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The Pill

Jul 22nd, 2010 by

“You’ve got to try one of these.”

“I don’t need that. I have the libido of a rutting buck.”

“Yeah, but this will supercharge you. Take a look at porn. All the male stars use it. A lot of the old timer porn stars — the greats like Ron Jeremy — complain that it ruins the artistry and exclusivity of their occupation, because now a bunch of no name punks off the street can stroll onto the set and jackhammer for hours. Thanks to this baby right here, there was a glut of cheap labor into the porn market, and asking prices for prized studs with real talent went way down.”

“That’s great, but I’m not doing porn.”

“You should always fuck like you’re being filmed for a porn scene. Seriously, compare 80s porn to today’s porn. Back then, there were all these cheesy repetitive edits done to the film. It was obvious when the same thrusting action was replayed two or three times in a row. That’s because these guys were banging au naturel. They couldn’t stay hard for day-long fuck sessions. And they didn’t have tremendous staying power either. So editors had to stretch out the scenes. It was an acknowledgement of the limits of male physiology. But now comes this — [Zeets waved the package in the air] — and all bets are off. Guys with no prior experience in the industry are hopping on set, hard as a flagstaff, and banging like champion studs, nonstop, until the girls are chafing and begging for it to be over. Don’t you want that kind of chafing power? This is how you fuck the whore right out of any girl you’re with.”

“What about side effects? I heard it causes vision loss.”

“Yeah, I read about that. Just don’t get addicted to it. Anyhow, that’s mostly a problem for old men. And believe me, nothing’s going to take this stuff off the market. The average old dude thinks to himself, gee, impotence or blindness?, and immediately chooses blindness, because as a man what’s the point of living if you have no sex life?”

“Irrefutable logic. All right, I’ll try one.”

“They’re ten bucks a pop, but since you’re a newb I’ll spot you on this first one.” Zeets dropped the blue pill in my hand. “Just enjoy it, man. You’ll never look back.” I could’ve sworn I caught Zeets rubbing his hands together. Was he my pusher?

Two hours before I was to meet a young girl I had been seeing, I swallowed the pill. She had an insatiable sexual appetite — it took her mere seconds of foreplay to get sloppy wet for penetration — and I doubted anything could tap her out, short of a 24 hour sex marathon that left her hole the consistency of sandpaper.

Nothing happened. As advertised, the pill doesn’t directly cause hard-ons; it simply allows hard-ons to last longer and stay harder once aroused. A girl was still required to jumpstart the process.

At her place, we fooled around for a bit and then undressed. As she slid my boxers down, she marveled at my rigidity — I was as hard as a teenager staring up his teacher’s skirt as she sat on her desk crossing and uncrossing her long legs. The head was pulsating.

“Wow, you’re ready to go!”

“Must be the free range eggs I ate this morning.”

I threw her onto the bed and yanked off her shorts and panties in one uninterrupted motion. Her furrow was boiling to the touch. I slid in easily and commenced the most intimate of intimacies.

I would not say the sensitivity was intensified. It felt as good as it alway does, no worse no better. But something was different. In the middle of a sweaty thrust, I looked up at the digital clock on her bedstand — 10:45. I had been fucking her straight for two hours and five minutes. Nonstop. Not even a break for a glass of water or to catch my breath. Except to switch positions, I was inside of her ransacking her womb for over two hours.

She came four times during those two hours. I hadn’t cum yet. The wonder pill not only let me stay rock hard with no let-up, it also delayed my money shot. As I rested on top of her, our greased chests pressed tightly together, she panted in my ear.

“Hooooooly moly.”

I pulled her to the edge of the bed, on her back, and fucked her while my thumbs pried open her labia for an exciting visual. Her vulva was inflamed a deep angry red. Her slick pussy juice had catalyzed into dry, waxy, white pellets from my repeated endless thrustings, and were falling out of her pussy like an army of ovum. The chafing had begun.

“Phew, wait, I need a second.”

I stopped and lay beside her for a few minutes. My boner never went down.

“Ok, I’m ready.”

We resumed, and I focused on shooting my wad. Usually, this is best done in the primo animalistic position — doggy style. Finally, two hours and twenty-five minutes later, I blew. Five minutes after that, I was chubbing out again.

