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A Woman Explains Why Chicks Dig Jerks

Sep 23rd, 2010 by

Why hear it from an evil player when you can read a normal, everyday woman tell you how much chicks love assholes? This girl confirms the Chateau maxim that Do Almost Nothing Game is an important component of any man’s arsenal of ardor.

Curiously familiar hypothetical situation: You’re at a bar with your friends when you spot a guy you recently hooked up with. You’re feeling indifferent about him, but you wouldn’t be opposed to giving it another go. You think, “Ehh, no need to say ‘Hi’ right away.” Twenty minutes later, he still hasn’t approached you. You wonder, “Why hasn’t he said anything to me? Does my hair look bad?” But granted you’re not criminally insane, you brush it off and look for someone else to schmooze. Thirty minutes later, still nothing. Well, he did wink at you from across the bar (or was there just something stuck in his eye?), but then he started talking to some girl wearing a tube dress. Your confusion escalates. “Oh god, she’s way hotter than me. I knew I should’ve worn heels.” Suddenly, your neurosis reaches “Girl, Interrupted” levels and you wonder how you got so nuts. To avoid further humiliation, you turn to a friend and ask if she wants to leave and get nachos.

Yes, the Asshole U Luv knows when and how to parcel his attentions. He knows that ignoring you to flirt with another woman in your line of sight makes you horny and desirous of him.

Fact: Girls love guys who are, for lack of a better description, total assholes.

Any man who’s lived a day in his life knows this is true. Deniers are true blue brainwashed believers in gender equalism, whores who have gotten stiffed by assholes one too may times and purify their damaged psyches within an imaginary reality, or… well… pretty much all women for whom any fact about female nature is discomfiting.

We’ve seen it time and time (and time?) again, but nonetheless, it’s an issue that riddles our minds with confusion, stress and a shitton of excitement. So, what’s a girl to do about this bleak reality?

Sit back and enjoy my beef jerky intrusion. After all, you may as well ask what’s a man to do about his lust for hot, young, slender babes with pert tits and firm asses.

The authoress goes on to list reasons why she thinks women swoon for assholes.

Most girls are turned off by a guy who showers her with attention. It bores us, it seems desperate and it can be a predictor for a slew of undesirable behaviors lurking beneath the surface. Instead, we gravitate toward guys who give us just enough attention to keep us on our toes. Here’s what I mean:

Socially-unaware-nice-guy: Hi Rachel! I saw you from across the bar. You look pretty. Can I buy you a drink? You look like a G&T gal. So, what are your career aspirations? I love kids. You look pretty.

Asshole: Hey.

She is one of the few self-aware chicks who gets it. I’m sure it’s soul-ripping for my detractors to see my Do Almost Nothing Game and One Word Game confirmed by female experience.

Think about it. Have you ever seen a guy you’ve recently hooked up with and waited an hour for him to start flirting with you? And worse, did you feel great when he finally approached you and probably said a total of four syllables that somehow made you feel on top of the world?

Forget the wordy, clever openers. Keep it succinct, stupid.

Don’t be embarrassed if that’s a yes. We’re aroused by the unpredictability of waiting for a guy to strike up a conversation with us, and the longer it takes, the more rewarded we feel when it actually happens.

Value of scarcity. Why do women love men who make their availability scarce? I submit this universal female preference has its roots in preselection — women get turned on by these types of men because in the fevered downtime the women muse that his unavailability is caused by other women occupying his time.

You know what? It’s a cop-out to say only weak girls go for assholes. Self-esteem aside, many girls crave the thrill of keeping up with a jerky guy, or better yet, putting him in his place.

This admission was like a stake through the haters’ hearts. The “low self-esteem girls fall for jerks” rationale is the go-to lie of nerdy internet femtards everywhere.

While they might not always be better at flirting per se, assholes have a certain knack for conversation that confident girls can’t wait to provoke.

Yes, it’s called passing shit tests with ease.

When you’re not looking for anything serious, few things are sexier than a well-spoken, quick-talking guy whose comebacks somehow indicate that he’ll be amazing in bed.

She’s admitting that women put up bitch shields to test men for their alpha worthiness, and that men who pass their shit tests are automatically deemed more viscerally attractive. I’m coming to the conclusion that 80% of early game, when attraction is being built, is basically passing a woman’s shit tests.

Entertaining as his drunken tales are, [Tucker Max] has spawned a new breed of wannabe assholes who masquerade as genuinely awesome guys by mimicking traits like confidence, charm and humor in the forms of aggression, sleaze and flirtatious insults. It’s difficult for our drunken brains to distinguish between worthwhile guys and those who embody that second set of qualities — and for most casual flings, we don’t care to evaluate the difference. In fact, getting attention from an identified asshole can seem weirdly special.

A clarification is in order: it’s difficult for drunken *and* sober women alike to resist the charms of the asshole seducer.

And why is it weirdly special to receive an asshole’s attention? Because women imagine, rightly so in most cases, that the asshole is the apple of many other women’s eyes. And so to be the recipient of his bastard charms is to know that his quality seed is hers for the moment.

Example: If a guy won’t give other people the time of day, but he’s taking a moment of his time to be semi-decent toward you, you might think to yourself “Wow, this guy’s being nice to me. He’s usually such a douche! I must be different.” False.

Women also get turned on by the thought that they are defeating other women for the prize studs.

In the end, there’s no clear way to stay away from guys who play these games. It seems the best we can do is hold our heads high, stay on our toes and sleep with one eye open.

For me to spooge in!

Posted in Girls, The Id Monster, Ugly Truths | 147 Comments »

How To Attract Girls By Doing Almost Nothing

Sep 22nd, 2010 by

Not absolutely nothing. (That would be silly advice for most men except famous dudes who can seduce simply by showing up.) But almost nothing. In the game of seduction, less is more.

Meeting for the first time

YOU: Hey.

HER: Hi.

YOU: Can I get your opinion on something? Won’t take a sec.

HER: Sure.

YOU: [look at her for a minute, then turn back to your drink]

HER: Are you going to ask?

YOU: Maybe later.

Texting

HER: I had a great time last night!

[three days later]

YOU: Ya me too.

[five minutes later]

HER: My phone was out for the past three days in case you were trying to call me.

YOU: Nope.

[She immediately calls.]

Calling and leaving a message on her voicemail

YOU: Hey. [click]

When she flakes

YOU: See you at 7.

HER: I forgot it was my sister’s birthday. I can’t make it. Another time!

YOU: gay.

When she plays hard to get

YOU: I’ve got Wednesday free.

HER: Ooh, I can’t do wednesday.

YOU: How about next Monday?

HER: That’s gonna be tough.

YOU: Too bad. [click]

The second date

HER: You know, I don’t do this on the second date. I’m not that type.

YOU: Cool.

HER: Cool? Ok, then… good.

YOU: [opening the front door]

HER: Where are you going? You don’t have to leave, you know.

YOU: Got to. Getting drinks with some girl who’s been bugging me lately.

HER: A girlfriend?

YOU: Pfft… who knows?

HER: [frantic] Ooookay… next time then? Promise you’ll–

YOU: [slam!]

Going out on a big date

HER: I’m ready to goooo!!!

[She steps out in a slinky black cocktail dress, waiting expectantly for a stream of flattery.]

YOU: Hold on… you got a hair out of place. There.

HER: Thanks?

YOU: You look alright.

Postcoital bliss

HER: God, that was great!

YOU: …

HER: I mean really good.

YOU: …

HER: Snuggle with me.

YOU: …

HER: I think I’m falling for you.

YOU: Sweet.

Birthdays

HER: Aww… um… a bag of Skittles.

YOU: There’s a note, too.

HER: [reading the post-it note stuck to the Skittles bag] ‘roses are red, violets are blue, don’t eat the green ones! you’re a great screw’.

YOU: [smiling with pride]

…Two days later, talking with her girl friend.

HER: He gave me a bag of Skittles for my birthday! What is that?! Does he love me?? What am I doing wrong? Is he seeing other women? Does he want more blowjobs? I practically got lockjaw last week!

