  • Considers himself a feminist.
  • Sits cross-legged.
  • Afraid of own erection.

February’s race was a runaway. The February 2009 BOTM Winner (submitted by reader 11minutes) and now one of the finalists for the Grande Finale 2009 Beta of the Year contest was the man who read about his wife’s cheating in her diary and responded in the only way a flouncy mangirl would respond — by consoling his wife while she laid flowers on her ex-lover’s grave. This repulsive specimen of supreme betaness beat out the guy who pays for his wife’s sex vacations. What a surfeit of beta! The world is full of these guys, and I shall feast on their misery.

It shouldn’t have to be said, but if you have anything left swishing around in your nutsack the only appropriate response to catching your wife cheating is throwing her and her shit out the window, in that order. Then moving out of the country to evade divorce theft and hiding your assets in overseas accounts. Finish the day up with a trip to the Amsterdam clubs with your buddies.

******

March’s BOTM head-to-head featured a cast of infamous characters and also had a clear winner. The March 2009 BOTM Winner (submitted by reader stacy) and now a finalist for the 2009 BOTY is the ex-husband who invited his slobby ex-wife and her new day laborer husband to live in his home, where he was treated nightly to their rutting noises and humiliated in front of his children.

Recap:
He married a hog.
Hog divorced him because he’s too beta even for a fat cow like her.
Hog marries Mexican day laborer with green card issues.
He invites hog and hogfucker to live under his roof.
Hog FEELS PITY for him because he’s single.
His children bear witness to his daily humilation.
He’s OK with all this.

This is the stuff of nightmares. In visual form, his psychological torture would look like this:

The March 2009 winner defeated the milquetoast fiancee of Jessica Valenti, editor of the “Chicks with Dick Clits” website devoted to the pursuit and exultation of pretty lies. Now that the March 2009 BOTM has been announced and Jessica’s progressive feminist boyfriend escaped the ignominious honor of Beta of the Month, she can breathe a sigh of relief. Congratulations, Jessica, your fiancee is not quite as beta as a guy who has to listen to his ex-wife get pounded by one of the landscaping crew in his own home.

Jessica wrote an article for the Guardian which linked to my blog and which was obviously inspired by the sadistic glee of my BOTM post where I unleashed the soulripping hooked chains of the Cenobite hordes upon the stupidity of her beliefs and the squalor of her fiancee’s mincing betatude. I believe I have hurt her, though she will never admit it, of course. She wrote: “… a “ball-cutting cybersuccubus”, as I was, in fact, described [by moi]. Think I can get that on a business card?”

Yes, my cat toy, you can get that on a business card. And since I am a monster id of generous cruelty, here is a suggestion for Andrew’s business card:

“Cuckold In Training”.

Best.

PS: Keep your BOTY contest submissions rolling in, folks.

[crypto-donation-box]

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Pulling Solid Number Closes

Apr 28th, 2009 by

When it comes to number closing, the biggest obstacle is not getting the number; it’s getting the number in such a way that minimizes the odds she will flake. I read an interesting post on the blog written by one of Roosh’s day game students, Tyler, who has a novel method for bypassing weak number closes: Don’t push for them.

Girls that flake. Everyone has probably had this happen to them. Anyone who approaches girls and gets phone numbers finds that some girls don’t answer their phone or are “too busy” to ever do anything. This happens because they are flat out not that interested. This isn’t because you are not interesting, you just didn’t do enough to make them want it bad enough. Girls will rearrange their schedules for you if they want to see you bad enough. Once you get better at approaching girls, your next step is to eliminate flakiness. […]

I was putting too much emphasis on getting the phone number and not enough on the method. Numbers equal nothing if you can’t act on them. […]

Flat out, don’t even ask or insinuate you want their number. After this one particular night I implemented this experiment right away. So what happened?

The next weekend I met a group of girls. I liked the long haired, darker skinned girl from new york. She was the most attractive by far. I steal her friend’s chair. We exchanged stories and she is semi interesting. We find a few subjects that are common interests. At this point she has found a smart, unique, really good looking guy and she can’t believe she found him at a bar! But….I have to get going now….it was really nice talking to you….

That’s how I leave conversations. I leave a window there for them to give me their number, or inquire how we will talk again. I will leave nearly any girl hanging. An often response is…

“umm, do you want my number?” with almost a desperate look on their face. It is probably unbelievable to them that I just built this little relationship and I am willing to just leave without an attempt…

“well I don’t usually take girls’ numbers, I have been pretty busy lately….” Then I “decide” to let them have my number.

As they put my number in their phone, they text or call me right away. They do this so that I have their number and jokingly to see if I am lying. As I look down at my incoming call, I am standing right next to them. As I look up I quickly give them a kiss. They don’t see this coming and it catches them off guard. Then I leave and let it register in their minds what just happened. […]

Since I have done this, the flakiness percentage has drastically gone down. A girl won’t flake on me if she is asking for my number. […]

In the scenario where a girl isn’t asking how to get a hold of you, you can do things such as make tentative plans to prompt her even more. You don’t want to loose focus though. The idea is that she should be chasing you. Forcing numbers is a waste of time.

I have run similar number closing game on girls, and I can inform you this reverse psychology method is highly effective. It’s a wonder I don’t number close like this all the time, but sometimes you have to remind yourself of what works and what doesn’t, or you fall back on old familiar habits. When she isn’t immediately biting, Tyler’s advice to prompt a girl to initiate some kind of exchange of numbers is crucial. The best way to do this is to talk about some great event or activity you plan to do in the near future.

Here’s a real life example of my “reverse number close” game (post-attraction phase):

ME: There’s this amazing animal sex exhibit at the Corcoran this weekend that I’m going to.

HER: Animal sex!?! OMG that sounds ridiculous!

ME: Well, it’s not for everyone. You have to be open-minded to fully appreciate the beauty of it.

HER: Are you saying I’m not open-minded?

ME: Well, you are from the midwest. Nah, you’re pretty cool. It’s been fun talking with you. [I’m making a rocking motion with my body suggesting that I’m leaving.]

HER: You too. [She’s looking at me expectantly.]

ME: Oh, right. I should tell you… and don’t take this personally, because it’s not about you… I don’t accept girls’ numbers.

HER: Really? That’s weird. Why?

ME: It’s my personal philosophy. I want a girl to show she is different from all the other girls. If she calls my number, she has stood out from the rest. Plus, a lot of times I forget to call the girl’s number.

HER: Well, yeah, that’s different.

ME: I’ll tell you what. I’m feeling generous. Let’s exchange numbers.

[Segue to unlubed anal sex phase.]

A couple points. My number close above incorporates some very powerful mindfucking elements of game. Sexual Vibe and Future Pacing (“amazing animal sex exhibit…”). Qualification (“you have to be open-minded…”). Takeaway (“It’s been fun…”). Challenge (“I want a girl to show she is different…”). Preselection and Alpha Male Options (“I forget to call the girl’s number”). These are potent psychological techniques that stab right at the heart of a woman’s soft brainmush, and should be used sparingly. Overuse will ping her skepticism defense mechanism and trigger fresh rounds of shit tests.

[crypto-donation-box]

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Text Message Of Dire Portent

Apr 27th, 2009 by

Checking in from Mexifornia, Zeets sent me this text message over the weekend:

If the denizens of the boardwalk at santa monica beach are any indication — ca is fucked.

[crypto-donation-box]

Posted in Goodbye America | No Comments »

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