I didn’t know how long the effects lasted, but I found out. We slept in; late the next morning I poked her in the ass crevice with my morning wood. Hard as the night before. I was still under the influence. Another hour of fucking and I had to stop; my dick was beginning to glow like an irradiated blood sausage.

We left the humid confines of her place and went for brunch. Under the bright sunshine, she stumbled a bit while walking. She spoke haltingly, her head lolling around lazily on her neck. The pill is a game changer. A marriage saver, and a marriage destroyer. A pot of gold, and a poison apple.

I swore to myself never to take it again.

Posted in The Pleasure Principle | 210 Comments »

Of Manjaws And Furry Forearms

Jul 21st, 2010 by

Have a cuckold fetish for relationships with sluts who are likely to cheat? Want to get into relationships with sluts who are likely to put out quickly, and to fuck like the energizer bunny? Date women with big chins!

If you have not already chosen your new love, researchers suggest you stay away from those with big chins as they have a tendency to cheat. Researchers from four universities across the US and Canada prodded into the sexual habits of chinny and relatively chin-less females to determine these results.

Kidding? No, they’ve published in the journal Personality And Individual Differences, so it must be true. Larger chins, especially on adult females, are associated with the male growth hormone testosterone and too much of that bad boy can lead to messing around. It seems on an unconscientious level men sense this trend and are biased against a more masculine chin. […]

“The findings are important in demonstrating that perceptions of women as desirable and trustworthy long-term mates can be reliably gleaned by men from viewing only the women’s facial features.

“Results suggest that information about women’s sexual unrestrictedness, which is related to their risk of infidelity, can potentially be conveyed by the masculinity of women’s faces.”

Hogwash you say? Perhaps you are already hooked up with said chin-cheater? Well, they may cheat, but you may also have found a sexual goldmine. Women (and perhaps men) with larger chins are also more sexually assertive and perhaps better in bed.

Yet again the science proves me right. Always ahead of the curve, I am. Over three years ago I wrote in this post about generalizing the sexual habits of women based on physical or behavioral traits:

Does she have lots of dark forearm hair?

Girls with this have more circulating testosterone.  They will be more likely to sleep with you by date 3.  Although forearm hair on a girl is unattractive, rejoice when you see it, because it means the moment of sexual congress is nigh.

Big chins, manjaws and dark forearm hair on women are all signs of exposure to high levels of testosterone. And women who have been thusly exposed like to fuck — hard, often, and usually with lots of different men. If you are doing a girl doggy style, and a thatch of thick ass crack hair is staring back at you, you can bet she’s exceeded the national female median of three lifetime sex partners. Have your fun, but don’t make the dumb mistake of marrying her. Or, really, spending any money on her, since she won’t require much male resource display before she’s willing to spread.

Thanks to the additional scientific evidence buttressing my personal observations, we can now add big chins and manjaws to the list of slut tells I outlined in my infamous post describing how easy it is to identify a slut. If you are an inexperienced younger man who wants to know if your girlfriend is marriage material, this blog will arm you with the knowledge you need.

To summarize:

Manjaws are more likely to:

  • fuck on the first date
  • fuck for hours in every room of the house
  • cheat
  • need a psychologically dominant boyfriend to keep her faithful.

Personally, as a normal man with normal tastes in women, I prefer feminine girls with dainty jaws and chins and soft flat bellies that aren’t ripped six packs. So Leno-chinned women of the world are not much concern to me, except insofar as their numbers in the general female population seem to be increasing of late, and thus causing the aggregate beauty in the world to shrink. As a lover of beauty, I consider this environmental destruction. Luckily, manjaws are less prevalent in younger women, so I will do my part to help the environment by casting out older women to the wastelands of solitary cougardom where their jutting mandibles can do no harm to anyone except 18 year old boys desperate to lose their virginity.

Posted in Biomechanics is God, Girls, Sluts | 235 Comments »

‘I Have A Boyfriend’ Responses

Jul 20th, 2010 by

Since the question of how to respond to the ubiquitous “I have a boyfriend” female shit test comes up a lot here, I’ve decided to put together what I think are the best answers a man can give in return. These answers were gleaned from commenters, from pickup forums, and from my own posts on the subject.