Meeting her friends

HER: And this is my boyfriend, Jack… Jack? Where’d he go? Oh, he’s around here somewhere.

Farting in bed

YOU: BWAAAAP!

HER: Wow. Is the romance dead already?

YOU: BWAAAAP!

After a fight

HER: I can’t believe you were flirting with that girl at the party! Did you think I wouldn’t notice?

YOU: …

HER: Do you have anything to say for yourself?

YOU: Did you flood my toilet?

The 1AM booty call

YOU: Come over.

HER: omg are you serious?

[half hour later]

HER: U still up?

[another half hour later]

HER: Helllooo? U there?

YOU: Bring the movies.

The results of Do Almost Nothing Game look like this:

Posted in Game, Psy Ops | 205 Comments »

Curing Oneitis

Sep 21st, 2010 by

A reader emails:

I rarely ask for help for anything, but I have been reading your blog for around two years. I have no problem attracting women, I generally bed a new girl every two weeks or so if I feel like it. My problem is one-itis. As repugnant of a feeling it is, and something I must admit, I need to help from the most powerful and knowledgeable source to handle this problem.

I pushed all in on my first girlfriend in terms of hard earned mental, emotional, and physical resources and she is a viper that is legend in circles around me now. She extorted more then half my money, conspired to put me into jail, almost gave me aids, and fucked all of my best friends at the time. If I was kidding, I wouldn’t be writing you this.

For the last SEVEN YEARS I have not been able to get her out of my head. I think of this person every day. I have dated seriously 20+ women in that span of time, and all of those relationships suffered because of this. This woman was the devil, and by and large the best fuck I have ever had. I would cum six times a day with her.

I have had threesomes (girl girl me of course), I have fucked a pornstar and a lingerie model. I am just a 25 year old pasty white hacker, but my conversations are empowering and I leave girls better then I found them. This girl though, has taken my soul.

I want it back.

Tell me lords of poon, commanders of cunt, sycophants of the “sleeve of wizard”…How do I move past this? Every girl I fuck only makes this insatiable hunger to have that kind of attraction in my life again worse. It’s starting to effect [sic] me.

Yes, the Chateau is aware this may be a fake email. But it doesn’t matter. The email provides a good excuse to riff on a new topic.

Oneitis is a disease of the amygdala that presents as a total incapacitation of the man’s logic, reason and interest in hobbies, hygiene and restful sleep. Oneitis exists in two forms, a precoital and postcoital expression of the virus. The precoital, or “#1 crush”, form occurs when two conditions are met: A girl possesses a precise beauty of the face that closely matches the beauty template the man carries in his head for the perfect woman, and this girl is within the man’s visual and aural field. The postcoital, or “no girl will ever be as good as her”, form occurs when the same conditions are met, with the additional factor that the man has boffed the girl and is now not boffing her.

More simply:

Beauty + proximity = acute oneitis

Beauty + former proximity + memories = malignant oneitis

Malignant oneitis is much more damaging to a man’s health and self-esteem because it tends to be resistant to therapeutic intervention. Acute oneitis is often solved rather simply by administering an alpha-pak of anti-obsessives, which are slutty women almost as good looking as the infectious agent but more enzymatically compatible. Side effects include drowsiness after finally busting a nut in a flesh and blood sex partner.

Once the oneitis is triggered, it assumes a life of its own, burdening the victim with crippling flights of fancy and obsessive-complusive daydreaming when the object of lust is not around. Oneitis can also blind the victim to alternative sexual opportunities in his midst, and this will later present as extreme, possibly suicidal, regret in forty years.

The reader/patient is diagnosed with a case of malignant oneitis, a particularly aggressive seven year strain. Testing revealed a subcutaneous betaness in an advanced stage of metastasization. The patient was admitted to mindfucking surgery immediately in an effort to excise the betaness and help him “move past it”. Treatment included a review of his intervening girlfriends and flings and an accurate, third party reviewed self-assessment, followed by a slap upside the head. Contraindications include memory- and photo-assisted masturbation and drinking alone. Conclusions follow.

The patient says his first girlfriend — they have been broken up for seven years — was his greatest emotional investment. If his description of her is to be believed, she is a high ranking member of the League of Extraordinary Cunts. Yet we are left to wonder why such a low down dirty blast force bitch would earn so much of his efforts? Our team of medical specialists decided she must have been one hot little minx with a golden vagina.

The patient arrived distressed, and was quick to claim he has no problem attracting women, and that he has dated 20+ women since the breakup. Each subsequent relationship ended in a flameout, because his oneitis had ruined his ability to build and maintain an emotional connection with them. (Somewhere, a lonely beta gently caresses his flaccid member, crying on the inside for a fuckbuddy with whom he can fail to emotionally connect.)

The patient also claims to have left the runner-up girls better than he found them. (Please, it is to laugh. If you are an alpha, no girl is going to feel better when you leave her. If she does, you’re doing it wrong.)

Most tellingly, the patient admitted that each new fucktoy only served to remind him of what he no longer has.

Let’s cut to the chase. There are two primary causes for malignant oneitis.

1. Investment raises the value of a girl.

You are naturally going to value that which you spent much effort winning over. We value what we think is worth more, and what is worth more is what we worked hardest to get and keep. You poured your blood and guts into a chick who stole your money, nearly gave you AIDS, got you in trouble with the law, and, most damning of all, fucked your best friends. In the end, she dumped you. In your mind’s value abacus, you rationalize your needy behavior, and her careless behavior, by assigning a much higher value to her than to yourself.

2. The girls who came after the oneitis were not as good looking.

Yeah, I know you say you have no trouble getting girls, but in every case I have examined up close, including my own, the supposed “hot” girls that couldn’t make the man forget about his oneitis ex were in actuality not as hot as the ex. Every man claims it’s “something else” about the oneitis which captivates him, and that it’s not about looks, but that is just ego assuaging bullshit. Nearly every time, the runners up are exactly that — runners up to your ex’s hotness.

I remember this six-month oneitis I was nursing. In the interim, I had gone on a tear through an assortment of women, only to discover that none could do what I wanted them to do, which was to erase her memory completely, or at least detoxify the memories by pushing them into smaller and smaller neural crevices. I wanted my oneitis reduced from a maudlin reminiscence to a harmless nostalgia. Finally, at month six, I met a girl who had a better body, and a hotter face, than my oneitis. I’ll spare you the details of what happened next, because there aren’t any details — my oneitis was instantly cured. Presto whammo. Just like that. I had a new sparkly object in which to discharge my demon seed.

So the rule of thumb is not GFTOW, it’s GFTOHW (go fuck ten other hotter women). No oneitis can withstand such an assault on its mind warping parasitism. Of course, by fucking ten other hotter women, you risk ten-itis, which is a perpetual ringing in the ear caused by all the sex screams of your exes.

The corollary to the above rules is that if you are carelessly and indifferently drowning your sorrows in uglier pussy, your oneitis will GET WORSE. Fucking less attractive chicks, (which will become ridiculously easy if you have game, since your game + oneitis-fueled aloof attitude is a very potent blend of chick crack), will throw your past success into stark relief. You are probably better off wanking it than bedding unsatisfactory girls.

There are two cures for malignant oneitis, and each depends on the man’s libido. Men who can go a few weeks or months without sex should avoid banging lesser girls in favor of putting in the work to find a girl with equal or better looks than the oneitis.

Men with high libidos would do well to fuck around indiscriminantly for a while until they settle on a girl who is the equal or better of their oneitis. A very horny man in the grip of oneitis will sulk unproductively if he doesn’t have a play pussy to occupy his attention. Such men can emotionally handle fucking lesser chicks without it messing with their self-conception.

Another important point to make is that men who have tight game will never recapture the glory of their first sexual experiences when the raw emotions flooded them with abandon. Game is like coke: The highs are always great, but each snort numbs your brain a little more. When you can attract an acceptable number of good looking girls at will, the sex is going to become less momentous. It’s an occupational hazard. In comparison to your current game-fueled bounty, an ex from long ago will seem of outsized importance in your mind simply because your emotions then were more uncontrollable and etched a stronger impression on your memory. In reality, that first love may not be as objectively good as the girls you are currently fucking, but your mind has played a trick on you and you can no longer make an unbiased judgement.

