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Speed Dating Sucks

May 29th, 2008 by

I went to a speed dating event here in DC with my date and one of her girlfriends. The idea was that we would have some over-the-top fun with it while practicing our flirting skills on a maximum number of targets in a minimum amount of time in order to keep our game sharp. (Lord knows this is much easier for women to do. Their game amounts to cleavage.) We would pretend not to know each other. A side benefit from surreptitiously watching each other work the magic with other speed daters would be heightened sexual arousal that would resolve itself later in the night in panty-shredding lust. Kink alert in full effect.

We devised the questions we would ask our four minute “dates”. She wanted to see how much she could get away with so these were the questions with which she was going to pepper her speed suitors:

How much do you gross per year?
What kind of car do you drive?
Where do you see yourself in five years?
Can you support me so I don’t have to work?
How many cleaning ladies do you think is reasonable?
What kind of engagement ring would you get me?
How much would you allot to spend on our wedding?
What would you like to name our first born?
What does your stock portfolio look like?
If my mother gets sick, can she come live with us?
How many cats do you think is normal?
Do you mind if I hang a portrait of my cat in the living room?
I’m a scientologist. Would you be willing to convert for me?
What were your SAT scores?
What was your standing as far as getting picked in gym class?

She even wanted to bring a Barbie and Ken, give them to the guy, and say, “now act out how we would resolve an argument.”

I admit I laughed at these. If the victims guys were smart, they’d play along and say things like “I have one whole cent in my stock portfolio!” Most likely, they’d get defensive or answer straight. Speed dating crowds are that kind of people.

Since I wanted to join in the glib fun, I made up a list of questions I would ask my dates to see how far I could push my game past its barriers:

Are you flexible? How many yoga positions can you get in? How long can you keep them?
Are you confident enough to go bra-less?
Do you like sex in public?
Are you comfortable with the idea of having yourself photographed nude?
Can you suck a thick milkshake through a straw?
Are you good a good cook? (actually, i use this one a lot)
You’re not a prude, are you?
How do you feel about housework in the nude? (Seinfeld nixes it.)
Are you cool with threesomes?
Would you consider yourself experimental in the bedroom?
Do you like to travel… to have sex in exotic locales?
Does looking at a cigar turn you on?

Unfortunately, neither of us got the chance to try out our souped-up conversational skills on unwitting speed daters. When we arrived, it was clear this was the saddest crowd of lonely hearts in all of DC. The women were mid-30s to mid-40s and older and looking every bit of it and the men, while older and, from the bits of conversation I overheard, successful professionals, made it worse for themselves by dressing in rumpled shirts like accountants on casual Friday and slumping in their chairs with the familiar drawn faces of those who have been beaten down by life. My date and her friend completely lost interest in sitting through even one second of this four minute dating of the damned, so we left as soon as we got our stick-on nametags. They should call it speed dying.

The impression I got walking by the tables of speed daters was the same I got when I first visited my grandmother at a nursing home — chamber of horrors. The rank miasma of bedraggled desperation, depression, and utter hopelessness was overbearing. It settled around me like a suffocating shroud of despair, sapping all the fun out of being alive.

There is nothing more pathetic and… alien… than a pre-menopausal aging childless woman throwing herself headlong into the chaotic vagaries of dating. When a woman doesn’t have children to nurture and raise by her early 30s she morphs rapidly into a sad and tragic creature — a shell entity of raging cynicism that can do no more than go through the motions — that no one wants to be around. Whatever is left of her innate femininity, beauty and sexiness is destroyed to dust by that point. And the men, despite their well-paying jobs as corporate lawyers, lobbyists, and policy analysts, seemed to have forgotten or never bothered to learn what it takes to attract a woman. Hint: waving a stable job and a fat paycheck ain’t it.

