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Conjugal Bliss

There are certain products that just seem to belong together, but as far as I know, remain undiscovered pairings.  After I munched some coffee beans to temporarily boost my IQ a few points, I brainstormed the following consumer product marriage:

Plus…

No, I’m not talking about regular horns on bikes.  I want to see big ass bitchin air horns strapped to the handlebar.  I’ve never seen nor heard a bicyclist blow one of these.  Think of the applications.

– Similar to a really small motorcycle helmet that only covers the crown of the head, a gigantic air horn on a bike is a safety feature that doesn’t sacrifice your masculine cool.  Teens will clamor for this life-saving device.

– I once saw a TV show that had kids in a car driving slowly by unsuspecting bicyclists and pedestrians and blowing an obnoxiously loud air horn out the window.  Hilarity ensued as the bikers tumbled to the ground and people standing at their mailboxes threw their handfuls of mail into the air and peed themselves in shock.  Coming from a bicyclist, this would be even funnier.  As if they weren’t clamoring enough, teens will now pine for this life-saving, prankster-enabling device.

– Asshole drivers yapping into cellphones have always annoyed bike messengers.  The bikers must have had a lot of brushes with death because when they get cut off by one of these suitboys on the phone with their broker or some spaced out chick driving and gossiping in a 5-way conference call with her friends they get really angry, cursing like a sailor and giving the finger to the driver, sometimes even banging on the hood with a fingerless gloved hand.  I heard this on U St just the other day:  YOU MOTHERFUCKING FUCK GET THE FUCK OFF THE CELL COCKSUCKER!!!  Most of the time, the driver hardly notices, what with his five senses occupied by navigating DC’s notoriously retarded streets and taking calls.  But now with the air horn-equipped bike the messenger can toot blast the driver and know he’ll get his full attention.  Double thrills if this causes the driver to throw the cell into the air and swerve into a fire hydrant.  No more ineffectual foul-mouthing; with the mighty air horn the bike messenger’s knowing smirk will say it all.  Forget pining, teens everywhere will pre-cum for this accident-causing bike accessory.

– Skirt chasing was never so much fun.  Re-live those days when you used to stick your head out the car window and yell I LOVE YOU! as you drove by cute chicks standing on the sidewalk, except now do it in style with the air horn.  Blast away and watch as the fright sends fire coursing through her loins.  Chicks dig unpredictability, and the air horn has that base covered.  Don’t even bother with formalities — just toss her the engagement ring.  She’s already yours for life.  Bonus:  The ride on your handlbars back to your pad gets her juiced up for lovemaking.  Teens will be apoplectic.

I’d patent this, but the patent process costs $20K.  Instead, I’ll kindly ask people not to steal my incredibly brilliant idea until I have a chance to build a business empire around it.  Most people are good, so this should work.

[crypto-donation-box]

I was walking down the street when I crossed paths with a woman in her mid-30s pushing a stroller with tinted mesh over the top to protect her child from the sun and bugs.  Here’s something you don’t see everyday in the city, I thought.  A smiling mother and her baby. As she passed, I looked in the stroller… to see a toy dog staring back at me, oblivious to its elevated status as a newly minted member of homo sapiens.

I didn’t have my camera with me to record this beautiful metaphor of barren yuppie womb, though it looked like this:

“tell mommy you love her!”

I believe this is one of the signs of the apocalypse.

[crypto-donation-box]

High-Fiving the Ex-Boyfriend

I rarely meet the ex-boyfriends of girls I date.  Considering how many ex-girlfriends or friends of ex-girlfriends I bump into in this deceptively large city, it’s a bit of good fortune that I don’t have to deal with the potential drama or awkwardness of making small talk with a man who has repeatedly penetrated the same pussy that I am penetrating.  I like to tell myself this is because I date only good girls who don’t leave a trail of used condoms and stalkers behind them, but I’m sure it has more to do with pure luck and, when we are out together, her fastidious avoidance of venues frequented by her exes.

No good can come of meeting the ex of your woman.  While you may think he’d be a wealth of inside info on the girl you have stolen from him, in reality his opinions will be so badly jaundiced by the emotional undertow of the breakup, no matter how “mutual”, that anything he says would have to be taken with a flat of salt.  This goes for positive as well as negative reviews.  If she was that great a catch why’d he leave her?  Or if she dumped him, why is he shilling for her?  Don’t expect objective analysis in these situations.

