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March 2009 Beta Of The Month

Apr 3rd, 2009 by

Here are the reader submitted nominees for the March 2009 Beta of the Month face-off.

March 2009 BOTM Candidate #1 was submitted by commenter Paul L. It’s a case study of a wretchedly nauseating beta marrying the ballcutting cybersuccubus who rides the rancid menstrual flow at the feministing coven.

I mean, just take a look at this guy and you already know what’s coming.

This is really going to be painful for me to write. The things I do for you people. Here is the full measure of his betatude as told in the words of his fiance.

As many of you already know, I’m getting hitched. Deciding to get married brought up a lot of issues for me – politically and personally. Folks had a bunch of questions in comments, so I thought I would use these as a jumping off point to talk about issues of feminism, marriage, and – the current bane of my existence – weddings.

Hara says, “I hope that if you are considering changing your name it is one you both create for the two of you to change to (like a combo, but shorter) otherwise, I suggest not making your name change to his last name.”

As marriage is a well known raw deal for men, any man who acquiesces to his wife keeping her maiden name is only garnishing his testicles he’s already placed on a plate for her, like John the Beta’s head. At the very least, a man should demand his wife take his name in honor of the tremendous sacrifice he’s making by chaining himself to marriage and all the state-sponsored anti-male tyranny that entails.

I’m keeping my last name. I think hyphenation is nice – and that’s probably the route we’ll go with kids – but I like my last name. A bunch. I’ve even considered adding in my mother’s last name as well, as a little “fuck you” to the patriarchy, but I think Jessica Michelucci Valenti is too much of a mouthful, even for one with as big a mouth as me.

What this confused broad doesn’t seem to grasp is that her maiden name is her father’s surname. So instead of passing on her husband’s surname, she passes on her father’s surname. The male lineage continues, just not her husband’s. Hyphenation is a direct “fuck you” to a man’s masculinity, as it not only denies the smallest acknowledgement of his dignity but rubs his face in his dishonor by elevating his father-in-law’s manhood over his own.

Any man worth his stones reading this, take my advice. If your fiance tells you she’s keeping her last name in marriage, tell her “No, you’re taking mine. End of discussion.” If she refuses your demand, dump her forthwith. I’ve just saved you a miserable fucking marriage to a shrike and a painful divorce settlement after you’ve caught her boffing the slam poetry dude whose show you took her to in celebration of women’s herstory month.

On the issue of same sex marriage, frye886 says, “It seems to me a more powerful action by many couples would be to refuse to get married and publicly state the reasons why not.”

If you’re basing your decision to get married on the legal status of gay marriage, you’re asking to be flayed alive by soul reapers such as myself.

Andrew and I discussed not getting married until everyone could, and we think that’s an understandable choice.

“Andrew and I discussed” means “Andrew listened while I told him what we were doing”.

Instead, we’re trying use our impending marriage as a pro-active way to talk about same sex marriage among our friends and family, and being mindful of the inequity in every step our process. (For example, in our engagement announcement we asked anyone considering getting us a gift to instead donate to an organization fighting for same sex marriage rights; we’re planning on saying something about it as part of our ceremony; and we’ve taken the advice of several commenters and will have cards indicating we’ve made a donation to said orgs instead of favors.)

With all this insufferable moral preening, you’d think gays were being lined up against the wall and shot. How much you wanna bet this Jessica nutcase is a closet lesbo?

Several of you also got into it about dresses – whether the traditional white dress actually did signify “purity,” etc. I’m kind of ambivalent about it, but I ended up getting a not-quite white dress (don’t want to give too much away in case the boy is reading!) that I bought from a place where all the money goes to charity.

“Don’t want to give too much away in case the boy is reading!” It’s funny how even the most strident feminists can’t help but swoon like little princesses for the traditional trappings of the wedding ceremony. Yeah, white is definitely not her color. She’s likely to be as pure as a refurbished vibrator. I wonder what color she got? Rainbow?

So that’s where I’m at so far. I’m sure things will continue to come up and that I’ll continue to try and find ways to subvert them or add a little dash of feminism.

Any guy who agrees to marry this wo-man is asking for a world of emasculation. Some guys will do anything for the pussy, so their’s is an act with at least some reasoning behind it. But our intrepid beta is plank-walking to his figurative castration with his eyes wide open. He *celebrates* it. Those limpid beta eyes say it all. As does his “progressive” resume. His life hereafter will be full of dashes of feminism and subversion of his manliness. Look at this chick’s man-jaw:

I think we’ve identified the boss monster. She is not LTR material, let alone marriage material. She is same night lay material and rocket launcher material.

“Quite an experience to live in fear, isn’t it? That’s what it is to be a slave.”

In the meantime, does anyone have any feminist wedding planning tips they’d like to share?

For him: punch your eardrums out.
For her: try not to let the ringing of my words distract you as you’re walking down the aisle.

ps: She will cheat on him within five years of exchange of wedding vows. And he will condone it and blame himself.

***

March 2009 BOTM Candidate #2 was submitted by commenter stacy. It’s the heartwarming Lifetime channel story of a generous man who lets his ex-wife and her new boy toy husband move into his house.

Struggling to make ends meet, trying to dig themselves out of debt, Nicole Thompson-Arce and her husband have moved in with her ex-husband.

Together, the unlikely threesome of Omaha, Nebraska, is raising two young daughters from the first marriage.

When I started the BOTY project, I was skeptical that there were enough betas of such vomitously unique circumstances to fill a year’s worth of submissions. My skepticism was unfounded. Just when you think you’ve heard it all, some guy steps up to the plate and knocks his testicles out of the park.

When she and Craig Thompson, 42, were going through a divorce in 2005, this was not a deal either of them could have imagined striking. It was a messy divorce, the kind involving a custody dispute. But once they ironed out that battle, agreeing to joint custody, Thompson-Arce said they were able to move on and forward.

Moving on and forward means never seeing the bitch again, not helping her and her new husband move into your home and fuck under your roof. I think half the reason so many women initiate divorce and revel in sticking it to their ex-husbands good and hard is because these beta chumps LET THEM DO IT and come crawling back BEGGING FOR MORE.

By the time she married Mathew Arce last July, she said she and her ex were friends. In fact, they were so close that his mother — meaning Thompson-Arce’s ex-mother-in-law — was in (not just at) the second wedding ceremony.

Is a man a loser when he cannot even comprehend his own dishonor?

“I knew they were having money problems, so I just asked them to move in,” he said. “I figured I’d get to see my girls, my daughters, more often. And Nicole said yes right away.”