My advice to the guys who run these speed dating and related social events in DC: Stop charging $60 to $300 for your lameass glorified happy hours. I understand you’re all about making a buck, but when you set the price at airline ticket levels you will get those men who have nothing to offer but their money, and those women who want nothing else but those men who offer nothing but their money. End result: Older bitter women desperate for husbands and boring beta males desperate to slide comfortably into sexless soulless predictable suburban ennui. If you want to spice it up and attract a more diverse, fun crowd (read: younger), try a lower price range and more casually creative get togethers. But hey, it looks like you’ve cornered the niche market of schlubs and hags who’ll pay through the nose like clockwork every week seeing the same people over and over and hoping against hope that one more contrived event and another $100 will usher their soulmates through the door.

Tick tock and all that.

Verdict: *Shudder*

[crypto-donation-box]

Posted in Dating, Hitting The Wall, Psy Ops, The Big City Life, Tool Time | Comments Off

Visualizing Beta Part 2

May 28th, 2008 by

In the last installment of visualizing beta, I ridiculed discussed in an even tone the photo of a lesser beta who wasn’t comfortable enough to drape his arm like a normal human male across the shoulders of an attractive girl. His tragic case was an obvious one. Virginal nerds, like fat chicks, can be spotted from 12 parsecs.

But what about the less obvious cases? A reader sent me an email with the following pic attached and wondered if this guy had the heart of a beta beating feebly underneath his alpha exterior. He based this on his observation that the guy’s body language seems artificial and both of their poses look forced.

The guy’s hand on her (fake) boob screams over-compensation. Real alphas don’t feel a need to claim their girl’s body parts in photos. Usually what you’ll see is the alpha leaning back and the girl claiming him with her hands all over his chest or her head nestled in his shoulder. This is evidence in favor of him being a former beta who is still getting used to the alpha aura that his steroid-fueled muscles give him.

I don’t see anything forced about her pose — she seems genuinely happy to have her tit mauled, but the dark glasses could be hiding the annoyance in her eyes. On the other hand, his pose looks awkward. He looks like he’s trying too hard to impress the photographer and however many millions will see this picture on the internet. I have to admit I am impressed by his nipples of drop-forged steel. You ever see that much nipple on a man?

Although he leans in too much he’s also turned away from the girl looking at the camera. It could be worse; I’ve seen guys in pictures kissing the tops of their girls heads affectionately.

Something about his face tells me he used to be chubby and shy. If there’s such a thing as a “beta face”, like there is a “gay face“, then this guy has it. Pouty lips, deer in the headlights eyes, a shadow of self-doubt. The overall impression is one of a muscular body attached to the wrong head.

This brings up an important issue — can a big guy be a beta? Absolutely, but it’s not nearly as common as a weak spindly man being a beta. If a guy has seriously crippling inner game issues then no matter how much muscle he piles on his weak game will betray him. This is why you can’t consistently judge an alpha male by appearances. Some of the toughest guys I knew bumbled and stumbled in the presence of women.

Since alphaness is ultimately a state of mind and heart, a beta face or an alpha body don’t tell the whole story about a man and his success with women. While a man’s physical appearance correlates with his womanizing prowess it’s far from one-to-one. See: Zach Braff.

However, if a guy gets huge there’s no doubt he’ll carry himself with more confidence. A man can’t help but feel on top of the world when he’s physically more imposing than 90% of all men. For this reason I recommend all men throw iron. It’s not as efficient or as effective as learning game or being excellent in some endeavor that matters to women, but it’s a tangible display of strength that’s bound to increase confidence. And girls like muscle on a man, all else being equal.

As long as men don’t make the common mistake of believing getting huge will automatically improve their notch count they should consider weightlifting (and I’m not opposed to the use of steroids for hardgainers like myself) an excellent adjunct to strengthening what really matters — their sense of self.

Verdict: Lesser Alpha, Former Beta

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Posted in Beta, Funny/Lolblogs | Comments Off

May 2008 Comment Winner

May 27th, 2008 by

For the second time in a row* (there was no April comment winner because all the comments in April sucked) droll and deadpan blogfly Gannon takes home the prize with his comment on my post Overheard In DC:

The real culprit is that women’s extended adolescence increases each year. Age of first marriage delays itself more and more, specially among high and middle class (middle class girls aspire to be high class) women. A lot of women nowadays marry at around 30, an age where their fertility has decreased a lot. Sure, a lot of women in their thirties have children. But also, a lot of women in their thirties can’t have children anymore. The real age brackets which always have produced the most children are the women aged 16-30. That is the age when women can produce the next generation. Teen girls are as fertile as shit. Fuck a 16 year old girl three times, and voilá, she will be knocked up. You can fuck some 30something year old woman for months, use a table to determine her fertile days, raise her hips to allow your spunk to get to the matrix but even then that gal’s belly won´t grow.