The patient is therefore released from Le Clinique Chateau with these instructions:

– Take a month off from actively skirt chasing.

– Don’t burn your ex’s photos, but do store them in a lockbox in the attic where it would be a pain for you to conveniently access. Burning photos and other memorabilia is a powerfully symbolic act that ironically reinforces her importance in your life. Better to nonchalantly store that shit like it was any other old knickknack you no longer have use for.

– When you return to the field, focus on gaming girls hotter than what you are used to. This is like weightlifting: you need to incrementally go up in difficulty to see any progress. The challenge will help you concentrate on the present instead of the past.

– When you meet a girl you really like, invest in her. Don’t go for the bang right away. You want to increase her value in your mind, and the way to do that is, one, to make sure she’s hot, and two, to take your time winning her over. Sluts are not gonna cure your oneitis, but hard-to-get girls will.

– Finally, if none of the above works, scour the earth for a woman who is as beautifully evil as your ex was, and fall in love with her before you’ve said “hi”. The ensuing passionate fling and humiliating breakup should replace your old oneitis with a new oneitis, which, if nothing else, is at least a change of scenery.

A graphical representation of the patient’s progress:

Posted in Girls, Guy Rules | 249 Comments »

Beta Fights Back

Sep 20th, 2010 by

what a mistake i have made
to reputedly conceive
with a woman whose face
could strip bark from a tree

You want to feel sorry for this poor bastard, but then you are left asking “WTF was he thinking?” Marriage and cuckolding is beta enough, but for a good-looking, high status man to hitch his wagon to such an ugly broad? It defies natural law.

A filmaker is suing his ex-wife for allegedly duping him into believing for 17 years that a child was his daughter.

Andrew Douglas, who directed the 2005 remake of The Amityville Horror, is demanding back hundreds of thousands of pounds in child support.

He says Ameena Meer asked him to marry her after claiming she was having his baby. But the real father, according to the lawsuit, was another Briton she had been cheating on him with.

Mandatory paternity testing is coming, and it is going to put an end to these vile shenanigans by women. In the meantime, men can act to protect themselves by following one simple rule:

Don’t screw hatched-faced man-women.

The more eerily a woman resembles a man, the likelier it is she will cheat, cuckold and cover it up for 17 years. Just look at the markers of high prenatal and serum testosterone etched into this whore’s face. Is her nose a Ginsu knife?

Once pregnant, Miss Meer said she didn’t want a baby born out of wedlock because ‘it would cause great shame and disgrace to her parents, who were practising Muslims’.

Ah, a little of the ol’ religion guilt-trip coercion. If I were him, I’d have told her to have fun with her stoning.

The writer moved to London and married Mr Douglas in August 1992. But the couple split months after Sasha Douglas was born and Miss Meer took their daughter back to her New York home.

It never ceases to amaze how incredibly ignorant some men can be about marriage and women. Like the dumb broad dressed in a tramp’s miniskirt walking at 2AM through a well-known bad neighborhood, the man who willfully blinds himself to the nature of women deserves some of the fault for creating his shitworld.

In the court documents, Mr Douglas says he had little contact with Sasha until her tenth birthday and felt depressed about failing as a father.

How can you tell a man is a beta at heart? He will always blame himself first.

Miss Meer, who has had two more daughters with her second husband, allegedly told the director that ‘a price tag was attached’ if he wanted to play any part in the girl’s life.

In a legal climate that was fair toward men, a stone cold lying bitch like Meer would be thrown in jail for extortion. But, no, the femtards will applaud her moxy and shift blame to the man for “walking out after being a part of this child’s life for so long”. As I always tell the femtards when they play this lame “unextractable part of life” card: if the cheating bitch was worried about the child not having a biological father in its life, she should have thought of that before she whored around.

He said he paid nearly £450,000 in child support and tuition fees, gave Miss Meer £17,000 when she fell behind with her rent and handed out a further £6,500 for a new bathroom.

This guy Douglas is a case study demonstrating how a conventionally high status man can be a beta in his soul. That examples like Douglas exist is why this definition of the alpha male is the right and proper one.

Tests showed [Douglas’ DNA] was incompatible with the 17-year-old’s. Miss Meer allegedly brushed off his concerns, telling him in a telephone call last September:

‘If you’re not Sasha’s father, it must be immaculate conception.’ A DNA test taken later that month revealed that it was virtually impossible for Mr Douglas to have been the father.

Cuckoldry is a valuable reproductive strategy for women. Women will tell the most blatant whoppers to protect this “choice”. I doubt there is a single woman in the world who, when exposure threatens the gravy train of child support, will confess to the dirty deed. This is why MPT is needed; there is no way any man can fully trust a woman in the matter of paternity, no matter how much she loves him. MPT will protect men from the female version of rape. It will save them years of emotional and financial servitude. A fully functioning MPT regime would have two primary results:

It would curb female infidelity.

It would lower marriage rates, as women become more careful about which men they marry. This, consequently, would increase single mom-hood and abortion rates.

A woman who knows the technology is virtually failsafe and the law is gender-neutral will think twice before stepping out on her husband sans contraceptive. Because of this modern day restriction on a very ancient secret female prerogative, the fembots will fight tooth and nail to prevent MPT with concomitant changes in the law that further bastardize the meaning of family and the connection between genetic progeny and paternal responsibility. This is why absurd laws are cropping up lately redefining cohabitation as marriage (with all the servile duties and legal impositions that implies) and holding the non-father boyfriends financially responsible for the bastard spawn of the single moms they are fucking. (This is another good reason to avoid using single moms as anything other than pump and dump receptacles for your withheld sperm.)

The court file says the biological parent is ‘a British man who, unbeknownst to plaintiff at the time, was involved in a sexual relationship’ with Miss Meer.

Stuff like this is rarely “unbeknownst” to alpha males.

The real father refused to marry her and so ‘knowingly and with malice’ she told Mr Douglas the baby was his.

Real father = alpha. Deadbeat dad fucks her and bolts, while the well-off, responsible beta with a heart of gold foots the bill for the rancid cunt’s cock-hopping and her little bundle of dystopia. Where have we heard this story before?

The legal papers say Mr Douglas still loves the girl he believed to be his daughter, but wants his former wife to pay back the child support and pay compensation for emotional damages.

If Douglas wins, this could be the start of something beautiful. The feminists and their diaper-loading enablers have run roughshod long enough over our venerable institutions. A serious rectification of the West’s corrupted legal system is in order.

A friend of the filmmaker told the New York Post that Mr Douglas was ‘a stand-up guy’ who ‘took Ameena at her word 17 years ago’.

Maxim #19: Never take a woman’s word; a woman’s actions are the best interpreters of her thought.

Betas never seem to learn this lesson, and it is a lesson they pay for dearly, over and over, because women smell beta from twelve parsecs, and it stirs a contemptuous, malicious compulsion in them. Alphas can be victimized, too, but they rarely are, for the alpha male by his character and his game exerts a calming, domesticating influence over the nastier primitive spirits animating a woman’s will. Often, and incredulously to those of a constitutional gullibility, a devious evil woman for whom no second is too soon to stick the shiv in a betaboy’s back will act against her own interests to spare the dignity of an alpha male who has happily shamed her.

He said Miss Meer has now banned Mr Douglas from seeing Sasha.

So much for the importance of the child being a part of the father’s life.

Miss Meer told the newspaper that she had never knowingly lied to her ex-husband.

Women know. She knew she was fucking around, and thus she knew there was a chance the kid was another man’s, unless she is a functional retard. This slippery sophistry shouldn’t convince anyone.

‘Of course I didn’t lie. I obviously didn’t think that he wasn’t her father,’ she said. ‘If he wants to be her father, he should provide for her. Isn’t that what’s fair?’