Some men want their kids in their lives, severely cramping their nightlife and game and sucking all the fun out of life. I can’t understand why, but there it is. The child custody laws are so inimical to the fathers’ interests that arrangements like the one in this hellish story seem reasonable to fathers who have no other recourse.

Thompson [the ex-husband] and Arce [the new husband], who are 20 years apart — “I had to get the whole spectrum going there,” Thompson-Arce [the ex-wife] joked — have become the best of friends, and share a similar sense of humor. They have tackled home improvement projects, run around together on days they both have off and often hang out at the kitchen table building plastic models.

Do they swap guy tips on how to flick the bean hiding in the folds of her fat droopy vulva? The ex-wife is so fat and ugly maybe this guy just doesn’t give a shit that she’s getting boned two doors down the hallway in his own home. Not that this mitigates the disrespect issue, but it goes a way to explaining his seeming indifference. You be the judge:

The transition has been smooth and great for the kids, Thompson-Arce said. And for their benefit, irrespective of finances, she thinks it’s a living situation they’ll stick with for at least five to 10 years.

10 years. Notice she’s calling the shots here.

It has, however, taken a little time for the little ones to get the story straight.

Seven-year-old Victoria went back to school after winter break — and after the whole team had blended under one roof — and started telling people this: ” ‘My mommy has two husbands,’” Thompson-Arce remembered. “I was like, ‘No, honey, don’t tell them that!’”

This is all sorts of fucked up. Hey, on the upside, once the two daughters reach bangability age they’ll be so full of neuroses and daddy issues that a teen guy looking to score could just fall into their pussies.

“When they do have a romantic evening, I don’t hear them, so we’re not going there,” Thompson quipped. “There’s a bathroom between our two bedrooms.”

Beta, shoot thyself.
Women love these kinds of stories because they get to live vicariously through the fantasy of banging the guy they really desire while the good provider chump practically neuters himself with his amiable acquiescence.

I thought there was a possibility that the beta ex-husband was redeeming himself by dating around. Tomcatting with his newfound freedom would make him slightly less beta. But no…

The ex-husband hasn’t dated since the divorce. He said it’s because he’s been focused on work and taking care of the kids. Thompson-Arce, however, said that she and her husband are forever trying to get Thompson on the dating scene and want him to meet someone special. Special, and understanding, she would most definitely need to be.

“He’d have to find a very open-minded woman because we don’t plan on going anywhere anytime soon,” Thompson-Arce said.

He’s a loveless loser.

It’s one thing to marry a warpig and get shafted by her in divorce court.
It’s another thing to invite her and her new husband into your home so they can screw right under your nose.
It’s still another thing to let your kids witness your total and utter humilation and emasculation.
But it’s a whole new level of beta to sit passively by as your seacow ex-wife lays down the rules of engagement and tells you how it’s gonna be.

I hate both of these wrecks equally. MMmmm… delicious, life nourishing hate.

The voting:

Addendum

I thought about adding this story to the March 2009 BOTM voting, but a guy who lets his GF fuck him up the ass with a giant purple saguaro so she can fulfill a twisted fantasy is more of a freak than a beta. He at least is presumably fucking her in the usual way most of the time, so his journey to the beta side is not yet complete.

[crypto-donation-box]

Posted in Beta Of The Year Contest | No Comments »

Reader Mailbag: Bailout Edition

Apr 2nd, 2009 by

Just a reminder: As with previous mailbags, if you don’t want your question displayed for public scrutiny, say so in your email to me.

Email #1

Just discovered your site and I find it amazing that you can put in words all the nagging little truths that I seem to see all the time.
However, often I find there can be some shades of gray in life, which serves to blur the truth.
So, I was wondering if you could categorize a couple of my friends and me. We all have completely different experiences with girls, none of them pure alpha or pure beta, so it is hard to determine. We all do some thing alpha and some things beta. Which one of us would benefit from game?
Sorry for such a long post.

I’ll start with me. I think I’m probably a beta, perhaps a latent alpha.
My beta tendencies have to do with picking up girls. I’m very good looking, so I’ll often have girls coming on to me in bars, even good looking girls. However, I miss all the cues unless they come on very strong. At the end of the night, when I’m going home alone, I’ll realize which girls were coming on to me and slap myself in frustration. When I meet the girls again, which happens often because I live in the suburbs, and they start coming on to me again, I miss the cues a second time. If I do pick up the cues, I tend to come on way to strong and blow it by scaring the girl away with desperation.
Another problem is that I can’t seem to get the fatties and hideous ones away from me. They tend to follow me around like puppy dogs and ruin it for me when I try try to talk to other people, even guys. Then at the end of the night, they ask if they can give their number and I always say yes and put it into my phone incorrectly so that I have an excuse for when I meet them again. Sometimes I even makeout with them or use them for relief during a drought.
My alpha tendencies come forward when I’m in a relationship. The girls I’ve dated have all been 6-8s, although there have only been two 8s. I don’t call for days at a time. I forget important events and then tell them to just get over it. I ignore their shit testing completely. I dominate them physically, though not violently. I also do random nice shit like thoughtful gifts, massages, meeting with an artist they like, etc. The girls always love me, they become obsessed with me. When I break up with them (no girl has ever broken up with me) they tend to call and follow me for at least a year. The most egregious example is a girl I broke up with in high school, because she was black (thats the actual reason I gave her), right before prom, that still follows me around and tries to arrange to meet me, 6 years later. This is partly because I’m pretty and partly because they “love” me.
Am I an alpha because I weather shit testing so well or am I a beta because I can’t pick up girls?

I have a buddy that is the opposite of me. He seems like an alpha while we’re out. He is just an average looking guy, yet he can frequently pick girls up, almost every night. He often has same night sex. They are almost always hot girls. However, he then gets into a relationship and becomes obsessed with the girl. He will call dozens of times a week, get her expensive gifts weekly, become a total bitch. The girls always either break up with him or cheat on him. When they cheat on him, he always forgives them and they keep on cheating until they eventually just start dating another guy and drop him. Once the relationship is over, he’ll go out and start banging hot girls again. Is he an alpha for banging girls frequently or a beta for being such a bitch in relationships?

My other buddy is an ugly guy. He used to be fit, he was a college baseball pitcher in his Freshmen, but he has gone to seed and is now fat. While he is still strong and looks it, he lacks any stamina and, more importantly, muscle definition. He goes out and picks up a chick every couple of weeks but they’re generally 3s or 4s. Occasionally he bags a low 5 and brags about how hot she was. He keeps a stable of 3s and 4s that he bring out for beta dates like bowling and movies with groups of friends, but he bangs them at the end of the night because they’re ugly and love it. Is he a beta for getting only ugly girls, or is he an alpha for getting laid frequently and having a stable despite being an ugly, fat guy?