Can’t argue with the facts, but what I really liked was his description of a woman’s reproductive organs as the “matrix”. When you plunge into a woman’s furrow it really is like entering an alternate universe of flytraps, clanking gears, flesh portals, and undulating catacombs.

Gannon’s comment reminded me of the movie Juno. She sits on a cock once for two seconds and gets pregnant, while some 33 year old somewhere is hopped up on witch doctor fertility drugs imported from India and dangling upside-down from a mechanical contraption at the exact moment the moon enters its third phase crescent and Jupiter aligns with Uranus, barking at her man to hurry up and finish the job as she grips the base of his shaft to squeeze out the last life-giving droplet and he drops dead from a heart attack from overexerting himself in an activity that has ceased to be enjoyable.

May 2008 Comment Winner Runner-Up is Shivani on my post From Kitten To Cougar:

GAWD!!! never have I ever been more disgusted by a post but at the same time couldn’t take my eyes off of it.

My work here is done.

[crypto-donation-box]

Posted in Biomechanics is God, Funny/Lolblogs, Ugly Truths, Vanity | Comments Off

Wild Monkey Man Beast Caught On Film!

May 25th, 2008 by

How Zeets the Throwback Barbarian was able to hold the camera steady when encountering this mysterious and frightening creature deep in the woods is a testament to his nipples of drop-forged steel. You never saw that much hard nipple on a man.

I went on a hike trying to escape civilization and its discontents for a few hours. It’s important for a man to get away from women before he imbibes too much estrogen and loses touch with his inner ballsack. You want to retreat to places most women dare not tread.

Unfortunately, the woods of Rock Creek Park isn’t deep enough. Yes, this jogging woman is blabbing into her cell phone, probably scolding her beta boyfriend to remember to pick up cat litter. This is her on the return trip of her run. She had jogged by us going the opposite direction a half hour earlier with the cell phone glued to her ear, ruining the sounds of nature with her obnoxious voice. I’ll leave it as an exercise for the reader to determine what it says about a person who can’t put down the fucking cell for one minute while surrounded by natural beauty.

I say we reintroduce wolves to the Northeast wilds. That’ll keep the yuppie broads out.

Another nature girl with a cell in the woods. Remember this when a chick waits a day to return your call. They bring their cell phones on nature hikes because they can’t bear to miss a call; they got your message.

This woman was cool though. She had a thoroughbred horse with her that ran for three years at the Belmont racetrack. What a magnificent stallion.

Tree vagina. What I do to women after they have experienced my oak-like girth.

A tree suicide pact.

My soul is nourished. Back to Tryst to peer over laptops at cute girls.

[crypto-donation-box]

Posted in Funny/Lolblogs, The Big City Life, Videos | Comments Off

Who Art Thou?

May 23rd, 2008 by

The time has come for me to reveal myself.

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I am Ripper… Tearer… Slasher… Gouger. I am the Teeth in the Darkness, the Talons in the Night. Mine is Strength… and Lust… and Power! I AM BEOWULF! 

I vote that the two greatest scenes of manliness in cinema are the fight between a naked Beowulf and Grendel, and the promise made by Jim Braddock to his first-born son in Cinderella Man that he’ll always put food on the table for his family. Why do I consider these scenes representative of manliness? Because they illustrate the purest and most admirable ideals of the protector and the provider — or, if you want, the alpha and the beta.

In Beowulf, Grendel attacks the town’s gathering house and Beowulf prepares to meet him in mano a mano battle. But Beowulf does something peculiar just before Grendel arrives — he strips naked. He explains he wants to meet the monster on its own terms, without shield or sword to aid him. The symbolism is profound. Besides Beowulf’s insane bravery, the act of stripping away his protective garments and weapons is an act of disdain for his own fear. He’s not just facing a monster; he’s facing his self-doubt. Armor and weapons pay tribute to that fear and doubt in the sense of security those items engender.