Let me tell you what’s fair, MIZZ Meerkat — a full remittance of all child custody monies plus interest and punitive damages paid forthwith to your ex-husband, jail time that is the equivalent of whatever sentence a man would receive for raping a woman and burdening her with the cursed spawn that was the result of such an unholy union, and your motherhood card revoked in a public shaming spectacle so outrageous you spend the rest of your life a mere husk of a woman devising macabre ways to off yourself and end the unremitting emotional pain that forever tortures your every waking moment.

THAT is what’s fair, you filthy festering cunt.

She said the lawsuit was ‘a terrible thing for him to do to his daughter’.

And that’s how to know it was the right thing. A terrible justice invoked. Evil trembled, desperately searching for allies, but none were to be found.

Posted in Beta, Globalization, Marriage Is For Chumps, Misandry, Self-aggrandizement, The Id Monster | 238 Comments »

Comment Of The Week

Sep 18th, 2010 by

Throbbing Gristle describes what he’d do to Jessica Valenti, Slut Apologist:

Can I be the first to admit I would give quite a lot to grudge-fuck Valenti. She’s crying out to be ballgagged, trussed and put to the mighty Frothomir. Again and again and again. Then booted out on the street with but a tattered rag to cover her shame.

Consensually, of course.

Doubleplusvenality if her husband sits in a corner watching the debauchment and quietly sobbing as he pokes glumly at his limp noodle with a crabbed finger.

Posted in The Id Monster | 27 Comments »

Bristles

Sep 18th, 2010 by

“Wow, I can’t believe I neglected to do this. Can I come inside and use your bathroom real quick? Yeah, I know, I should have gone at the bar.”

She cocked her head and a wisp of sandy blonde hair tumbled across her left cheek. She smiled.

“Of course, you can use my bathroom.”

“Just the bathroom, that’s all. I’m gonna hold you to that.”

She giggled. “Ok.”

Her place was smartly decorated. A geometric mobile acted as a partition between her bed and the room. She pointed to the bathroom and I closed the door. Lifting the toilet seat, I let my gaze relax on her patterned wallpaper. This pissing felt particularly pleasurable. I flushed and exited, walking to her studio apartment window.

“You have a good view of the students across the street. Are you an exhibitionist?”

“I don’t think so. Are you a voyeur?”

“Yes.” I walked into her personal space. She held her ground. “Who isn’t a voyeur?”

“Well, I’m not a pervert, but if that’s your thing, I won’t stop you.”

“If I want to be stopped, I’ll let you know.”

She parted her mouth as if about to formulate a reply, but fell short. I noticed her palms had opened and were facing my thighs.

“I really… like your place…” I leaned in and softly brushed my lips sideways across hers.

Her tongue escaped with a fury, pushing for the dark recesses of my mouth. I withdrew, pulled back, and examined her pupils. She became shy.

“Oh god, that makes me nervous.”

“What does?”

“You doing that. Looking at me and not saying anything.”

“Good. It’s hot when you’re nervous.”

Kissing resumed. I could taste a little of the artisanal beer on her tongue. She pressed into my face, and a whimper echoed in her throat. Something scratched my upper lip. I pulled back, then returned to her mouth. Still more scratching. Pulling back once more, I spot checked her upper lip. All clear. A visual inspection revealed nothing but soft skin. More kissing. More irritating scratching. Like a Brillo pad scrubbing my philtrum. Five minutes and a semi-chub later, I disengaged to allow my upper lip a moment of relief from the interminable stinging.

She opened her mouth for more, eyes half-lidded. I paused. Her eyes widened quizzically. Reluctantly, I rejoined the oral battle with her tongue, lips, and whatever phantom torment occupied the tender region between her upper lip and nose. The pain resumed, and I could no longer deny it; she had a hedgerow of invisible bristles above her mouth — scratching, scraping, scrubbing the epidermis from my face. I could not even fool myself these were soft female hairs; I was kissing 5 o’clock stubble. Once more, I stepped back and microscopically perused her face and mouth. I could see nothing. But the bristles were there, invisible and abrasive.

“You know, it sounds cliched, but I’m not that kind of girl.” Her red face and swaying hips belied her words.

“Hey, I’m trying to turn over a new leaf. I’m a different guy from the old me. I’m a gentleman now.”

“Oh… Ok.”

“I’ll give you a call.” One more kiss, this time with my mouth pursed defensively, and my fingers already deleting her number.

Outside, I passed a group of undergrad girls reveling in the 1AM street lamp glow. All tits and ass, bursting into existence. Their philtrums glistened, danced and swayed, and I wondered which of them held no secrets.

Posted in Girls, The Big City Life | 128 Comments »

Players Die Young

Sep 17th, 2010 by

It’s time to take an internet-y jaunt around the world of science and extract nuggets of wisdom from the minds of your betters.

Womanizers live fast, die young.

Promiscuous males are so intent on pursuing sexual partners that they can neglect even essential tasks such as eating, says a new study published in the Journal of Evolutionary Biology.

The finding suggests that male promiscuity is not more common – despite its potential evolutionary advantages – because it is subject to natural limitations: playboy males have stunted growth and go to an early grave. […]

When the male fish were regularly supplied with new unfamiliar females throughout their life, they spent less time looking for food and more time pursuing the females. Males living with unfamiliar females also grew more slowly and to a smaller adult size, and tended to die sooner.

In contrast, males living with a single partner ate regularly, grew steadily throughout their lives and lived longer.

“The considerable costs of promiscuity to the individuals involved reveal a natural limitation on promiscuous behaviour, previously undescribed in vertebrates,” says Jordan. “Perhaps those who wish for a more promiscuous existence will see this as a warning.

Sure, this is a study of fish, not humans, but it may be relational. I can recall during my most deliriously promiscuous months I suffered from frequent colds and exhaustion. My health regained its footing when I settled into serially monogamous relationships.

There is one possible way out of this trade-off between promiscuity and health: be a late bloomer. If you start your womanizing career after you have fully grown and gained your maximum size, strength and constitution, you may not suffer the deleterious health consequences of chasing a wonderful variety of pussy. Vitamin D helps also.

******

Femtard fave bonobos aren’t the free love communitarians originally thought:

A team of researchers led by Gottfried Hohmann of the Max Planck Institute for Evolutionary Anthropology has discovered that the higher up a male bonobo is placed in the social hierarchy, the greater his mating success is with female bonobos. But even males who are not so highly placed are still in with a chance of impressing females.

Researchers reported for the first time direct support from mothers to their sons in agonistic conflicts over access to estrous females. Martin Surbeck from the Max Planck Institute for Evolutionary Anthropology discovered that the presence of mothers enhances the mating success of their sons and thereby causes mating to be more evenly distributed among the males. As bonobo males remain in their natal group and adult females have the leverage to intervene in male conflicts, maternal support extends into adulthood and potentially affects male reproductive success. (published in: : Biological Sciences)

Variation in male mating success is often related to rank differences. Males who are unable to monopolize estrous females alone may engage in coalitions with other group members to chase higher ranking males off these females and to thus enhance their own mating success.

High status male bonobos get more sexual access to females, just as in chimpanzee tribes. Here, there is the additional influence of high ranking bonobo mothers helping their sons get a screw. Mothers benefit because sexually successful sons give them more grandchildren.

In addition to rank, the presence of mothers does indeed enhance the mating success of sons and thereby reduces the proportion of matings by the highest ranking male.

Mothers and sons seem to be inseparable and mothers provide agonistic aid to sons in conflicts with other males. As bonobos are male-philopatric, i.e. males remain in their natal group, and adult females occupy high dominance status, maternal support extends into adulthood and females have the leverage to intervene in male conflicts. The absence of female support to unrelated males suggests that mothers gain indirect fitness benefits by supporting their sons. “Females do not grant this kind of support to unrelated males. By helping their sons the mothers may likely increase the number of their own grandchildren”, says Martin Surbeck.