Again, sorry for the long post. Thanks for reading it.

-DOS

I have to say, DOS, I see a lot of my old self in your description. Some men are born with natural ability to pick up on a woman’s attraction cues, but most men have to learn the hard way, either by missing out on great opportunities or by presuming interest where there is none. The good news is that with enough practice, you can hone your awareness of subtle female cues to the point where it becomes intuitive.

When you are a good looking guy, women will make assumptions about the rest of your quality as a man, which can actually work against you as the alpha bar will be raised. Average looking men with good game will often do much better with women than good looking men with average game, and this is because the women don’t expect as much from the average looking guys. Thus, when they are sent into a labia moistening rush by the average looking guy’s tight game, the pleasant surprise will often lead to stronger attraction than what these women would have felt  in bland conversation with a good looking guy. So, as a good looking guy, know this: You will get more auditions with women at the cost of their leniency should they discover you have no game. Women can be harsh judges of men who don’t meet their expectations, and the good looking man who blows his advantage by revealing needy, beta game underneath the shiny surface is the biggest disappointment of all.

As for the fatties and fuglies, my advice to you is to sack up and refuse their numbers. It’s very beta to mince around number closing girls you’re not interested in because you can’t bring yourself to say the words “I’m not interested.” Trust me, they’ll be hurt but they’ll respect your manliness.

Your relationship game is solid, but only because you are dating girls who don’t really move the world for you. It’s easy to play the aloof and indifferent supreme alpha when you actually feel aloof and indifferent with the girls you are dating. Try dating a girl who makes your heart race and watch how quickly your aloofness evaporates by month six. A true test of a man’s game is how he responds when his lust and love are aflame.

Ranking: You are a greater beta.

Now your first buddy has the opposite problem from you. His game is tight, he gets girls he really wants, and he dates girls that meet his standards, but his game wilts when he lets his emotions pull him under the beta riptide. This is common to men who have emotional magnetism and a flair for drama. Men of the Mediterranean are lovers in this mold. I would guess your buddy is a romantic at heart, and probably gets off on the mess he leaves in his wake. Is it more beta to swoop easy prey and treat them like dirt in relationships or to swoop worthy prizes and lose them to the capricious whims of your lovesick heart? The question answers itself.

Ranking: Your first buddy is a nascent alpha.

Your second buddy at least gets laid. There are a lot of ugly, unfit guys who can’t manage that, even among the dregs of womanhood. So he’s elevated himself above omega status by the sheer act of penetration of subpar girls. But he is in no way an alpha. A lot of old school, traditionally masculine men with beer bellies and the TV constantly tuned to ESPN, who can fight their way out of roadside bars, are the sorts of no-game-having chumps who like to claim alpha status because they have sex regularly with their fat and ugly “old ladies”. “Oh yeeeah, I’m getting me some tonight!” you will often hear them say. Don’t be impressed. Theirs is a pyrrhic victory.

Ranking: Your second buddy is a lesser beta.

Email #2

I have been following your blog on and off for the past six months. I must admit that I am highly impressed not only by your frank opinions about today’s rapidly evolving mating landscape but also by the searing, incisive wit with which you present them. As much as I admire your blog, you will not find me amongst the umpteen commentators simply because I don’t have the time to do justice to my views and yours by commenting.

So here’s the deal. I’m from another continent and have moved to the US around three months back to study at a reasonably prestigious business school in upstate New York. I did not take the trouble to personally visit the school before I joined, or else I would have immediately recognized the glaring lack of ‘city life’ in this town (I’m from a large city). That, combined with the rigors of a male dominated career (19% of my class is female) has left my poon dreams hopelessly unfulfilled. The three months I have spent here have yielded me less girl face-time than even a few hours worth in my conservatively orthodox country. Time is scarce and girls are few.

Now here’s the real deal. I’m a 25 year old virgin. I’ve been in a serious several-year-long relationship before and still come out a virgin. I’ve had a career, a well paying job, enough money for my age (in my country) and still stayed a virgin. I’m reasonably good looking (6’3”, 180 lbs, used to run 2.5 miles  a day and bench 250 lbs – 6 days a week), smart, witty, funny (or so I’m told) and still managed to stay a virgin. Sometimes I feel that it must be a world first that I’m pulling off here.

I’m writing to you because a random google search led me to your ‘what a girl’s job tells you’ which engrossed me for weeks – till I had read through The Game, most of your posts, most of Roosh’s posts and even some of VK. And then some of Style’s and Mystery’s videos. It helped me heal after a traumatic breakup and appreciate the world again. To say that this has changed my life would be an understatement.

Needless to say, I have been heartbroken by my life in America. I am an immigrant with visa restrictions on a tight budget and a murderous schedule. Spare money and time are both hard to come by. After a lot of careful planning and budgeting, I have manage to work out a schedule which allows me to hit the clubs (in a 2nd tier city) at least once every couple of weeks, of which tonight was the first night. A brief description:

Started off at 2300 at a random club filled with early 20s college kids. Couldn’t muster the courage for any approaches, acted like a wallflower till I was buzzed enough to make it to the middle of the dance floor. Decided to move to another place since I felt I had lost the first-mover advantage here. Next club I ended up at was full of random dudes hitting on a shrinking pool of eligible females. Tried dancing with whichever spare girl I could find. A lot of them turned away, one said hi and then started fidgeting with the club photographer’s camera before sticking her tongue down another guy’s throat. Several others turned their backs. I’m stumped by this behavior. I can understand 8s and 9s doing this, but this is the response from every fucking girl. Is this some sort of middle-America racism? Because all these chicks are white, probably several generations born and raised in the same county. I was unsuccessful the last time I tried too. I’ve heard the lamest of!
responses – from “my boyfriend’s waiting outside” to “we’re lesbians” and “will you buy us a drink?”. But tonight I’ve finally decided to seek help because its driving me insane.

(This will sound beta, but then isn’t asking for any help beta after all?) Please look over any structural/grammatical incoherence since this is coming after a mindfucked night and ~10 drinks.

PS: I’m patriotic too but some of your right/libertarian views on immigration and world politics are unagreeable.

This email was sent to me by someone whose name was written in what looked like the Cyrillic alphabet. First, I will say that if you are going through college poon-free you are doing yourself a grave disservice. At no other stage in life will there be as much easy opportunity for fine ass as during the time you are in college. Yes, even in those majors where the ratios are skewed heavily in favor of men. After all, the campus is a big place that swarms with women from other majors.