The deeper symbolism is the relation of his nakedness to the shucking off of all materialism and cultural adornments — a man cannot be closer to his manhood until he has unburdened himself of superfluous attachments. It’s a disdain not just for his fear, but for anything that acts to safeguard him from realizing the full measure of his manhood. The parallel to modern society could not be more apt. The West’s dizzying array of entertainment distractions, stern ideologies, false politeness, weak-willed conformism, and techno gadgets has created a bubble-like pampered existence that has sapped the manly essence from so many men.

Men need the freedom of their nakedness again.

Where Beowulf is the iconic super alpha protector, Russell Crowe’s Jim Braddock character in Cinderella Man elevates the provider beta side of manhood to respectability. He fights through painful injury so his children can have food on the table and he can pay the heating bills. He loves his wife and is faithful to her when he has opportunities to cheat. But Braddock is not all beta in the sense that it has come to mean today. He’s a boxer and a stoic. His betaness tempers his natural alphaness and that makes the difference. Beta is not respectable unless it is paired with alpha.

Had Braddock been 100% beta, he would have succumbed to the beta’s mortal weakness — the lack of ego, which is the opposite of the alpha’s mortal weakness — too much ego. He would have acceded to his fear and quit boxing, taking up a dull 9 to 5 gig to make ends meet. He would have assented to his wife shipping his kids off to her aunt’s so they could eat because his ego would not have been strong enough to be revolted by the prospect of his wife’s relatives doing the job that he couldn’t do.

Beowulf and Braddock — ambassadors for the dueling forces in every man. In order for these forces to reconcile, beta must be subservient to alpha, and alpha must make room for beta. There can be no other way that doesn’t diminish a man’s soul.

[crypto-donation-box]

Posted in The Id Monster | Comments Off

Stray Thoughts On The Nature Of The Game

May 22nd, 2008 by

Don’t answer all of a girl’s questions, especially when it feels like you are being interrogated. Refraining from giving her satisfactory answers helps move the seduction forward in two ways. One, it builds mystery. Two, if you answer all her questions she has more material with which to judge you when she gets home after the date and mulls everything over in her chaotic head. Don’t be surprised if you don’t get a call back after you have dutifully answered all her questions.

***

The best reason to learn game is that it is a shortcut to a woman’s pussy and heart. With game, you can stop wasting years as an empty vessel of society’s expectations scraping and clawing your way into a respectable bourgeois existence for your shot at one mediocre pussy and a gift registry at Williams & Sonoma. There is no need to become an “alpha among men” when you can skip the middleman and go straight to becoming an “alpha among women”. Of course, becoming an alpha among men is fun in its own right, but it’s no longer necessary to enjoy a life filled with the love of beautiful and sexy women. In fact, it never was necessary.

***

When the revelation that there is nothing after this life but the illimitable black void is grasped, hedonism is the only logical answer.

***

When a girl asks you “What are you thinking about right now?” know that this is code for “I’m really falling for you and want to know if you feel the same about me.” Don’t be an earnest beta and make the mistake of taking the bait! Avoid saying “I think I’m in love with you” or “I’m thinking about us” at all costs. Instead, say something like “I can’t think right now because you’ve paralyzed my thoughts.” Or, if you want to keep it simple, say “Um, nothing.”

Maxim #6: Never Make It Easy For A Girl

– Sometimes a girl will drop a stinky bait. Don’t bite! She wants to chase you around the lake forever.

***

Never tell a girl you are looking for a relationship. Many girls will ask, sometimes as early as the first date, what you are looking for from women. For the love of all that is holy and sacred do NOT say you are in the market for a relationship. Similarly, never say you wouldn’t mind “settling down”, or that you are discouraged by the dating scene, or you really wish you could stop dating around and find the right girl. It doesn’t matter if you truly feel this way; saying any of these out loud, especially to a girl you have just started dating, is poison to the seduction. Best to either ignore her probing question or answer vaguely along the lines of “I dunno, just dating until I find a girl I click with.” Also, saying “Whoa, not so fast tiger!” can be funny and stimulating to her vagina.