Maybe you’re the kind of guy who heard through his girlfriend that the ex-BF is really cool and so why not throw back a beer with him next time everyone’s out together?  Most guys would agree with me that while this sounds great in principle, in practice it is a recipe for clumsy conversation and weird vibes.  Women, the so-called empathetic sex, demonstrate yet again their inability to put themselves in men’s shoes when they wax poetic about how awesome it would be if the guys currently jackhammering them were friends with the guys who used to jackhammer them.  Two facts about the wiring of the male brain make it difficult for us to act normally around exes of our current girlfriends — the harem mentality and the instinct to mentally visualize every sex act as if it were an object rotation question on an IQ test.

Irrespective of who dumped whom, a man has a module buried deep in his hindbrain that compels him to treat women as property.  This urge is usually beaten out of him at an early age by civilized upbringing and by the reality that even if he were to acquire genghis-like powers to amass a gigantic lay-a-day harem of hot babes guarded by loyal eunuchs, the surrounding culture would never let him fulfill his desires.  He would have to content himself with discreet affairs and serial monogamy.  So the loss of a girlfriend, whether amicable or hostile, is always perceived as a subtraction from his harem.  Men are browbeaten to conceal this fact, but we like the idea of our past girls lingering in our orbit, forswearing all other men, and ready at the drop of a hat to service us sexually when we are in the mood for a sequel.  We especially like this when we can selfishly give nothing in return.

(Exceptions are when the ex-GF gets fat or old.  Harem University asks that you at least pass those basic admissions requirements.)

Thus, for the ex-BF, drinking beers with the man who “robbed” him of one of his concubines is an exercise in social artifice camouflaging his primal urge to steal her back.

Betas who have lost touch with their maleness wonder what all the fuss is about.  This is the kind of guy who thinks it’s male bonding if you share stories with him about how his ex-GF has to bite down on a stick when she gets her ass rogered by your herculean member.

The harem mentality explains why an ex-BF would feel uncomfortable around the new guy.  But the predisposition to visualize every single sex act in all its technicolor glory makes the ex and the usurper uncomfortable.  You can’t help but imagine his cock thrusting and churning inside the girl who is now giving herself to you.  All the positions he put her in, all the jizzbombs he unloaded in her face.  You think to yourself not even the commando 2000 shower head could wash off every one of his man molecules from your little angel.  You wonder if his dick left an imprint on her vaginal canal.

Often, this is why, after meeting an ex-BF, you will go home and fuck your girl so hard her ovaries bounce, because this is your biology’s way of ensuring that whatever DNA he might’ve left behind is thoroughly scoured out of her.  Studies have shown that husbands returning from long business trips will deposit bigger loads of sperm in their wives, subconsciously anticipating that if another man’s sperm is in there they will surrender immediately to the larger army.

If the ex-boyfriend is not someone you like, then strutting like a rooster in his company that you are the rightful heir to his lay is worth enduring the bad mental images of him and her fucking like you and her fuck now. 

[crypto-donation-box]

Yuppie Child Substitute

World’s smallest dog.

If it’s possible to be 300% gay, this accessory will do it.

(the zoo is now closed.)

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Game as told by the lolcats

Checking out the scene



The approach



The opener



Disarming the cockblock



Winning over the male friend



Getting attraction



Building rapport



Dealing with shit tests



Isolation



Comfort



Makeout



Fuck close



OR

Number close



Mistake

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Don’t be that girl

Women have a mental laundry list of traits they want in a man.  Unlike men, it is not so simple for them to see an attractive guy from across the room for a sum total of 1.5 seconds and immediately want to have sex with him, no questions asked.  They throw out hoops to jump through and head games to separate the worthy from the pretenders.  As sexual gatekeepers, women rely on this complex social interplay to assess a man’s rank and deny or grant him admission to her body.

A crucial part of seduction is role reversal.  You want to turn the tables on women and use their psyops against them.  A man can magnify his desirability simply by having standards beyond face, boobs, and bum.  It is intoxicating to a woman to be pursued by a man who will judge her for more than her looks.  That means sticking to a mental list of qualifications women must meet if they want to enjoy the pleasure of your company.  The trick is to pay it more than lip service; having standards means nothing if you don’t actually believe in them.

I know from experience and scientifically-valid astrological textbooks that certain character traits and behaviors are like signal flares of a drama-prone incompatible relationship.  If a girl jumps on top of a bar to dance for an appreciative audience on our first dateI know she will be a poor choice for a girlfriend but a great ride for a torrid fling.