On the other hand, since you are coming to America from an Eastern European country I understand your disappointment with the local goods. Every American man I’ve spoken to who has spent some time in East Europe has raved about the quality, quantity, femininity and approachability of the Slavic siren. You are in for a rude awakening here, my friend. Our women are the bitchiest conceited cunts in the world, save perhaps British broads. I suggest bringing whatever thug-lite Russian game you have left in your veins to bear on the American co-eds of your worst nightmares.

On to your sordid tale of woe. Sir, I simply can’t believe you made it through a several year relationship without popping your cherry. I’m certain this violates some quantum law of physics, and your extraordinary act of betatude has doomed the cosmos to a massive rip in space/time. Most likely, you were never in a “serious several-year-long relationship” like you think you were. Most likely, your “girlfriend” was never in love with you, never felt like your girlfriend, and probably got some cock on the side, regardless of the perverse arrangement you had with her. I know this sounds harsh, but the first step on the journey to alpha enlightenment requires facing the ugliness of reality head on.

I will also say this: I know it is much MUCH harder for a male immigrant like yourself to make it in this country than it is for a female immigrant. It is simply a law of biomechanics that a young, reasonably attractive immigrant girl will find herself besieged with assistance from American men and from our institutions, and her route to employment, friendship, love, and citizenship much smoother than yours. It is unfair but no one said life was fair.

Point one: Use your accent to your advantage. I used to know a couple Russian guys who were *ashamed* of their accents and this shame prevented them from approaching American women for fear of not being understood or thought uneducated. I tried to tell them that many types of accents are very sexy to American women and they should view their own as a leg up in the field. So to you I say lay that accent on thick, and speak slowly, like a Communist party apparatchik with multiple assassinations on his resume. Feed into people’s positive stereotypes and think of yourself in the way that others think of you if it helps your self-image. You are now a Russian spy with Polonium-210 issues. (If you are not Russian, then change it up to reflect a positive stereotype from wherever you happen to be. For example: African prince, Chinese martial artist, scion of Greek shipping magnate, Italian Lothario, Canadian Canadian… you get the picture.)

Point two: Banish thoughts of your virginity from your head. Indeed, remove the word itself from your vocabulary. Don’t say it, don’t write it, don’t think it. Dwelling on your virginity will only cripple your game in the field. Focus only on your moments with girls that left you with good feelings, like the time that one girl smiled when you cracked a joke.

Point three: Drop the dancefloor game and work on your conversational game. Approach girls waiting at bars for drinks and open them with an observation about one of the dancers or a cocky line about her wanting to meet you because she bumped into your arm. Dancefloor game should be viewed as a supplement to regular game.

Point four: If 5s and 6s are turning their backs on you immediately, then you are giving off a horrible whiff of betaness. You say you are reasonably good looking, so hideous ugliness is not the cause. It’s probably your body language, your fashion sense, and/or the first words out of your mouth. If you are a bad dancer, that could kill your chances right quick on the dance floor. Most bad dancers don’t realize how bad they look until someone tells them or they catch themselves in a wall length mirror.

Point five: Stop drinking so much. Copious amounts of liquor will ruin your game. A couple drinks is fine to loosen up.

In conclusion, all I can tell you, since your problem isn’t one specific issue, is to study game and start applying its teachings in the field one lesson at a time until you stop getting insta-blowouts. There is light at the end of the tunnel, I promise.

PS: I’m patriotic too but some of your right/libertarian views on immigration and world politics are unagreeable.

I welcome you to our magnificent (for now) country, but know this: The Eden which brought you here can rot and disappear under the shadow of its own moral purity. In fact, it is happening right before your eyes. The rains become the flood, the parasites become the host. Closing the door behind you isn’t hypocrisy; it’s an act of ego-transcending clarity.

[crypto-donation-box]

Posted in Reader Mailbag | No Comments »

Time To Put Aside Childish Things

Apr 1st, 2009 by

Some of you may have noticed a decrease in posts lately about game. There’s a reason for that. I haven’t been motivated to write about picking up women because I’ve found The One. I’ve fallen hard for this girl and… I might as well announce it here: We’re engaged to be married.

She’s absolutely perfect in every way. I adore her. She’s a few years older than me, which I have come to appreciate because of the maturity and depth of wisdom she brings to our relationship. Our conversations are long and always fascinating. She has so much to say about the world owing to the wealth of experience she has accumulated over the years. You will never go back to younger women once you have enjoyed the subtle pleasures of deep, meaningful conversation with an older woman, holding hands as you both discuss the finer shades of Naomi Wolf’s oeuvre. And I hate to boast, but it takes a strong man secure in his masculinity to handle an older woman who knows who she is and what she wants out of life.

On our first date, she told me she was a women’s studies major in college. I’m ashamed now to admit I cringed when I heard that, but she has broken through my carefully constructed defenses and opened my eyes to what it’s like being a woman in modern society. Try putting yourself in another person’s shoes just for a minute; it’s good for your soul. She told me about her struggles after college to make ends meet, but that she had no regrets about the low paying work she chose to do. I’m proud of the work she has done making abortion, contraceptives, and sex toys more accessible and affordable for third world women. This can only mean more sex for everyone and thus, fewer bitter men and less warfare.

Speaking of sex, it is amazing with my woman. A grown-up woman knows how to please a man in bed and, more importantly, she knows what gets herself off, so we don’t fumble around spastically or behave like selfish lovers. Her blowjob technique is expert level. I have no idea how she got so good. Some women are just born with the talent, I guess. She is also a die-hard romantic because she always loves sex with the lights off. I love going down on her and licking her supple labia.

I don’t want to sully my love for her, but since you all are probably wondering, yes she’s a solid 8 for her age. Much older men are constantly checking her out. I can tell you that when you fall in love with a woman you stop noticing the hints of crows’ feet in harsh light and start noticing other things, like her character. She loves me even more for seeing the real her and making her feel special. And she is special. No other woman could replace her.

I met her in a Scrabble club, which was a nice change of pace from the parade of skanks I was meeting everywhere else. I did run game on her when we started dating, although I didn’t have to lay it on thick because she’s not a flaky 22 year old girl playing the field. She won’t admit it, but she loved it when I negged her and teased her and read her palm. Because I saw her as LTR potential, I took her to a four star Asian/Mexican/Anti-American fusion restaurant on our second date. The tab for that night wound up costing me $120 but it was worth it as this was the only way she could be assured I was serious about her as more than a fly by night fling. I did some light qualifying and listened attentively to her stories about dating a DJ when she was in college and her time abroad in Rome experiencing the local flavor.

I broke my three date rule with her. We didn’t have sex until the 6th date, which was fine by me because I would have valued her less had she spread her legs sooner. She played me, and I thank her for that.