***

Slap your girl’s ass in public once in a while, hard. Territorial pissing is a turn-on in small spurts.

***

When you are with your girl and another alpha male is the center of attention (let’s say by being funny, or juggling balls) the best thing you can do is casually and briefly acknowledge his talents and otherwise ignore him. She will poke you for weakness whenever a bigger dog struts on the scene, so you’d be smart to be aware of this irrepressible female urge and not get defensive. NEVER imply that a bigger alpha is a threat to you, either in anger or in sarcastic putdown. You are who you are, which is the best she will ever have, so if some guy is a great karaoke singer and you’re offstage enjoying the show it’s no big deal — his skills cannot begin to compete with your total package, so you are free to compliment him without a hint of resentment.

Maxim #7: Your girl will thank you for your steadfast devotion to your belief in yourself.

***

When your girl buys you something or gets you a present, don’t immediately buy her something in return. No girl wants to feel like you got her a gift out of obligation. Tit for tat kills the sexy fun vibe. She appreciates your gifts when you are motivated by nothing else but your warm feelings for her. In this vein, it’s better to give her gifts at random times, rather than on birthdays, anniversaries, or holidays.

***

Speaking of gifts, the best players I know buy their girls NOTHING. And their girls love them with everything they have. Talk about trashing societal admonishments.

***

As a birthday gift for your girl, a grape seed oil massage beats a tennis bracelet EVERY TIME.

***

If you want to save money, doing things for a girl is always better than buying things for her. So, for example, learn photography and shoot sexy nude black and white photos of her. Or take her for a ride on a scooter through the countryside. She’ll appreciate that a lot more than a trendy item with a high price tag.

***

Fucking a girl right is worth more than a $20,000 engagement ring. I am not kidding.

[crypto-donation-box]

Posted in Biomechanics is God, Game, Rules of Manhood, The Good Life, The Pleasure Principle | Comments Off

Girls Love It When I Don’t Take Them Seriously

May 21st, 2008 by

Girls… oh fuck even grown women… constantly test me. DC women are the worst in this department. You’re trying to have a normal human conversation with them and it’s one challenge after another, forever pushing limits and boundaries to see just how alpha you are under pressure. Most men get frustrated and leave to pay a visit to Mike’s Apartment, but I relish turning the tables on these soul-sucking succubi. No guts no glory hole.

I’ve found girls respond like Pavlovian dogs in heat when you don’t take their shit seriously. Anything they say to get under your skin can be skillfully turned into a reverse Jedi mind trick pressing their attraction buttons. The key is to take nothing they say at face value. I’ve mentioned this before — AMUSED MASTERY is the attitude you want to project. Everything she does is cute. All her shit tests are bratty outbursts. Her silly little opinions are adorable. She is there for you to tease and taunt and patronize. Condescend to her at will.

Refusing to take a girl seriously fills her with indignation… and horniness. She’ll chastise you while stroking your thigh lasciviously. They can’t help themselves! It’s almost like women are at battle with their own secret desires, begging you with their eyes to breach their armament and storm their castles.

Girl: “Do you have a problem with a tall girl wearing heels? I’m a very dominant woman and I like men who are more dominant than me.”
Me: “There’s a homeless guy down the street who’d be perfect for you. He’s never lost a staring contest.”

This is my life.

[crypto-donation-box]

Posted in Alpha, Game, Girls, Psy Ops | Comments Off

Overheard in DC

May 20th, 2008 by

While enjoying a fine late Sunday afternoon breakfast, I overheard portions of a scintillating conversation between the woman and the man sitting in the background of this picture.

To the left is the woman, in her late 30s/early 40s, recounting her lifetime sexual exploits while simultaneously lamenting her failure to “find the right man” and get married and have children. To the right is her gay boyfriend. We assumed he was gay by his mellifluous vocal cadence, and he confirmed it when he mentioned his gayness during the course of their conversation.