  • “I don’t care.”

One of my favorites. Best used on ultrafem girls who yearn to submit to a very psychologically dominant man. See: Asians, sorostitutes, blogger chicks.

  • “That’s OK, I’m not the jealous type.”

Replies to “IHAB” fall into two major categories — qualifying and disqualifying. A disqualifying reply is one where you shame the girl for even bringing the subject up, since she has no chance with you anyhow. A disqualifier is ideally used on superflirts and other varieties of cockteasers, because it fucks with their expectations.

A qualifying reply is one where you brush off the boyfriend objection, but do so in a humorous way that implies she has met your conditions for being bang-worthy and that you would sleep with her given the chance. The line above is an example of a qualifying reply — you would have sex with her and she needn’t worry that you would judge her for that. A qualifier is ideally used on girls who are attracted to you and want to sleep with you, but either have a boyfriend for real they want to step out on, or don’t have a boyfriend but say so anyhow because they are feeling slutty or anxious that sex might actually happen. Sometimes girls just blurt IHABs without even thinking, like they often do with any kind of shit test.

Note: If the girl drops an IHAB from the moment you start talking to her, it is likely she is rejecting you. IHAB is very context and time dependent; don’t bother with any of these lines if she hits you with an IHAB soon after you introduce yourself. These IHAB killers are meant for girls who are receptive to your gaming or are otherwise actively flirting with you.

  • Girl: “I have a boyfriend…..”
    Man: “Wow….amazing…seriously, that’s amazing!”
    Girl: “What? That I have a boyfriend?”
    Man: “No, that I’ve barely known you for 5 minutes and you’re already telling me your problems.”
    Girl: “lmao!”

The above line was cribbed from a commenter over at Roosh’s pickup forum. It’s a type of disqualifier; one I would happily use on attention whores who love men bowing and scraping before their almighty bloated egos.

  • “Whoa, not so fast. We’re just talking here, ok? Don’t get the wrong idea.”
Another strong disqualifier. Flips the script. This is the line I should have used on Superflirt when she hit me with her repeated IHABs.
  • “You really thought I was hitting on you?”
An even stronger disqualifier. The hotter the chick, the stronger her expectation that you are trying to bed her. Very powerful disqualifiers will often scare away or piss off lesser girls, but the hot babes lap it up like hungry kittens. Use with caution.
  • “No worries. You’re not my type.”

Tamer version of above. Opens the door for further conversation.

  • “So does my girlfriend.”

Short, sweet and funny. Categorized as a qualifying reply — you’re not dismissing her as a sex prospect. Hints at preselection. Use on girls who want to sleep with you already but have to rationalize their way to it. Don’t use on drunk girls; it’ll take them too long to get it. I tried this on Superflirt and she just tilted her head and stared blankly at me for a few seconds. Don’t use on evangelical church girls, either; they might take it at face value.

  • Girl: “I have a boyfriend.”
    Man: “Hey, my dog can juggle.”
    Girl: “What?”
    Man: “I’m sorry, I thought we were talking about shit that didn’t matter.”

This is a qualifying IHAB killer. You are implying you have designs to bang her, and are mocking her IHAB for the adorable little whiny objection it is. (The hidden subtext is “Let’s get back to seducing each other.”) A bit too clever by half for my taste; could work well on hard-charging lawyer cunts with high Wordsum scores.

  • “Annnnd… so?”

Same type as above, but shorter and easier to remember.

  • “Good job!”

A variant of “I don’t care.” Some guys prefer to plow through an IHAB by either ignoring it or contemptuously dismissing it.

  • “Your parents must be proud.”

Same as above.

  • “Oh man, I’m so embarrassed. I thought you were a lesbian.”
HUGE disqualifying neg. Use on histrionic club sluts. Don’t expect this to work more than 20% of the time; just enjoy the smile it puts on your face.
  • “Are you allowed to talk to other men without his permission?”

Puts the girl on the defensive. This is a risky line. Some girls may react poorly to it, while others immediately qualify themselves to you.

  • Ignore the IHAB

Plow, baby, plow! Caveman game. She’s so cute when she’s disingenuously objecting to you conking her over the head and dragging her into the brush for a rogering.