It never made sense to believe that mothers wouldn’t have some influence over their sons’ reproductive success. It is, evolutionarily speaking, in mom’s interest to see her son do well with the ladies. There are parallels to human families. Mothers of murderous sons nearly always absolve, excuse or defend them. Mothers, despite having an almost universal lack of game knowledge, do exert a sort of primitive effort to set up their sons with “good girls”. Sometimes these efforts even work. I imagine in more matriarchal societies, like sub-Saharan Africa where fathers are generally less involved in family matters, mothers play a big role in increasing the status of sons and helping fight off (not necessarily physically) competitor males who could vie for sexual opportunities with the same women as their sons.

******

Single moms take note: if you want help from the bastard spawn of your first badboy lover in raising any future spawn, you had better have the future children with the same badboy.

Help from earlier offspring in rearing a subsequent brood should evolve more easily when the mother is strictly monogamous. A comparative study of birds provides evidence in support of this view.

Cooperative breeding, in which more than two individuals combine to rear a single brood of young, has evolved repeatedly in animals, and most commonly in insects and birds. This situation poses an evolutionary paradox: because individuals have only two parents, some of the carers in these cooperative societies are helping to raise young that are not their own.

A related study shows that promiscuous females reduce a society’s cooperativeness.

Theory predicts that the evolution of cooperative behaviour is favoured by low levels of promiscuity leading to high within-group relatedness. However, in vertebrates, cooperation often occurs between non-relatives and promiscuity rates are among the highest recorded. Here we resolve this apparent inconsistency with a phylogenetic analysis of 267 bird species, demonstrating that cooperative breeding is associated with low promiscuity; that in cooperative species, helping is more common when promiscuity is low; and that intermediate levels of promiscuity favour kin discrimination. Overall, these results suggest that promiscuity is a unifying feature across taxa in explaining transitions to and from cooperative societies.

So, a society of sluts = Mad Max Beyond Thunderdome. POF’s fiancé wept again.

******

Women are more compassionate than men because it benefits their health. File under: the eternal solipsism of the female body.

The research demonstrates that concern for the well-being of others does, indeed, benefit the self. By increasing the effectiveness of social support, compassion served a stress reduction function for women in the study.

Signaling, stress reduction, SWPL membership dues… call it what you like, it’s clear that compassion is not exactly the noble human trait our pious poseurs and puritanical lefties would tell you it is.

******

Women, do you want to marry a man who won’t cheat on you? Then make sure he has higher economic status than you.

The more economically dependent a man is on his female partner, the more likely he is to cheat on her, according to research to be presented at the 105th Annual Meeting of the American Sociological Association.

“But for women, economic dependency seems to have the opposite effect: the more dependent they are on their male partners, the less likely they are to engage in infidelity,” said Christin Munsch, a sociology Ph.D. candidate at Cornell University, and author of the study, “The Effect of Relative Income Disparity onInfidelity for Men and Women.”

What’s going on here? Two explanations jump to mind: one, lower earning men cheat because their higher earning wives emasculate them either through withdrawal of sex or by snarky verbal slapshots. Thus, they seek the reinvigoration of their testicular fortitude in the flaps of another woman’s vulva. Or, the higher earning wives fell in love with the sort of lower earning but charming ne’er-do-wells who are more apt to cheat because they can. Either way, it’s in both men’s and women’s interest, if faithful, long term marriages are their goals, for the wife to be hotter than what the husband has previously dated and for the husband to be higher status — as measured by income, social standing, or some other status variable like fluency with game — than the wife.

But this is not the whole story.

Ironically, men who make significantly more than their female partners were also more likely to cheat. “At one end of the spectrum, making less money than a female partner may threaten men’s gender identity by calling into question the traditional notion of men as breadwinners,” Munsch said. “At the other end of the spectrum, men who make a lot more money than their partners may be in jobs that offer more opportunities for cheating like long work hours, travel, and higher incomes that make cheating easier to conceal.”

So basically, men will cheat under a lot of different conditions. Alert the media! Men like a variety of pussy! Unless the woman is exceedingly hot — like a 9 or higher — she should avoid marrying a much higher earning man if she doesn’t want to endure the pain of infidelity over and over and over…

******

Trusting people aren’t necessarily more gullible than skeptical people.

People high in trust were more accurate at detecting the liars—the more people showed trust in others, the more able they were to distinguish a lie from the truth. The more faith in their fellow humans they had, the more they wanted to hire the honest interviewees and to avoid the lying ones. Contrary to the stereotype, people who were low in trust were more willing to hire liars and they were also less likely to be aware that they were liars.

Moral of the study: If you are going to aspire to be a manwhore taking advantage of innocent blondes of Northern European descent, you had better have a good poker face.

******

For the men (you women should lift too, but I don’t want you getting any ideas that the 2.5 pound pink dumbbells are gonna make much difference to your cellulite ridden asses): you can build just as much muscle doing high rep light weights to failure as doing low rep heavy weights to failure.

Current gym dogma holds that to build muscle size you need to lift heavy weights. However, a new study conducted at McMaster University has shown that a similar degree of muscle building can be achieved by using lighter weights. The secret is to pump iron until you reach muscle fatigue.

“Rather than grunting and straining to lift heavy weights, you can grab something much lighter but you have to lift it until you can’t lift it anymore,” says Stuart Phillips, associate professor of kinesiology at McMaster University. “We’re convinced that growing muscle means stimulating your muscle to make new muscle proteins, a process in the body that over time accumulates into bigger muscles.”

I have put on sixteen pounds of muscle in the past five months lifting very heavy weights, two sets for each exercise of approximately 6-10 reps and 4-7 reps each. My routine is formed around a core of the big four: deadlift, squat, bench and wide grip pullups. I also take whey protein, creatine, and an assortment of peer-reviewed legal supplements, and my diet is 80% paleo. (Note: I have nothing against steroids.)

I’ve done both the high rep light weight and low rep heavy weight methods to failure, and I find that the latter leaves me feeling more aggressive and torqued. The former gives me more of a pump, which quickly subsides after a half hour. I like the feeling of accomplishment I get from incrementally lifting heavier weights, so I will stick with that method. Perhaps a mixed routine incorporating both methods is the way to go.

Posted in Biomechanics is God, Guy Rules, Ugly Truths | 143 Comments »

Why Sluts Make Bad Wives

Sep 16th, 2010 by

This is a post about sluts. It is a post that will inflame the small animal passions of milquetoasty, nonjudgmentalist men and women alike, for in this post is evidence — hard evidence — that sluts are bad choices for long term girlfriends and, especially, wives. Chateau reps have written extensively (and gleefully!) on this subject, always with a phalanx of indignant detractors yelping in protest and vomiting some lame excuse or another.

The mentally flaccid nonjudgmentalists are running from ugly truths they cannot bear to accept, and never is this more apparent than when discussing the price that sluts pay in the open sexual market. Here, for instance, is an excerpt from an infamous post that sent hordes of internet whores into screeching hissy fits:

[T]his goes without saying, but apparently there are some commenters who believe being completely nonjudgemental of anything a woman does is the mark of an alpha. In fact, it’s just the opposite. Only alphas have the market value to mercilessly judge the women they choose to bring into their lives.

Men subconsciously judge women’s sluttiness for eminently practical reasons, just as women judge men on a host of alpha benchmarks for similarly practical reasons. No moral equation required. “Slut” is, in fact, a morally neutral term in the context of the sexual market, where a slutty girl is viewed, justifiably and desirably, as an easy lay who will go all the way right away, and undesirably as a girlfriend or wife prospect in whom to invest precious resources. With the law and social institutions of the modern west arrayed against male interest as it hasn’t been in all of human history, it is of critical importance that men get this part of choosing girls for long term investmest and wife and mother potential down to a science.

Well, the science has arrived; at least, the science that proves that sluts are suckers’ bets for LTRs or marriage. You want to marry or have a loving long-term relationship with a girl without an elevated risk that she’ll divorce you or cheat on you? Then you had better get good real fast at screening the sluts from the relatively chaste girls so that you can lavish your resources and commitment on the latter.