To any girl I meet:  when I strike up a conversation with you this is what is going through the back of my head:

Don’t be that girl…

… who thinks diamonds are a better best friend than a dog

… who lost touch with her femininity

… who has given up on love

… who pretends she can play like a boy

… who flakes

… who knows what she wants a little too surely

… who is an attention whore

… who is practiced in the art of aloofness and indifference (that’s my job)

… who cannot handle teasing

… who has sexual hangups

… who cannot take a sincere compliment

… who has lost her joie de vivre

… who doesn’t understand that men and women complement, not compete with, each other

… who re-applies her make-up every 10 minutes

… with daddy issues

… who doesn’t at least reach for the check

… who likes being a trophy a little too much

… who reads between every line

… who curses and flips the bird a lot

… who uses too much trendy slang

… who will accept flirting from other men while we are out on a date

… who mugs for invisible cameras

… who is externally validated

This may seem like an exhaustive, impossibly unrealistic list, and for  most girls maybe it is, but compared to the list of demands I occasionally read on craigslist from the sorts of women who’d be happier in love if they paid for it, I don’t think I’m asking for much.

[crypto-donation-box]

The 2/8/2 Rule

In my experience there is a simple and steadfast rule that governs serial dating for men who play the field.  For every 12 women a man dates, 2 of those 12 will be hot by his standards, 8 will match him in attractiveness, and 2 will be below his standards.  (12 is the magic number since studies on the mathematics of love have shown that on average that is the number of partners a man or woman must date before finding ‘the one’.)

This rule applies to the average guy who is socially competent and reasonably comfortable around women and who has command of some basic game.  Men with crippling dating handicaps like having more than 1,000 life-hours logged on World of Warcraft should focus on dating one or two women of any caliber.

The 2/8/2 Rule is not a prescription for dating success, but an observation of the courtship patterns of most players.  The rule seems to describe a “stasis point” that men reach when they are actively dating around and have settled into a comfort zone where a balance is struck between hot sex and emotional stress.  Since the rule is fluid, any changes in the strength and consistency of a man’s game will move his ratios positively or negatively.

Ideally, you want a 12/0/0 ratio but that would require masterful game plus objectively high status.  It is a rare man indeed who manages a 0/0/12 ratio.  These types are the gammas who have dropped all standards in order to satisfy their indiscriminate sexual appetites.  You will find them at NAAFA mixers and retirement community bingo halls.  0/0/0 men are betas who refuse to budge on their impossibly high standards and instead find an outlet for their probable low sex drives in porn.

2/8/2 is comfortable for most men because it gives them the opportunity to stretch their boundaries a little while not stressing them out too much.  Since regular sex without stupendous effort with girls who pass their attractiveness threshold is the principle driving force of men, the bulk of their partners will be the kinds of women other people think are “right” for them.  Interestingly, while the game needed to close these mediocre women is unexceptional, the learning gained from being in a relationship with them is much more valuable than any time spent with very hot women.  This is because a man can go much deeper with a moderately attractive woman, pushing his game and relationship strategies in all sorts of new directions, without running the risk of her suddenly leaving.  A drop-dead gorgeous woman is apt to walk out on him at the slightest infraction of her emotional checklist.  His room for error is razor-thin.

This is not to say he should forego aiming high.  It is optimal to have put in the effort and bedded at least 2 high quality girls out of the 12 total — the kinds of girls that make other people say “what the hell is she doing with him?”  His game needs occasional shakeups like a bodybuilder needs a new eating regimen or a new exercise routine to bust out of a plateau.  Only girls whose beauty takes his game to the breaking point are capable of inspiring him to unimagined heights.  Any more than 2, though, and he will likely crumble under the pressure, retreating to the familiarity of porn and 3AM garbage time.  Bend the ego, don’t break it.

At the tail end, he’ll dumpster dive with a couple of fuglies.  As long as he’s quiet about it and wasted little effort chasing her, he can avoid a crisis of self-esteem.  Gaming unattractive girls is sometimes necessary to end dry spells.  Hapless beginners and insatiable male hos are the most common types of pursuers of the easy notch.  Be careful not to make it a habit.

[crypto-donation-box]

A refutation of yet another feminism core belief.

Women are happier in traditional marriages.

The PDF.