You’ll notice a pattern here; I prefer short answers to IHAB rather than long-winded, witty replies. A rule of thumb: wordiness is beta, succinctness is alpha. This is a broad generalization with plenty of exceptions, so don’t get too hung up on it. Just try and keep your texts, phone messages, and parts of your early and end game on the laconic side. Rapport and DHVing obviously will require the use of more than a few pithy quips.

You’ll also notice which IHAB replies are conspicuously missing from the list. I don’t like classic PUA IHAB destroyers such as

“Hey, no problem, you can bring him along on our date.”

or

“Cool, he can buy the first round.”

I’ve never liked these. They make the man sound like he’s forcing the issue. And they’re cheesy.

Perhaps a better way to handle the IHAB is to avoid it altogether. Preempt it by not giving the girl any reason to bring it up in the first place. An example of a preemptive IHAB blaster is “Are you single?” Upside: very effective neutralizing and filtering tactic. Downside: she might not have been planning to mention a boyfriend at all.

Posted in Game | 292 Comments »

Alpha Assessment: Ain’t No Thing Edition

Jul 19th, 2010 by

David writes:

So on my way to achieving my maximum alpha-dom, I’ve discovered more and more that R is 110% right on everything. I’m sorta-kinda involved with a really nice 7/10 girl, but she has an 8 friend. So I start this conversation with her friend and she says:

“she likes you. shes my bestfriend. she has never & wouldnt ever do it to me. i can’t do it to her.”

I respond

“1 – we aint a thing
2 – what happens in vegas…”

After going through a pretty repetitive circle (I was slightly buzzed when I typed this and still am), she agreed to come over before work tomorrow and ‘test my seduction skills against her resistance skills,’ which is whore for ‘you fuck me senseless and I’ll pretend like it wasn’t supposed to go down like that.’ Point is, I got this after the rapport circle:

“None of this gets back to [name of 7].”

Sure thing? I think so.

“we ain’t a thing” — Major disqualification. Chicks dig the moving target.

“what happens in vegas” — Breaching her anti-slut defense. Assurance of privacy granted.

The 7 friend — Preselection. Getting hotter women is easier when you can pivot off slightly less hot women. Pivot off a 7 to get an 8, off an 8 to get a 9. Doesn’t work if the pivot is much uglier than the target, so don’t think you can date cigstache and trampoline off her enormous tobacco-stained gut into the sexy bosom of a 10.

Challenge level: 1 (on a 0 to 5 scale, zero being a cokehead offering a hummer for your dimebag and five being the supermodel newlywed of a famous actor.)

Alpha level: 3 (on a 0 to 5 scale, zero being an example of the bare minimum to cross the threshold from beta to alpha and five being an example of the kind of alpha game a man merged with the DNA of Jack Nicholson, Tommy Lee and Silvio Berlusconi would run.)

Summary judgment: A well-executed alpha attack on a chick who was looking to fuck. But this is end game stuff when the fornication line is in sight.

******

walawala writes:

Here’s my exchange with HB8 I met at our Latin dance night 2 weeks ago. We hit it off, lots of kino, IOI’s rapport, she qualified herself.

We met up a few days later on consecutive days spent the entire class hanging out, dancing. I purposely never number closed that time to see whether there was interest. I didn’t see her for two weeks so sent her an email on Facebook:

ME: NICKNAME I CREATED. Caiprinhas, we’re on…you’re buying the first round. LEAVE PHONE NUMBER.

Day and a half later, I get this response:

HER: NICKNAME SHE CREATED! hahaha how did you find me? i know i have been absent from the dance scene these couple of weeks. i just started a summer internship plus the world cup has been keeping my nights occupied how are things with you?

ME: NICKNAME…life is good, …World Cup, yah…except when North Korea plays Ivory Coast…nail-biter. Slovenia, is that really a country? Isn’t it just Croatia Junior?

Well NICKNAME one more chance to redeem yourself: Next Monday let’s meet up for class, followed of course by drinks, you can help me celebrate Fourth of July.

Haven’t received a response, but her friendly but figured her rather lukewarm reply to my initial outreach was worth one more shot. She never did leave her contact number. I haven’t yet received a reply but….Alpha enough and on the right track with this approach to asking out?