When you read these dialogue snippets try to imagine a plain-looking past-her-prime woman describing in a breezy, almost detached, tone of voice how she was violated sexually, and her gay boyfriend listening to her as if he’d heard it all before.

We’ll call her washed up wall victim (WUWV) and him GB (gay BF).

WUWV: Oh, I forgot to tell you, I had a one night stand last week! I didn’t expect him to sleep over and be there in the morning.
GB: I know, I know. Sometimes you just want them to get out.

Their conversation was starting to heat up.

WUWV: I’ve had a lot of flings and one night stands.
GB: [blah blah… something about Nietzsche… blah]
WUWV: I’ve done a lot of juggling.
GB: I could never do that. I’m the monogamous type. [editor’s note: if you’re a girl and you outcompete a gay guy in the whore sweepstakes you know you’re doing something wrong]

It got better.

WUWV: I did it once with a black guy and it was great.
GB: Wow, how big was he?
WUWV: He was really huge! God it just filled me up. I’d recommend a black guy at least once to all my friends.
GB: I love being a bottom to a black man. You know… just take me!

Please lord don’t let this train wreck stop.

WUWV: One time he took me in all three holes in the same night. Younger men have such stamina.
GB: Mmmhm!
WUWV: His tongue was almost as fast as my vibrator.

Suddenly, a turn to the tragic.

WUWV: …well, it didn’t work out. So now it’s back to dating. It can be such a chore. What’s out there, really?
GB: Don’t worry about it, you’ll be fine. I’ve seen men checking you out, you’ve still got it girl.
WUWV: …and, you know, eventually I want to have kids. I don’t have all the time in the world to waste.
GB: Please, that’s nothing. You can get help to have children these days. Everyone’s doing it. Don’t rush yourself, honey.

What a monument to self-deception! To any lesser betas reading this: When you consider settling for a desperate older woman on the prowl for a husband sucker, this is what you’re getting — a has-been dried-up wall-hitting cock-slurping cum dumpster pussy-stretched three input titty-sagging multiple-cat-having haagen daz-scarfing cervix-scarred barren-wombed psychologically unmoored skank whore cougar. You have been warned.

The last thing this broad needs is a sympathetic gay boyfriend feeding her delusions and greasing the skids on her downward spiral. What she needs is the unvarnished truth. From, oh, a guy like me!

Like the release of the Kraken from its undersea lair, I feel a mighty Roissy Rant coming on.

***

Here we have, her brave front temporarily lowered, the typical tragic wail of the childless aging modern urban woman. And her tragedy enabler, the gay boyfriend who will never inject her with the dose of reality she desperately needs. She will continue aging, refusing to settle for a grateful beta who will be happy to have her sagging carcass as his tepid seed receptacle, never letting go of the pickiness she could afford when she was 20 years younger, and missing out on her chance at motherhood as she sips mimosas every Sunday afternoon at an overpriced trendy Dupont Circle eatery. At the bottom of the glass she will see her reflection crying back at her, and later that night she will pull the bedsheets close, the other side of the bed cold, and feel the suffocating weight of reality encircling her like shards of streetlamp lights slowly marching across her sickly gray bedroom walls. All those used condoms and triple penetrations and girls nights out will have done nothing to alleviate the crushing loneliness which has stolen her sense of invulnerability like a thief in the night.

Her fate is sealed:

fuck around with alpha cads –> delay marriage –> get too much education –> throw self into career –> earn lotsa money to spend on handbags –> feel empowered –> serially date and fuck as career and educational success distort her time horizon –> start to get serious about finding husband at age 29 –> slowly discover she is not worth as much on the open market despite business school degree and 1350 SATs –> get bitter –> sabotage her dating prospects with bitter resentment –> show up to dates with cat scratches and abrasive attitude –> die childless or burdened with a downs child and a lickspittle beta life partner.

***

I am cruel in my tactics, but my message is unassailable. If these super self-confident tankgrrl wannabes listened to me and took my advice before it was too late, despite their revulsion for the way in which I say it, they would find happiness.

But they won’t. And so I will laugh at them, half in pity, half in amusement.