We dated for a few months and the love was strong. Although I have repeatedly written about the engagement ring as the status symbol of the incorrigible whore, I realized that being in love with a woman will inspire a man to forego his self-interest, make sacrifices, and betray his principles for a higher cause — to witness the happiness and flush of victory on his beloved’s face.

Yeah, I know what a lot of you are thinking. “Hypocrite! All this time he’s been telling us to avoid marriage, and he goes and gets married.” You forget that I’ve also said rules were made to be broken.

Did I shit all over the mission statement of this blog by admitting to all of the above? Some would say yes. I prefer to frame it as the actions of a man who was willing to be vulnerable and magnanimous when real love was on the line. Once a woman loves you for who you are, there’s no reason to continue seeing her as the woman you had to game into bed. My woman loves me and this is all I need to know that she will never hurt me. That’s why there will be no pre-nup.

When she found out about the blog (I couldn’t hide it from her in good conscience) she was understandably upset, but also intrigued. I reassured her that the man she sees on the blog is not the man she knows in real life. Then I bought her a Burberry scarf.

My new life begins now with the woman I love, and the tone of this blog will reflect that. I expect my readership to go through the roof as they follow me on my new adventure.

Next post: The limitless joy of children.

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Posted in Alpha, Closing the Deal, Hope and Change, Love, The Good Life | No Comments »

Results From The Female Beauty Rankings

Mar 31st, 2009 by

The rankings of the ten girls from last Friday’s post are in, and the results, as expected, are pretty much in line with the general concept that men by and large share a surprisingly similar perception of what constitutes female beauty along the 1 to 10 scale. If a woman had two scores that were within 20 votes of each other, I gave her a two number ranking.

Woman                                             Readers’ Score            My Score
(a) TBG’s asian 10                                         6                                  5
(b) wino                                                        9,8                                8
(c) Rain And’s Mom                                        7                                  7
(d) fur smile                                                  9,8                                9
(e) red beret                                                 2                                   2
(f) heavy wool skirt                                       3                                   3
(g) IOI                                                          10                                 10
(h) chocolate fry                                            5                                   6
(i) schnoz                                                      1                                    1
(j) chipmunk                                                  4                                    4

A few thoughts:

There was more agreement on the 4s, 5s, and 6s than I predicted. Obviously, I chose this category well.

There was more variability/less agreement at the upper end of the scale, and firmer agreement at the bottom end. This was intentional. In the first installment of “Female Beauty 1 To 10″ I stacked the deck in favor of strong contenders for the 8, 9, and 10 spots by using such world beating hotties like Alizee, Sophie Marceau, and Monica Bellucci. This time I made an effort to fill the upper slots with plausible girls. That is, girls you might have a chance of seeing in your daily life from one week to the next. Naturally, “daily life” 10s in most locales excluding fashion districts and playgrounds of the rich and famous are not going to be as hot on average as supermodel/celebrity/actress 10s. Truly superb specimens of female pulchritude don’t stay in general circulation for long. Hence, the greater difficulty in finding a round-the-way girl who could qualify as a bonafide 10.

As one commenter astutely noted, TBG’s asian 10 looks like what the future sexbots will look like. Doable, but also a little bit “off”. Perhaps this is because it is easier to model an Asian’s face as they have flat, nondescript features compared to other races. And their skin is smoother, facilitating a realistic transference to high tech plasticine. The voting also confirms that TBG has no taste and is probably a woman impersonating a man impersonating a woman.

Throwing in a couple girls from different races didn’t seem to affect the voting much. This is a point in favor of the hypothesis that macro beauty standards tend toward universality.

Chipmunk looks nothing like Schnoz. Not even if they were the same woman separated by 30 years. Some of you need Lasik. But since the conspiracy theories will continue to fly, I chose those two randomly off the internet. If they are the same woman taken at different times then that would be a ridiculous coincidence.

For those of you (women and Peter) who were saying “Oh, red beret woman just needs to lose the glasses and she’ll look better” or “If heavy wool skirt girl just lost 15 pounds…” or “If schnoz fixed her hair and used some skin lotion she’d be an attractive woman”, all I have to say is:

BETA PLEASE!

You are so full of shit you must actually believe the nonsense you write.

In the future, I plan to do a “1 to 10″ post with another race — all Asian or all black. And maybe a NSFW post with just naked bodies minus the attached faces, to see if your ratings of women’s bodies corresponds with facial beauty. I’ve always suspected that, despite the uncommon butterface phenomenon, hot bodies are normally paired with hot faces. Most of the time you can safely approach a girl from behind if her ass is round and she has a slender hourglass shape and lustrous hair — her face will not disappoint.

I will also change the ranking system in future installments to allow you to vote any way you like. I’ll continue choosing candidates according to my personal 1 – 10 rank ordering just to see if, given the looser rules, your voting still matches up with mine.

Evil Easter Egg

Rain And’s Mom was not the Evil Easter Egg, though I can see why some of you thought that. It *is* pretty evil to put someone’s younger-version Mom up for the ultimate judgement and then to demonstrate by the voting that thousands of men would like to bang said Mom in every available hole and splooge on her face for the cum de grace. The Subprime Splooge of a Thousand Betas. Who said romance was dead?

It took a while, but after an impressive cooperative effort the discovery was made. (I think commenter benjack was the first to stumble on it.) The Evil Easter Egg was IOI girl. Yes, the girl you all ranked as a 10 is… 14 years old. She is a Polish model who was kicked out of a fashion show last summer for being underage.

You sick pervs. How does it feel knowing that you imagined kissing, fondling… face fucking… a 14 year old girl? That you chubbed out to a bubble gum teen? We’re all Aqualung now.

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Posted in Biomechanics is God, Girls | No Comments »

Hormonal Surge

Mar 31st, 2009 by

Conventional wisdom is that human females don’t go into heat — that is, their ovulation is hidden from male discernment — but I believe this is only partially true. The bars and clubs during the last couple weeks have been drenched in intoxicating estrogen. I notice this each year when spring begins, right around the end of March and beginning of April. The women are on the prowl, and the men are slabs of beef dangling from meathooks for inspection.

What does a roomful of sexually excited women look like? ADHD liplicking gigglebombs with perpetual pelvic grind syndrome.

The women jump from one man to the next, heaving their bosoms and smiling with glossed lips, expressing the full sensuality of their bodies in arched backs, thighs rubbing together, fingertips lightly grazing every available surface. They want the men to suffocate on their womanly bouquet, to lose control. Attention whoring is at DefCon “I’m on PornoHub” level. It’s been a hassle lately to keep one woman’s attention for long because their raging hormones are driving them to sample every man within sight, until the best cock they can afford presses its chub against her belly. That’s been the downside. The upside is that there’s a new woman eager to talk to you everywhere you turn.