Model 1 indicates that wives who hold egalitarian gender attitudes, who work parttime, and who take a larger share of the family breadwinning responsibilities are less happy. (p.1331)

Indeed, Models 3 and 4 provide some support for the gender model of marriage insofar as women who earn a greater-than-average percentage of couple income … and whose husbands take up a greater share of household labor report greater unhappiness.

When reading the avalanche of studies published now on an almost weekly basis giving the lie to nearly every major feminist tenet, I ask myself two questions.  One, why did so many women vouch fealty to this noxious ideology and, two, why did so many shitlapping betas men follow suit?

On the first, I suspect the masculine yang personalities of the feminist leadership propelled this small segment of the female population toward deliberating and advancing a new philosophy that more closely matched what they personally were convinced would make them happy in life.  Many of the feminist bullhorns are bull dykes, which means they are far removed from the experience of living as normal hetersexual women, and those feminist leaders who are straight possess a lot of character traits which we associate with high testosterone men.  Traits like furious energy, righteous anger, love of abstract argumentation, preoccupation with control, money and fair play, and an intense aversion to submissiveness.

These self-proclaimed gender warriors for all women were abetted by a congenial media stocked full with the same kinds of aggressive careerist women.  The riptide of this bellicose united voice for change dragged a substantial number of naive young women out to the sea of anti-male bitterness.  Real science (i.e., not the dippy post-modern deconstructionist humanities) during the heyday of feminism had yet to catch up to the accumulating lies of the spinsterhood, so the harpies were able to proceed unimpeded for decades brainwashing college girls until their minions were reflexively spouting “glass ceiling!” and “patriarchal oppression!” without a hint of humor*.

Maxim #4 in a series:
Trust no one missing a sense of humor.

On the second question as to why a significant number of whipped curs men went to the gallows willingly and thereby doomed themselves to lives of gender confusion and unhappiness, I can only point to the well-known fact that men will say anything to get into a woman’s pants.  After all, in the immediate-term what harm is there in raising your thumb-tucked-inside-hand fist in support of female empowerment if it means she’ll reward the rapport and connection she feels you two have with hot, hairy-bush sex?  It’s not something I advocate, but it is something I understand.  There were times when my date launched into a vapid diatribe about some issue I nodded my head amiably knowing full well that it was personally advantageous for me to conceal my views until after I had broken her with sex.  In fact, if the notch was not a long-term prospect, I often made sport of revealing my true nature during the first post-coital cuddling.

“you know, baby, i’m a big fan of the 2nd amendment.  i think it’s important for people to have the right to bear arms and shoot a mugger in the face.  fuck those pantywaists who load their diapers at the merest thought of defending themselves.”

(Funny thing is, most of the time this doesn’t scare them away.  There’s a brief spat of indignation followed by a blowjob.)

Besides the go-along-to-get-along suckups, there are the genuine testicle-impaired betas who swallowed the feminism cumload without a dribble and loved the taste.  They are enablers of the worst sort as by their actions they have disadvantaged themselves as well as the women they purport to champion.  Knee them in the balls when you see them.  They will hardly flinch.

Today, men are responding to the detritus of feminism with game.  And as men are wont to do, they have brainstormed and elevated the art of seduction to a science and a business model.  Women who lament this development in the relations between the sexes have only themselves to blame.  They set the rules of the game; men react to the rules by taking advantage of new opportunities to get what they want.  Opportunities like the 3-date rule and the freedom to have premarital sex and illegitimate children and fuck around and cohabit and abort and split the check and in general be a guiltless cad or slut.  And the most delicious irony of the 40 year feminist war against human nature is that women have abdicated the very thing feminism attempted to consolidate –

their sexual prerogative.

[crypto-donation-box]

Für den fürsorglichen, sensiblen Mann, der vor nichts Halt macht, um die Gefühle des Mädchens zu schonen, das er fallen lassen möchte.

„Ich hoffe, wenn wir eines Tages Kinder haben, dass wir keine heiße Tochter haben, weil … woo! … weißt du, ich weiß nicht, wie ich mich beherrschen werde.“

Praxiserprobt. Motherfucker genehmigt.

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for the caring, sensitive man who stops at nothing to spare the feelings of the girl he wants to dump.

“I hope if we have kids one day we don’t have a hot daughter cause… woo!… you know, I don’t know how I’ll control myself.”

field tested.  motherfucker approved.

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