The Social Pathologist has crunched the numbers, and the verdict is in: women with lots of past partners are more likely to divorce than women who didn’t take a self-empowering spin on the cock carousel.

The results presented in this article replicate findings from previous research: Women who cohabit prior to marriage or who have premarital sex have an increased likelihood of marital disruption. Considering the joint effects of premarital cohabitation and premarital sex, as well as histories of premarital relationships, extends previous research. The most salient finding from this analysis is that women whose intimate premarital relationships are limited to their husbands—either premarital sex alone or premarital cohabitation—do not experience an increased risk of divorce. It is only women who have more than one intimate premarital relationship who have an elevated risk of marital disruption. This effect is strongest for women who have multiple premarital coresidental unions. These findings are consistent with the notion that premarital sex and cohabitation have become part of the normal courtship pattern in the United States. They do not indicate selectivity on characteristics linked to the risk of divorce and do not provide couples with experiences that lessen the stability of marriage.

A good guess as to what precipitates this “marital disruption” — the slut gets bored with her betafied hubby.

Here is a handy graph associated with the study:

As The Social Pathologist writes:

Note, the really disturbing [finding] still holds. As soon as a woman has had more than one partner her long term marital stability risk drops to near 50%.

Poetry of Flesh’s brand spanking new hubby wept. On the other hand, she is old enough to be less of a flight risk, so there’s that. Which is nice for him. I guess.

Players and traditionalists, take a close look at that graph. When a woman has had 16 or more past lovers, the odds that a marriage to her will end in divorce rise to over 80%! Even “average” women with “only” five past lovers — women that few men would admit in public qualify as sluts — see an increase in odds of divorce to 70%. What man would want to screw his chances by marrying that? No wonder women react so vehemently to accusations of sluttitude and to helpful hints from yours truly on how best to identify sluts before you get in too deep.

Basically gentlemen, if you want to beat the sordid odds and enter a marriage with a less than 50% likelihood it will end in divorce, you need to date virgins or girls who have had only one partner before you. Good luck with that! Of course, you can do as the Chateau recommends and skip out on marriage altogether. This option opens the playing field for you to continually date and dump sluts as you see fit, minus the accompanying divorce theft financial rape.

Interesting conjectures arise as to why sluts pose a greater divorce risk than more innocent girls. The most obvious is encapsulated in this maxim:

Maxim #80: The more cocks that have ravaged a woman, the less any one cock will mesmerize her.

Sluts may have higher testosterone levels, leading them to cheat and, thus, to increase marital instability. Sluts may get bored faster with any one man. Sluts attract the sorts of men who themselves have no use for monogamous commitment. Sluts may just be fucked in the head. Their psychology doesn’t matter as much as the ability to quickly identify and discard them as potential wife and mother of your children material.

What’s really going to blow some readers’ minds is that, despite the happy smackdown of the platitude parade marchers, the Chateau is not necessarily anti-slut. After all, sluts are good to go. They make easy lays in a pinch when you don’t feel like investing much time or energy into winning over a more prudish girl. Sluts are often wild in bed from the get-go; no training required. And sluts have lower expectations; they will rarely pressure you for a ring.

Nevertheless, what the above study and graph should convince you is that there are solid biological and sociological reasons why men place higher value on virgin women, and this fact is immutable regardless of the handwaving by the polyamory crowd. Sluts are simply a poor investment strategy for men seeking something more than a fling. This goes doubly for relationships codified by the state.

It should also be noted that sluts, while possessing pasts spattered with the cumshots of multiple lovers, are not less discriminating than saints. Betas thinking that all they have to do is hone in on sluts for the easy kill are in for a rude surprise. Sluts want to be properly gamed by an alpha male just as much as good girls. The difference is that sluts will sleep with more alphas, and will jump into bed quicker with them, than will good girls.

No girl wants to be labeled a slut (even if she co-opts the term for herself in a vain attempt to de-fang it), which is why women lie about their past number of partners. Women know, deep down, that being less slutty means better treatment from men.

To men thinking about marriage, double the total number of past lovers your girlfriend admits to you, add additional lovers based on the slut cues she reveals, and divide a 1 carat diamond engagement ring by that total. Ergo, a woman with twenty cocks in her past would receive a 1/20th carat ring.

Preferably quartz.

Posted in Sluts, Ugly Truths | 644 Comments »

An Analysis Of Text Game

Sep 15th, 2010 by

The Chateau has received quite a few requests for text game advice lately. Here are a few.

Email #1

First of all, let me say thanks a ton for your insightful blog. Two months ago, I didn’t even know what game was. Largely due to reading your’s and Roosh’s blogs, I’m slowly climbing the ladder from greater beta (my natural element) toward alphadom. Two weeks worth of reading the knowledge contained within the catacombs of the Chateau helped me get a bang!

Today I got into a text conversation with a girl I’ve been banging, and I think I ran some solid text game with interesting results. The back story is that I’ve been sick, haven’t bothered contacting her in 4 days and she’s wondering where I’ve been. She’s asking if my illness is causing me to lose muscle mass and strength. See the relevant part of the conversation below:

Her: I’ve got an extra 5 lbs you can have

Me: Psh you don’t have any extra weight, I can bench press two of you

Her: You can huh? You only seemed to manage one of me at the pool!

Me: That’s shoulder press, totally different

Her: Let’s see this bench press then, sir!

Me: Find a girl of equal weight and I’ll bench the two of you in a stack. No dudes though, I ain’t no fruit!

Her: You just want to see me on top of another girl!

Me: She can be on top of you, I’m not picky

Her: As long as i get to pick her out… I’m not sold on your taste

Me: I have impeccable taste, thankyouverymuch. However, I’ll allow you to pick your top 3 choices and then I’ll narrow it down

Her: You trust my taste in women then? I pick katty, sandy, or madi

Me: Kat heartily dislikes my presence, so she’s vetoed by executive decision. Pics of the other two???

Her: Hot mexican or skinny blonde?

Me: Blonde for the win

Her: Haha, i haven’t seen madi in a couple of months, but i’ll work on it.

Me: I’m down

Her: Haha but fist you have to prove you can bench press me by myself.

Me: I think I can handle that

Her: Haha, but maybe not when you’re sick

Me: Im getting better

Her: Well, what are you up to after my work tonight, mr. Healthy bench presser?

Me: After you’re done? How about I work on “bench pressing” you

Her: Haha, is that what the kids are calling it these days? I’ll give you a call after work

Me: You don’t know what bench pressing two girls at once means? Get with the times! I’ll talk to you tonight

It seems like she’s down for it. Any ideas on how to [keep] the momentum of this threesome idea building until it’s a reality?

Your protege in evil and debauchery,

“Anon”

Texting as a substitute for long-form conversation is somewhat beta in nature. You risk lowering your value by playing a “girl’s game”; and make no mistake, typing hundreds of witty replies back and forth sight unseen, your dick nowhere near her pussy, is playing by a girl’s rules. It is inescapably betatizing.

That said, these are new times, and it seems a lot of girls can’t flirt outside of a textual context. A by-line of grudging acceptance has been added to the Chateau Guest Rules to account for the reality of endless text game.

As for the emailer’s question about how to swing a threesome with this chick he’s banging and texting ad nauseam, there is only a sense from the exchange that she did not fully comprehend, or accept, the seriousness of his innuendo. It sounds like she is playing along for fun, not for profit. He’s on the right track by telling her to pick out the girls she would want to include in a threesome, but his tone is too glib, when he should be affecting a pose of laconic pimpery. She should feel a growing nervousness if his offer is taken under serious consideration by her. Such nervousness would manifest as stronger shit tests, which is how girls relieve their burgeoning arousal (which, in women, is always tainted with a hint of fear), yet her shit tests in this exchange are too playful and goofy to suggest anything other than she doesn’t really believe what he’s saying.

His tone, too, sounds overeager. There should be a disqualification in there somewhere, like “we’ll see”. He should wait two weeks before bringing up the subject again, (in order to neutralize the impression of eagerness), and when he does reintroduce the subject he should do so with more dominating gravitas.