Unfortunately, this nirvana won’t last long. By mid-April, the estrogen surge will have depleted itself, and most of these horny chicks will have either gotten themselves boyfriends or regressed back to their usual bitchy, arms crossed selves. Your window to act is short. Smart men know that this is the time of year to go out every night of the week to fatten up on the bounty. Be like the crocodiles gorging on the stampede of wildebeest crossing the treacherous river during their annual migration.

Men don’t understand the compulsion of the springtime female hormonal surge because our hormones surge year round. We might have a downtick in our libido now and then, like after brain surgery or a death in the family (immediate relations only), but mostly we’re good to go regardless of the season. I’m especially immune to hormone surges because my libido is at a constantly elevated state. If it goes any higher the tip could explode.

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Posted in Girls, Rules of Manhood, The Big City Life, The Good Life, The Pleasure Principle | No Comments »

How Good Is Your Social Acumen?

Mar 30th, 2009 by

I met her at my usual first date lounge, ten minutes late right on schedule. As I sat at the bar (thin crowd, plenty of elbow room), she pranced up to my side from across the room, waving back at someone. I looked over my shoulder and saw six or seven people, half girls and half guys, sitting on sofas and waving at her in return.

“Are those your chaperones?”

“No, they’re friends of mine.”

“I see. So you brought them here for protection? Probably a good idea. I usually show up to dates with a chainsaw.”

She was starting to catch on. “I swear it’s just a coincidence. I didn’t tell them I would be here.”

I glanced back at her social circle. They were watching us. Fucking great. I’d have to hustle her to a new venue ASAP, no way was she going to loosen up with her friends judging her every move. But first, drinks.

Fifteen minutes into our conversation (going well) the bartender places a couple of shot glasses in front of us.

“Courtesy of the gentleman over there in the white shirt.”

We both look in the direction of the sofa and one of the guys is smiling at us. My date smiles back.

“How sweet. My friend bought us drinks.”

I lifted my shot glass and nodded toward him in recognition. He nodded in recognition of my nod. I returned to my date and resumed our conversation, paying close attention to her body language to see if she attempted any over the shoulder lookbacks at drink-buying dude. She didn’t. Another twenty minutes passed and I was getting itchy to bounce. As I prepared to pull the trigger, her friends walked by us and stopped to say goodbye to her. Many hugs and introductions were exchanged. I watched our benefactor closely, determined to figure out his designs on my date and his role in the group dynamic. Preliminary analysis: Ingratiating beta who wanted to fuck my date.

***

You are a student of human social dynamics. Your experience with and knowledge of these sorts of situations grows with every passing day. When your date tells you her friends are at your venue of choice by sheer coincidence, you assume:

a. she’s lying, and act accordingly; that is, move her to a new spot quickly or end the date prematurely.

b. she’s telling the truth but it’s virtually guaranteed that one of the men in the group has a crush on her and will come over and say something stupid to ruin the mood of your date.

c. she’s telling the truth and they are just friends who will not sabotage your date, so you are OK to stay.

d. she’s telling the truth but you believe it is unwise to linger in that venue as long as they are within line of sight of your date.

When one of the betas buys you and your date a round of shots, you assume:

a. he’s a cool guy buying his friend and her date a drink, and he does this all the time with no ulterior motive, so you toss him a friendly nod.

b. he’s a scheming punk buying his cute friend and her date a drink because he secretly wants to bang her and thinks this is the best way to undermine the vibe between her and you.

c. he’s a superb example of Beta Maximus in the field who thinks by buying his puppy crush and her date drinks she will instantly fall in love with him and forget all about you.

d. he’s just retarded.

Given the assumptions above, decide which is most likely to be true. Then, evaluate which responses you have available to you and the best way to handle this situation.

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Posted in Dating, Psy Ops, Tool Time | No Comments »

Female Beauty From 1 To 10

Mar 27th, 2009 by

It’s Female Beauty Friday! You know the drill. You rank order the ten photos below, assigning a number between 1 and 10 inclusive for each photo. DO NOT USE A NUMBER MORE THAN ONCE. The photos are in no particular order. I was careful to choose pics that represent a woman at each point on the 1 to 10 beauty scale.

The best way to do this without biasing your ratings is to first look at all the photos before ranking them. Then go back and judge like a god.

The idea behind this rather pleasurable exercise is to demonstrate the conformity of men’s attractiveness standards, even across races. I get a thrill up my leg by smashing cherished shibboleths like “beauty is in the eye of the beholder”, and I especially love watching people twist defensively in the face of stone cold reality as they vainly try to prop up their pretty lies.

In the interest of giving my detractors their due, I’ve gone the extra mile in this post and chosen “real” women from among the submitted female photos (and a few of my own choices) whose rankings are less clear cut than expected. I’ve also included other races, and I’ve avoided using celebrities or otherwise well-known women. Nevertheless, I predict, despite the increased difficulty level, that most of you will agree in the rankings, plus or minus one point.

I also predict, as before in the first female ranking exercise, that the most disagreement will occur in the middle rankings — 4,5,6 — where a woman’s looks tend to blend in with the masses of other women along the fat part of the bell curve, and at the very upper end where great battles will be fought to decide who is the 10. The latter is because once you get into rarified beauty territory personal whim looms large.

Note: Women older than 40 (barring rare exceptions) and obese women are disqualified from the competition, even as fodder for the rankings below 4, because age and fat introduces a potent variable that will skew the results too drastically away from underlying facial beauty. Obesity especially is the Beauty Destroyer, the Leveler of the Playing Field, that can turn a 10 into a 2. The problem with America today is that so many women are fat that they’ve pushed the beauty bell curve into an unsightly leftward bulge, where we are now overflowing with 3s and 4s at the cost of fewer 6s and 7s. Goddamn shame it is.

After the voting is complete, you can compare your preferences to those of your peers, and to me, in the follow-up post I will write.

tokyobetagrist's asian 10
1to10b
Rain And's Mom!
fur smile

For those who don’t like arched eyebrows and giant fake smiles, here is another photo of “fur smile” girl.

red beret
heavy wool skirt
IOI
chocolate fry
schnoz
chipmunk

Did you find yourself lingering longer over some photos than others?

PS: There is an Evil Easter Egg in this post. If you’ve found it, try not to blurt it out too soon in the comments. Give people a chance to stumble into my dastardly ways for themselves.