Quick, Sex And The City tickets are going fast! Those girls know how to have fun. So much fun…

Posted in Biomechanics is God, Girls, Hitting The Wall, The DC Life, Ugly Truths | Comments Off

Dumping American Women

May 19th, 2008 by

A fine writer I would want to sit down with for a few stiff drinks in a shady smoke-filled South Asian bar is Fred Reed. His website is blocked by my company’s firewall as hate speech, so you know he can’t be all that bad. He wrote recently about his trip to Bangkok:

—I got here two nights ago, out of Taipei into Bangkok’s new airport, Savannapun. It’s huge, well-designed, classy. As always when I come to these parts I think, “Holy rikshas, Batman, this place is on a roll.” Just so. There is a dynamism in much of Asia that you don’t see in Latin America. Below the Rio Grande you find a couple of modern countries, Argentina and Chile for example—almost the only examples. Yet the whole region seems stagnant, as if it already is what it is going to be. Not here. Asia rocks. Peoria hasn’t noticed but, I promise, it will, and that before long.

Fred, no beta he, has come to the conclusion, like the growing chorus of American men who have spent time overseas, that American women don’t measure up to the international competition.

By night the clubs abound in sleek lovely Thai girls preying on the gringos. Or the other way around: It isn’t always clear. They are so very pretty and make Western women look like camels by comparison—this being the universal view of Caucasian men here. […]

I mentioned Thai women. Despite the sordid reputation arising from the sex industry, Thai women are no looser than any others, and in fact most of them aren’t accessible at all to westerners who don’t speak Thai. To a close approximation, this means no westerners. But the Thai women are, well, ladies. By this I mean not that they went to finishing school, but rather that you can distinguish them from drunken sailors or abandoned mattresses. They are not crass. They dress well. They seem to regard themselves as women, not as wannabe men, and even to think that being a woman is a good thing. Thank god.

This could equally be said of Mexican women of Chinese women, of most women everywhere, except North America.

He, like myself and a lot of my friends who do well with the ladies, wonders if his negative reaction to American women is a personal hang-up.

Now, if I were the only man who took a very dim view of American women, it would be reasonable to dismiss me as a crank. In fact it would be unreasonable not to. It becomes more interesting when the judgement is nearly universal among large numbers of men—and it is.

Everywhere I go outside of the US, the American men I meet speak of their horror of sexless, hostile, ill-bred American women. Sure, there are exceptions and degrees among the gringas. Most unfortunately, exceptions is what they are. The delight with feminine foreign women is given, over and over, as a major reason for expatriation. (The other big reason is disgust with governmental regulation of everything in the US.) I have friends married to Thai, Filipina, Chinese, and Mexican wives, all delighted. Me too.

How did this come about? I don’t know, but I’m not imagining it.

Nope, it’s not us. American women really have changed for the worse. The verdict is in. Pump and dump them and find your wife in another land where women are happy to be women.

Unlike Fred, I have written before about the cultural changes that have transmogrified our women into she-devils. I offered alternatives here. Most men will not travel to other countries to taste the honey-dipped sweetness of what they could have; they will stay comfortably rooted to their miserable lives not realizing how easy it would be for them to step away from American women into a paradise of feminine delights. Most people don’t even leave the small towns they grew up in, let alone their country of birth.

Personally, I have done well with American chicks and not all of them were jaded afeminine ballcutters (some were in fact quite sweet), but seducing and loving them required a level of game and cynicism that would baffle men in other parts of the world. They may very well ask me: “All that for an American camel?”

I suspect if I spent a decent amount of time in the Eastern European country of my choosing learning their language and customs, my superior training dealing with American women would give me a huge leg up attracting foreign girls.

privet!

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Posted in Escape, Foreign Girls, Inner Beauty, Misandry | Comments Off

Worst Costume Ever

May 17th, 2008 by

There has been a recent springtime flurry of activity for my Halloween-themed post “Best Costume Ever“, so I figured this is a good time to introduce the world to its evil twin, the Worst Costume Ever:

The horror…

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Posted in Fashion, Funny/Lolblogs | Comments Off

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