You’ve got self-awareness, but you sound like you’re trying too hard. First, hunting her down on Facebook is always going to seem stalkerish, no matter your intentions, and even if she gave you her full name. That was your first mistake; you are now the chaser. It would have been better to number close her the first night you danced together, while the iron — or in this case, the gina — was hot.

Always Be Escalating.

Don’t hesitate “to see whether there was interest”. That’s the sort of thing betas and brooding poets do.

Your emails then were doomed to sound like a guy trying to recapture an alpha frame that never really was. You needed to be less wordy, even curt to the point of assholery, to put her on her heels in the defensive crouch. For example:

YOU: [forget the cutesy nicknames. she is not yet worth your labored creativity] what are you doing on facebook? I thought you were different.

HER: NICKNAME SHE CREATED! hahaha how did you find me? i know i have been absent from the dance scene these couple of weeks. i just started a summer internship plus the world cup has been keeping my nights occupied how are things with you?

YOU: [screw the nicknames] stupendous. gotta go.  i’ll see you at the next dance class. wear something twirly.

This exchange is ambiguous enough that she’s not sure if you’re interested or not, so it robs her of the satisfying ego glow she would get from knowing she is being chased by a suitor during the week between the emails and the next class. This way, she shows up to the class just a little bit nervous, instead of overconfident in her sexual power. Now you have regained hand, and hand is the foreplay of the mind.

Challenge level: 3 (she’s basically a cold lead.)

Alpha level: 0 (the alpha force is weak in you, son.)

Summary judgment: You’d better hit on other girls in full view of her during the next dance class if you want to spark her attraction again. Practice your One Word Game.

******

Matt writes:

So Friday night I met this girl who just moved back to my country and when we let we both laughed because we had heard about each other (I don’t know what she has heard about me).
We hung out for the rest of the night. She and I would flirt a bit and I would neg her and she would punch me on the arm or give me little IoI’s.
Then at the most random time during us talking she just says

Her: Oh by the way I’m not going to fuck you.
Me: (confused look) Well you’re not really my time anyway.

And the conversation continues but she said it like three times that night.
She also gave me her business card.
I ended up sleeping over at her house with everyone from our group. But not with her.

The next day my Wing tells me every guy pretty much loves her. Great i’m just another AFC.

Today I see her in the park and chat with her for a few minutes nothing special really.

I’ve added her on facebook and now I’m wondering how do I get together with her if I can only message or email her? (Her phone number on her card isn’t from my country)
Do I even still have a chance with her?

A girl punching your arm is the metaphorical subconscious blurt of a clit flick. She wants it. You have only to refrain from sabotaging yourself at that point. But also note that there is a risk you are dealing with a superflirt. I don’t have enough context from your description to gauge whether she is nothing but a cockteasing attention whore.

When a girl wants it badly, her anti-slut defense will kick in autonomically, often at the most inopportune or random times. The “I’m not going to fuck you” line is a classic slut tell. The mere verbalization of the thought is evidence she most certainly is thinking about fucking you.

There are probably a number of ways to handle the preemptive fuck denial (PFD), but one that almost never fails is stone cold disqualification.

HER: oh by the way, i’m not going to fuck you.

YOU: [no confused look] phew! that’s a relief.

If she repeats herself again the same night, you can up the psychological ante.

HER: no , really, i’m not going to fuck you.

YOU: my girlfriend will be relieved you aren’t going to jump my bones.

Finally, you can call her bluff.

HER: i’m not going to fuck you tonight.

YOU: you know, if i didn’t know any better, i’d think you were dying to fuck me. try not to make it so obvious.

Or, if you think her buying temp is high, you could try this:

HER: i’m not going to fuck you tonight.

YOU: no, but you will kiss me. [lean in and go for it]

Despite the above suggestions, I think if you are getting a lot of PFDs from a chick, it is either evidence that she is an incorrigible and crude flirt, or she has the emotional development of a Twilight obsessed teen girl who can’t handle the arousal inflaming her labia. You’ll have to judge the difference, because dealing with a superflirt is radically different than dealing with a girl who actually wants to fuck you.