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Posted in Girls, The Pleasure Principle | Comments Off

My Time Inside The Housing Bubble

Mar 26th, 2009 by

A few years ago I briefly toyed with the idea of getting a second job on the side for some quick and easy supplemental bling. Acting on a tip from a friend, I walked into the office of a mortgage broker in northern Virginia to begin my second life as an intermediary taking advantage of information bottlenecks and client ignorance.

The president mob boss of the small company was a short Vietnamese man with manic energy, a giant gold watch, and a quick tongue. I mentioned my referral and, after sizing me up, he told me there would be an all-hands meeting in a half hour and I was invited to sit in and see if this business appealed to me.

I scanned the office. Lots of empy cubicles with flickering monitors full of excel spreadsheets being operated by invisible employees. Along the wall were closed door offices with nameplates designating various positions – VP this, VP that, CFO (!), Executive manager. Really? I popped my head into one office and another South Asian greeted me. We bantered a bit then he showed me his trophies and certificates for excellence in mortgage brokering. A huge photo of him sitting in his Ferrari hung prominently behind his desk. He noticed me checking it out and said it took him only three years to build his client list to reach the point he could buy that beauty — all it required was a solid work ethic. He was wearing a Rolex.

Just prior to the meeting a tall white guy with a frat boy striped shirt approached me and stuck out his hand. I asked him what he thought of the business. He told me what it was like getting loans for marginal clients and how to deal with Countrywide. He said he was 27 years old and was planning on making 2 million for himself by the time he hit 30. Business was so good he had no doubt his goal would be reached. He talked of a luxurious retirement by age 40.

We all sat down in a semi-circle in a large conference room. The only white guys were me and Mr. Early Retirement. There were four women, three East Asians and one white chick who looked Italian by background. The rest of the group was a polyglot of East Asian, Vietnamese or Thai, Hispanic and indeterminate ethnicity men. The two Vietnamese/Thai guys wore the sharpest suits of the bunch. Crisp like new dollar bills.

The high energy Vietnamese don entered and began a free form discussion of life in the commission based mortgage broker business. Acronyms and jargon were flying — MTAs, COFI loans, COSI arms, A-paper, Alt-A, subprime (this was before the housing bubble burst, so the word subprime didn’t trigger instant suspicion at the time), DUs, Full Doc, SIVA, SISA, No Ratio (later learned this meant no stated income), No Doc, PITI, origination fee (fancy word for screwing the client with a skim off the top), PMI, DTI, NVAR, and on and on.

Then the Vietdon looked carefully around the room, eyeballing each one of us.

“This is good, very good.” He was smiling and nodding his head. “The way it works here is simple. Trust. You earn the client’s trust and your business takes off. They trust you, they sign on the dotted line. So, for instance…” He pointed at the Asian women. “These ladies are assigned to female clients. Asian women in particular. They will trust them.”

The Asian girls snickered and one uncrossed and crossed her legs. I watched her crotch as she did this.

The Vietdon continued. “And my boys over there…” The Hispanic guys laughed. “They get the Hispanic clients. This is the way it works in this business. Now let’s be real. Most of our Hispanic clients aren’t high rollers. They’re struggling, making ends meet. They got families. They need houses to put those families in. They work hard. To get them to sign on the dotted line…” (He loved that expression.) “…you’ve got to put their minds at ease that you’re looking out for them. They trust someone who looks like them, you know?”

More nods of agreement from the Jose contingent.

“Then we’ve got our white guys.” At saying this, the Vietdon smiled broadly. “You guys, you go out in the field with a casual button down, one button at the top undone, nice shoes, real tall all-American look, and people with money trust you. I get some white clients… not too many because, you know, we mostly deal with the underserviced community…” (The group chuckled.) “…and these white clients feel comfortable dealing with a white agent. It is what it is, right? No morality tales here, we just do what brings in the business. I think we can all agree on that.” Heads nodded in unison. “It’s a little different for our Asian clients. They want to see their agents dressed in shiny pressed suits at all times. Isn’t that right, Phung!” Laughter from everyone.

“This is a good time to be in the brokerage business. The money is there. Work hard, make your calls, show up at the houses for that extra attention people love, and you can see a nice little profit for yourself.” With that, the Vietdon ended the meeting.

I showed up at the office for three more weeks, then decided it reminded me too much of cold calling old people over dinner to sell investment advice. Something about the whole operation felt sleezy, like an Amway scheme. I didn’t think the odds of me scoring easy money on the side were that great, at least not with this firm, so I abandoned the mission.

Two years later, the housing bubble burst spectacularly. Today, I wonder why all those really smart guys back then propping up the mortgage brokerage business on phantom assumptions couldn’t see the sleeziness in what they were doing like I could after only a half hour inside the business. Or maybe they did and didn’t care. And I wonder if Mr. Early Retirement achieved his goal.

Despite the unsavory nature of the brokerage business, I have respect for the Vietdon. He knew the score and didn’t shy away from it. He told it like it is. He probably violated every anti-discrimination law on the books, but he made money while the making was good.

[crypto-donation-box]

Posted in Culture, Self-aggrandizement | No Comments »

All The Lonely Cougars

Mar 25th, 2009 by

I’m never surprised when another study comes out confirming the Poon worldview. I’m that omniscient. Thanks to Days of Broken Arrows for passing along this Boston Globe article called “The Myth of Ashton” about dating events specifically targeted at cougars:

Maureen Trickett, an event organizer for 8minuteDating.com, had an idea based on all the hype surrounding younger men dating older women. She decided last year to plan an event specifically for that demographic – a night of speed dating for women-of-a-certain-age and the boyish men who love them.

Trickett posted the event online, and women quickly signed up. But the men – they were slow to show interest. After only six men registered, the event was canceled.

“I need eight men,” Trickett explained. “If I don’t get eight, the system cancels the event.”

Maureen Trickett could have saved herself a lot of time and energy if she read this blog. On the other hand, maybe not. That would require facing reality.

Trickett decided it was worth a second try. She set up another speed dating event for a recent Sunday afternoon at Tommy Doyle’s in Kendall Square, this time for older women and younger men, as well as older men and younger women. The room would be split in half – age-inappropriate on both sides.

Self delusion is an unlimited resource. See: Just about every single social policy since 1960.

But again she had a shortage of younger men. The “cougar event,” as Trickett was calling it, was canceled.

And Nelson went “Ha haaw!”

The older men/younger women event went on as planned, but only because Trickett waived the fee for a few women so that they’d sign up and the numbers would be even.

Older men with younger women is much more natural than younger men with older women. While women are suspicious of older men’s motives and station in life, they are at least willing to give the sophisticated gents a chance to pitch themselves. Waiving the fee for men at the cougar event still would have resulted in few men except the desperate loser dregs showing up.