One other point: a man never submits the coda to a text exchange (or, for that matter, a phone conversation), unless he is telling her he has to go. The last text should have been hers, when she wrote “I’ll give you a call after work “.

******

Email #2

Here is a great example of non sequitur game in action.

I felt I must share a recent experience I’ve had, and reiterate how truly powerful the non-sequitor game is, (not too mention the purely alpha possibilities it opens.)

When you posted your readers email and your comments/analysis on the email I was sitting on the couch, surfing the internet trying to decide which way my weekend was going to take me.  The obvious answer was to try what you had posted, I texted this super hot Russian-hole I’d met a couple weeks prior we had hung out a couple times prior.  I really felt I was getting close to the LJBF mode so I had stopped contacting her and was letting her ice.  The text coversation is as follows:

(2:35p) me:  sounds good

(2:35p) her: ? What sounds good?

(2:47p) me:  my bad wrong person

(2:48p) her:  🙂 ok how r u?

(2:53p) me:  good

(2:55p) her:  🙂 I just woke up from a nap thinking what im going to do today..

(3:08p)  her:  🙁 no plans at all..for now i think maybe a movie later…

(4 :23p)  her:  still home, did you want to hang out?

(4:45p)  me:  not feeling the movie thing

(4:45p)  her:  it’s ok, we can do what you want, i can be ready in 20 minutes

(5:12p)  me:  yeah sounds good

(I re-use the opener to make reenforce that we’re only talking because I accidently texted and she chased me into hanging out)

(5:56p)  me:  on my way

I picked her up and we hung out, we went to bourbon street and I did everything I could to to continue the facade that I didn’t really even care about hanging out with her.  I smiled at every 8+ girl I saw, and let this guy continue to hit on her through much of the night, at one point my mom called (I know not cool, but my dad is chronically ill and when she calls that late something bad has usually happened… of course I never let the girl knew who called I simply just walked out of the bar, phone-to-ear, and got the intel on my dad.)  I was out for a few minutes, 3-5, when I came back in, I saw her at the bar with the guy that had been trying to game her.  Beta-man was buying her a drink, I walked up to the two and for the first time made a comment to the guy, “Having a good night?”  I’m not sure if he replied or not but she immediately asked who was on the phone, I just shook my head waiving off her question and went to restroom.  I came back out and her and Beta-man were still talking, the second I approached she left his side walked up to me and asked, “So, did you want to get a hotel?”  Of course, I responded, “Sure, let’s get out of here.”

I dropped a little bit of money on a hotel and had one of the wildest nights of my life.  From the minute we entered the room until we checked out the next morning I was covered in warm Russian love-butter.

I have always been fairly good at the game but this entry is powerful, it really emphasizes the power of text-game. This shit is evil good and must be added to everyone’s playbook that is trying to capitalize on a number you have but can’t seem to f-close.

When we left the hotel on the ride home she asked why I don’t have a girl friend and I told her that I get bored easy, telling her, “When I meet a girl I buy a gallon of milk, and when it expires I get rid of her.”  I have no idea where that line came from but it just flowed out effortlessly, in the couple weeks since the f-close it has been nothing but her chasing me, trying to not beat the expiration date rule.

+1 for aloofness and non-sequitor game.

Indeed, young padawan. Not only is this a fantastic example of non sequitur game, it is also a clinic in how to properly run aloof and indifferent uncaring asshole game. As has been written here before, Russian chicks are especially vulnerable to aloof game. Privet!

******

Email #3

Went on a date with a 22 year old 8.5.

She was dumb and aloof as shit (she literally has ADD, and it shows), but hot as shit. Immediate shit test: she comes in talking on the phone and doesn’t hang up when we sit down. I go to the bathroom and come back and she’s off the phone. Exceedingly difficult to talk to, it’s like she’s 15. after 1.75 hours and 2 beers, we bounced. Enough IOIs that I kissed her and we continued to make out on the street. Brought her back to my place to party with roommates, despite the fact that she said she had to get up early for a family gathering. She got shy and reserved and sucked. She was ruining my night, so I drove her home. Kissed more in the car, but she seemed more reserved on the way home.

Texted her 48 hours later: was the family gathering as fun as you envisioned?

her: it was ok. i only watched on race though. [gathering was at a race track]

me: haha. wtf did you do the whole time then?

her: i chased around a 5 year old and drank

me: lol. what’s your week looking like, we need to have our second date.

her: it’s shark week this week.

me: i live every week like it’s shark week.

No response. Her texts were always dry short, before and after we had the date. She will not text again, it’s not her style. What should I do AND What should I have done? I still want to pierce her labia.

Texting a girl after a difficult date is approval-seeking. It won’t help, and it could hurt your future chances with her. If you want to know how well a date went (as perceived by the girl, which, hate to say, is the perception that matters for getting laid), see if she texts you first. Girls who feel good after dates will often, in fact almost always, text you soon after the date has ended. They can’t help themselves. It’s like they want to shout their tingles from the top of a mountain.

Your text exchange started off badly and didn’t get any better. You are forcing rapport by asking about her family gathering when she knows you don’t really give a shit, and by dropping random “lol”s and “haha”s in reaction to her sub-par humor.

Also, when asking for a second date, never say “we need to…”. “Need” is a verboten beta word, passive and weak. You should banish its use from all your interactions with women. Instead, say “Let’s get together”, or even “I want to see you again”.

Make no mistake, her shark week excuse was a humiliating rejection so patently absurd that I’m surprised you even bothered taking her seriously after that. Your subsequent reply was beyond lame. No wonder she didn’t respond. The world could practically hear her pussy snapping shut.

What you should have done: “Bring the movies”. Text a second date meeting time and place and tell her the first round is on her. It sounds like the first date was a loss, so a follow-up from her was unlikely, and as we can see a “normal” text feeler from you did not have any positive impact on whatever lukewarm feelings she had for you. Going forward, you may want to try non sequitur game, like the emailer above. But more probably you will have to NEXT this girl.

******

Email #4

Comments from the Chateau about this man’s text game are interspersed in bold.

This is my first time writing you, so let me say thanks for putting out what I consider to be the most important site on the web for males. I am a natural beta and this site has had an incredible positive impact on my quality of life and happiness.

Anyway, an old girlfriend texted me out of the blue yesterday and the exchange is below. I don’t really want a relationship with her again, but I do hang out a lot in the town she currently lives in and wouldn’t mind keeping open the possibility for a late night rendezvous. My goal with this exchange was basically to ignite some gina tingles for a potential meetup in the future.

Quick Backround: We dated for about a year. She broke up with me about a year ago for some BS reason, but after discovering your site, I realized it was because I had become pathetically beta. She’s 23 now ( I’m 24) and works for a huge accounting firm in NYC. She was probably a solid 6-7 back when we dated, I attached a picture for reference (sorry I couldn’t find any nudes). [Ed: Accurate ranking. She’s a 6.] I’ve added any explanatory comments in italics.

Her (12:17 AM): I miss you

Me (7:03 AM): cant say I blame you

Her (9:01 AM): Do you miss me?

Me (11:32 AM): What do you miss most about me?

[Excellent deflection and reframe.]
(All of the below texts were sent within 15 minutes of the previous one)

Her: We had fun together

Me: Do you know what I miss most about you?

Her: What

Me: Big boobs (seriously, 34D @ 5’5’’ 125)

Her: If that’s the case then I guess that doesn’t say much about our relationship

Me: Just sayin they were nice. It’s a compliment. Anyway I recall you ended it

Her: I know. I was in the wrong.

Me: Is this your way of trying to get back together?

Her: No I am just telling you

[She’s lying. No girl contacts an ex out of the blue unless she wants to be with him again. Watch Swingers.]

Me: Its ok you don’t have to be coy about it

Her: LOL do you really expect me to randomly say after like a year  lets get back together

Me: Hey im not the one sending random I miss you texts

Her: OK then sorry I won’t say anything

Me: Don’t get upset. Anyway I meant what I said

Her: You meant what?