Challenge level: 2 (brass ring. so close.)

Alpha level: 3 (you nearly connected with your alpha chakra, but let transcendence slip through your grasp in the park.)

Summary judgment: Since your quarry was either a taunting superflirt or a wet and wild emotionally stunted slut, you had your hands full trying to navigate this female landscape. Props for the meager effort.

Posted in Alpha, Game | 82 Comments »

Is It Time To Rethink Democracy?

Jul 18th, 2010 by

An article over at Zero Hedge argues that democracy is self-cannibalizing, and that an attack on first principles is needed to stop it from consuming itself.

The Editor-in-Chief of the otherwise quiet and non-descript Global Custodian magazine has written what can pass for an extremely controversial if not outright revolutionary essay on the topic of democracy, and specifically how our current regime has cannibalized itself, and is in dire need of a “revolution.” Dominic Hobson says: “In a market, the cumulative expenditure of the modestly endowed easily trumps the expenditure of the rich. And even the rich are ultimately answerable to the market: They became rich by satisfying customers, and will remain rich only so long as they (or their investments) continue to satisfy consumers. Consumer sovereignty is far more powerful a constraint on the rich than political sovereignty. Indeed, even the erosion of the rich by democracy is ultimately self-defeating, for it eliminates that class of men and women in public life who are under no financial pressure to remain at their posts, pursuing policies in which they no longer believe. It is no coincidence that the democratization of politics has been accompanied by a decline in resignations on points of principle or of honor. The vast majority of modern politicians simply needs the money. But even the restoration of a rentier political class would not be enough to restore the blessings of good government. As long as politicians must compete for votes, they cannot govern honestly, or even disinterestedly. They cannot reverse decisions or policies that have proved unworkable. They must persist, even in intellectual error, and cannot escape a certain narrowness of vision. To release politicians from this predicament, a revolution is required. That revolution must be one not of blood, but of constitutional and political ideas. It must put an end to democracy without limits, before the prosperity of the species is destroyed and liberty extinguished…The only lasting solution to the plague of unlimited democracy is to attack democracy at its moral foundation: the political equality of the citizen.” Well, the Greeks seem to have been wrong about a whole lot of other things. Is it so alien to ponder whether they also screwed up the most taken for granted concept of modern society as well?

The dishonesty of politicians competing for votes in an unlimited democratic system is exacerbated by an ethnically and racially diverse populace. This is because diversity is the crucible of hate; it breeds short-sightedness and antagonism, as human groups unequal in status demand of their representatives policies that continue and strengthen parasitic relationships even when the long term consequence of such vengeful and envious voting behavior is national diminution.

Does the Declaration of Independence rest on a falsehood? The rapidly rising flood of computational genetic research is providing evidence for everything from innate differences in intelligence to criminal inclination to altruistic impulse. The conclusion slowly being forged by (re)familiarity with reality is that all men are not created equal. Born equal under the law? Perhaps, yes. Though that too might change with a broader understanding of human brain architecture and the associated debasement of free will. But created equal? No. Some men are worth more than others, and maybe from the moment of birth. The ugliest truth of all. We all know this deep down in the pit of our souls; it is why jockeying for position in the sexual market — and ultimately for progeny with a genetic leg up over the competition — is fought with such a vicious and primitive compulsion. Fear of failure in the one market to rule them all is the inspiration of nightmares.

As I have said before, for big picture realists to win the last battle against the sickeningly malevolent forces of equalism and utopianism, they must attack and defeat the first principles of the enemy. Playing by the enemy’s rules won’t work. That is the road to a superficial stalemate shifting inexorably away from truth and deeper into lies. The realists can attack in a number of ways, perhaps by triangulating with bold and sadistic truthbomb throwers like your humble narrator, thereby affording themselves an immunity to instant transmutation by the borg collective of our ruling class. The equalists know that if their cherished Original Meme is exposed and discredited they lose their power to shameswarm infidels into silence. Thus, this is why they act as if their assumptions are infallible, inarguable, and why they ferociously fight along distant borderlands, well away from central command.