Despite what magazines and tabloids might suggest, Trickett said, despite all the talk of cougar culture, men still want to date younger women, and older women . . . well, their options are limited.

If you’re taking your cues from mass media, you’re hopeless. Magazines and tabloids serve to perpetuate the pretty lies. Else they wouldn’t sell.

Sure, Demi Moore broke a mold, and I know a few couples – family members and friends of friends – who represent the highly publicized demographic of older women and younger men, but the dating industry will tell you that for the most part that demographic is a myth.

If you arrange your life with an eye on the exceptions rather than the rules, you deserve the sorrow, loneliness and failure coming your way. Demi Moore-Ashton Kutcher is a one in a million oddity. 99% of 40+ women aren’t in the ballpark of Demi’s looks, and 99% of men with Ashton Kutcher’s fame, looks and money won’t date washed up broads like Demi when there is a world of hotter, younger girls available.

“With men dating women, it tends to be up to six years younger but it will only be up to two years older.”

And why is that?

“Guys tend to have unrealistic expectations,” said [Mark] Brooks, who bragged that he is one of the mythical Ashton Kutcher-types (he recently dated someone nine years older than him).

Mark Brooks is your typical feeble-minded betaboy who licks the crusty anal dirt of his feminist overlords and begs for more. How do we know this? One, he dates an older woman and is proud of it. Two, he thinks the reason men prefer to date younger women has to do with unrealistic expectations. No, Mark, that’s not it. Men date younger women because they are biologically impelled to seek the love and sex of women who show healthy signs of fertility. No doubt Mark is highly jealous of guys like me dating all the young babes he covets from afar as his old lady slaps his face with her droopy tits.

Those HurryDate age ranges mirror what most men ask for online. I asked Kate Bilenki, a spokeswoman for Plentyoffish.com, a dating website with 10 million members, if she’s ever seen a male profile call for an older woman. “In my experience, no, I can’t say that I have,” she said.

Brutal.

Bilenki adds another depressing tidbit: “For every 55-year old male, there are three 55-year-old women.”

Soul ripping.

Why are there cougars if it’s such a hellish existence? Some cougars were too unattractive in their prime mating years to get a decent man to commit to them. Some are divorced and overestimated their competitive value on the sexual market as older versions of themselves. Some have given up attracting the men they really want (i.e. older men with means and options who don’t want them) and have chosen the pathetic life of offering their aged, floppy pussies free of charge to horny younger guys who just want to dump a quick fuck in any available hole, no muss no fuss.

Then there are the women who became cougars because of their own stupid choices. These are the sad detritus of former urban slut machines; the women who spent their valuable youth hopping from one alpha cock to another only to wake up a day late and a wedding ring short in their early 30s wondering why the alphas no longer look at them with lust in their eyes. Now, even the beta males don’t want them. They are forced to settle, and settle hard. If they can.

Here’s a juicy irony: The anti-aging industry that cougars cling to like life support is the brainchild of betas. Those same dull, socially awkward nerds the cougars ignored when they were kittens are busily inventing the science and technology that may one day grant them a reprieve from the horror of fading beauty.

If the betas disappear, well… so do the cougars’ hopes.

Which way do you think America is heading?

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Posted in Hitting The Wall, Ugly Truths | No Comments »

Plausible Apocalypse

Mar 25th, 2009 by

I watched “Knowing” on a free movie internet database site. It’s about a kid from 50 years ago who predicts the future with dates and locations for tragic events that hadn’t yet occurred. The end times event prophecied by the kid is a giant solar flare that literally scorches the earth to a crisp. It was a silly but entertaining movie.

I wondered about the odds of such an event happening, and if a real life rogue monster solar flare would cause the worldwide firestorm depicted in the movie. Then I read this:

Over the last few decades, western civilisations have busily sown the seeds of their own destruction. Our modern way of life, with its reliance on technology, has unwittingly exposed us to an extraordinary danger: plasma balls spewed from the surface of the sun could wipe out our power grids, with catastrophic consequences.

The projections of just how catastrophic make chilling reading. “We’re moving closer and closer to the edge of a possible disaster,” says Daniel Baker, a space weather expert based at the University of Colorado in Boulder, and chair of the NAS committee responsible for the report.

It is hard to conceive of the sun wiping out a large amount of our hard-earned progress. Nevertheless, it is possible. The surface of the sun is a roiling mass of plasma – charged high-energy particles – some of which escape the surface and travel through space as the solar wind. From time to time, that wind carries a billion-tonne glob of plasma, a fireball known as a coronal mass ejection. If one should hit the Earth’s magnetic shield, the result could be truly devastating.

A coronal mass ejection causing the deaths of tens of millions? Yes, but not by firestorm. By a total disruption of services.

The second problem is the [electricity] grid’s interdependence with the systems that support our lives: water and sewage treatment, supermarket delivery infrastructures, power station controls, financial markets and many others all rely on electricity. Put the two together, and it is clear that a repeat of the Carrington event could produce a catastrophe the likes of which the world has never seen.

[…]

First to go – immediately for some people – is drinkable water. Anyone living in a high-rise apartment, where water has to be pumped to reach them, would be cut off straight away. For the rest, drinking water will still come through the taps for maybe half a day. With no electricity to pump water from reservoirs, there is no more after that.

There is simply no electrically powered transport: no trains, underground or overground. Our just-in-time culture for delivery networks may represent the pinnacle of efficiency, but it means that supermarket shelves would empty very quickly – delivery trucks could only keep running until their tanks ran out of fuel, and there is no electricity to pump any more from the underground tanks at filling stations.

Back-up generators would run at pivotal sites – but only until their fuel ran out. For hospitals, that would mean about 72 hours of running a bare-bones, essential care only, service. After that, no more modern healthcare.

The article goes on to describe more nightmarish consequences of an unanticipated CME. And how difficult and time-consuming it is to replace the transformers fried by a massive solar plasma ball of death. Our entire way of life — the decadence of our modern economy — would begin to grind to a halt within days of the event. You wouldn’t even be able to recharge your Ipod. The SWPLs would be running around useless like chickens with their heads cut off.

Right now, the only countermeasure we have is NASA’s ACE orbiter probe which can relay information about solar activity to earth with 15- 45 minutes of warning of any incoming solar storms. But this probe is old and failing. And a huge CME can travel much faster than a typical geomagnetic storm, leaving our power companies with too little warning to prepare by either shutting down or re-routing the electrical systems.

This should be a priority for NASA before any manned space flights to Mars. I don’t want my Quake Live interrupted.

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