Me: That I miss your boobs. They were fun to play with

[The boob joke was funny at first, but now is overplayed. If you want to convert her to a fuckbuddy you have to, at some point, show a little attainability, which means curbing the cocky/funny act and assuaging her female sensibility. You run the risk here of overqualifying (out-assholing) yourself.]

Her: Great thanks

Me: What fun things do you miss most about us?

Her: Doesn’t matter

[No surprise that she is clamming up with regret. You could have jumped straight into comfort stage with her because your value was already sky high.]

Me: Hey don’t get upset. I wanna know what it was.

Her: We just had a great time together in my opinion

Me: Like what specifically? Im trying to remember

[This is a great asshole line, but might be counterproductive at this point.]

Her: Are you still in east Brunswick? (my hometown, moved back after college and am still here for now)

[Now she’s redirecting the conversation.]

Me: No actually I moved to california

Her: Really or are you joking

Me: Haha got me. Still in NJ. You never answered my question still.

[Good save to regain convo leadership.]

Her: Our trips. Relaxing. Movies. I moved to Hoboken (In NJ, Directly across the river from NYC. Known for its many bars and single young professionals)

Me: Its nice there. Easy to meet a lot of people. How do you like it?

Her: I love it

Me: I should tell you im getting married

Her: What?

Me: Yeah I should have mentioned it before

Her: Congrats

Me: Haha just joking. Cmon I thought you were sharper than that. Do you really think Id do that to myself?

Her: Why wouldn’t you what to get married? I do

Me: I don’t blame you. I just don’t think im marriage material. Its too hard to pick one person forever

Her: Maybe. But when you love someone you know I feel Just because you didin’t feel that way about me doesn’t mean you won’t (WTF??)

[Don’t sweat it. This seemingly disqualifying reply is just the female hamster spinning to death. She’s trying to trap you into chasing her.]

Me: What? That didn’t make sense

Her: Nevermind

Me: Haha ok. you must still be drunk from last night. So what do you do for fun in Hoboken?

Her: No I’m not. I’ve been working a lot and studying for my last part of the cpa. But I run and like the bars around

Me: Cool. Im sure you do work a lot. Are you partner yet? (I know it takes 15 yrs to make partner there)

Her: Soon. Another year

Me: Yeah you wish. For real do you know what the best way to get promoted is?

Her: Don’t even start. I’m sure you going to say something sex related

Me: Haha so you know its to sleep with your boss? Maybe you really will be partner in a year then…

Her: You’re def not the guy I used to know

[Normally, this admission would be a good thing, but since she contacted you first she already had it in her head that she wanted to fuck you again. Therefore, your cocky asshole act may be backfiring and driving her away.]

Me: That’s not true. Im still as ruggedly good looking and charming as ever

Her: K

[The banter was good, but went on for too long. Again, you likely overplayed your hand by revving your engine in the attraction phase without switching gears into a smooth cruise of genuine rapport. You needed to get real with her so she had the flimsy excuse she sought to rationalize sleeping with you again. And don’t focus so much on dating vs fucking and moving her into the FB zone. That will work itself out *after* you start banging. Keep your eyes on the prize.]

This is a decent representation of my text game and the type of attitude and banter I try to get over on the phone. I’d love to hear your comments about what I said, my frame, and overall alphaness from this. I think this is a good litmus test considering how this relationship ended and where I am now. Also, any suggestions from you as how to proceed from here would obviously be appreciated.

Thanks again,
“Anon”

Your overall alphaness was try-hard lesser alpha. You have lost sight of the sweeter brushstrokes of game in favor of the crowd-pleasing fireworks. Regulate yourself before you celibate yourself. In the future, if you talk to her again, make sure it is face-to-face, and keep your mouth shut. Her hamster will find a way into your pants. After that, manage the relationship in the direction you want it to go. To convert her to a fuckbuddy, this is easy: just refrain from talking to her or taking her out more than once per week, and never on the weekends.

Posted in Game | 418 Comments »

Spot The Alpha

Sep 14th, 2010 by

The alpha of a mixed group isn’t always the man. Sometimes, the men in attendance are such feeble representatives of their sex that they are eclipsed by the stronger presence of the women. Here is a photo sent by reader Desant who wants to know if the male specimen on the left is alpha.

Although this celebratory feast may not showcase our declining nation’s best and alpha-iest, don’t underestimate Corky’s alpha potential within his social circle. The claw hand and elbow symbolically muscling out his only other male competition is certainly try-hard and awkwardly propped, but he brings game with a stylish display of peacockery — the bulky statement watch, the unusual pendant, the ironically nerdy and retro glasses leash, the bold cerulean undershirt — and an imperturbable facial expression of stone cold confidence mingled with a hidden capacity for dispatching foes with extreme ruthlessness. He is 20 years old today, and he is NOT to be trifled with, motherfucker. Not on this special day. Not when he’s the star of the show. With the precision of a Call of Duty-trained warrior and the passion of a Downs freakout, this guy will rain upon your cursed head thunderous tard blows with his windmill arms before you have a chance to stop laughing long enough to defend yourself from imminent death.

But that’s not all the evidence we have for his alphaness. Admire his overall body language, which is open and taking up lots of manly space. I would not be surprised if he was straddling the bench cowgirl style. His manboobs are thrust toward the camera assertively, as if to say “I dare you to purple nurple me. Do it. DOOOO IIIIIT!! See if you get your hand back.” And that linearly clamped unsmiling mouth from whence no tooth can interrupt his studied coolness says one thing — “My birthday is serious business”. Where is his other hand? Cradling his colossal sack, natch.

(An alpha is in love with his genitals; kneading, fondling, cupping, caressing, complimenting, filming or otherwise drawing attention to them at every legal opportunity.)

Finally, what may be the best evidence of Corky’s status as group alpha is the simple fact that he is the honored guest. What woman can resist swooning for the man of the hour? Birthday boy, military hero receiving a Medal of Honor — it’s a difference of degree. A man gets few moments in the sun in his life; he is wise to capitalize on them when they happen. Corky is capitalizing with a vengeance.

What’s worse than a douchebag? A douchebag wannabe. Thus, the man behind Corky is a strong alpha contender.

Sunkist Tits is without a doubt the alpha female of the group. She is sitting in the Queen’s throne, at the head of the table. (Studies have shown that the best spot to sit at a corporate meeting is directly across from the CEO/speaker, as that is the next most dominant seating position after the head of the table. The most beta spot to sit is adjacent to the CEO. You’ll look like a lapdog.) Sunkist Tits may even be the primary alpha if the two guys are desperately horny beta orbiters, but we can’t tell that from this photo. Her tits are magnificent. I even forgive her manly shoulders for them, because clearly the broad shoulders are needed as a cantilever to support her juicy melons, lest she tip over and capsize.

The girl to the left of Sunkist Tits — a plain looker who cannot inspire me to grace her with a nickname — slouches in defeat while in the presence of a hotter girl. Her face flickers with self-doubt. Her manly chin hints at a closet full of sluttiness.

Green Bag Girl rivals Sunkist Tits in cuteness, and her teeth glow with artificially enhanced whiteness. She slouches too, but that is probably from taking it up the pooper by a black man.

Salem Witch Girl is not bold enough to go full goth, nor self-aware enough to go to a dentist. Unfortunately for her, there is not a man alive (except maybe a lying blog commenter vainly trying to score a stupid debate point) who would rank her higher than the other three girls. Therefore, low value men will swarm her with propositions, figuring she will be quicker to put out. Paradoxically, this means she may in fact receive over the course of her fertile years more male attention than Sunkist Tits, because the world has a lot more low value men seeking the path of least resistance than it does high value men with the balls to approach hot chicks. This knowledge explains her happy face. So while Sunkist Tits gets the pick of the litter, she gets millions of Corkys vying for her hand in pre-marital blowjobs.

VERDICT: Douchebag Wannabe is the alpha of the group.

Reason? Corky may be a cocksure alpha nerd, but he’s still a nerd.

Posted in Alpha, Funny/Lolblogs | 97 Comments »

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