Look what democracy has gotten us to date: mounds of debt, ponzi scheme entitlements, blood spilt in wars for ingrates, injustices committed in service of outcome-based equality, nation-abnegating open borders, historical whitewashing, loss of national pride, and a relentless fusillade of lies to prop it all up. The system is rotten to the core.

Solutions:

  • Restrict voting to net taxpayers. Net tax recipients wail forlornly on the sidelines. Downsides: Impractical. How would we measure who is a net taxpayer before each election? Fosters revolt among the parasites. Every so often the productive will have to put down rebellions by the disenfranchised. Risk that the productive will direct all government largesse to themselves. Highly eugenic in practice. Parasites die in the streets once largesse spigot is turned off. Can the productive tolerate the tooth and claw nature of true progress? Upside: Encourages return to traditional notion of nation-state as territory for a relatively homogeneous population.
  • Repeal the 17th Amendment. Return to state legislatures appointing Senators, as the Founders intended. Decentralization helps reduce corruption; state legislators are more beholden to the voice of their constituents than are 100 Senators in DC.
  • Repeal the 26th Amendment. As lifespans and, consequently, educational years, adolescence, and time spent on parents’ dole, increase, it makes less sense for 18 year olds to have the right to vote their callow consciences into law.
  • Institute a national referendum for big decisions involving war, taxation, and immigration. The ruling class hates this idea because they know it will mean an end to their beloved utopian transnationalism. Anti-American open borders traitors would get the comeuppance they so richly deserve.
  • Benign monarchy. Could it be any worse than what we have now?
  • Secession. A breakup of the USA into manageable territories of people with similar morals, outlooks, tastes, abilities and temperaments.

The era of “huddled masses yearning to breathe free” and sentimental equalist ideology is about to meet an ignominious end. The era of vigilant realism dawns. May the light of the truth guide our way. Ah-fucking-men.

Posted in Goodbye America, Ugly Truths | 282 Comments »

The Ruling Class Vs The American Class

Jul 17th, 2010 by

Important article in the American Spectator. I’d advise all to read it. Excerpt:

Similarly, Obama “apologized” to Europeans because some Americans — not him and his friends — had shown “arrogance and been dismissive” toward them, and to the world because President Truman had used the atom bomb to end World War II. So President Clinton apologized to Africans because some Americans held African slaves until 1865 and others were mean to Negroes thereafter — not himself and his friends, of course. So assistant secretary of state Michael Posner apologized to Chinese diplomats for Arizona’s law that directs police to check immigration status. Republicans engage in that sort of thing as well: former Soviet dictator Mikhail Gorbachev tells us that in 1987 then vice president George H. W. Bush distanced himself from his own administration by telling him, “Reagan is a conservative, an extreme conservative. All the dummies and blockheads are with him…” This is all about a class of Americans distinguishing itself from its inferiors. It recalls the Pharisee in the Temple: “Lord, I thank thee that I am not like other men…”

In sum, our ruling class does not like the rest of America. Most of all does it dislike that so many Americans think America is substantially different from the rest of the world and like it that way. For our ruling class, however, America is a work in progress, just like the rest the world, and they are the engineers.

What is the animating force of our rapidly aggregating elite? Power. What is the conscious motivation of our elite? Religious utopianism. What are the tools of our elite? Feminism, equalism, transnationalism. What are the battle tactics of our elite? Shaming, hypocrisy, lies.

A perturbation in the souls of common men gathers strength. The stirrings of a revolution shimmer faintly on the horizon. A new, yet old, paradigm bubbles in the cauldron of collective thought. One way or another, a clash of classes is coming. The only question is whether we will be lucky enough that the coming civil war is a bloodless one. All bets are off.

Posted in Goodbye America | 227 Comments »

Why You Should Leave After Sex

Jul 16th, 2010 by

Because it will signal your high male mate status:

Chapter 5, “Green-Eyed Desire: From Guarding a Mate to Trading Up,” deals with other economic constraints relating to the human mating market. Women appear to use sex to help guard male mates by keeping them satisfied, reminding men what they stand to lose should they defect—or as many women in the study put it, “keep[ing] his mind off other women.” Women also seem to be motivated to sometimes have sex with other men as a way of gaining information about their mate value or to obtain a better partner—i.e., to “trade-up” in the mating market. Attracting a high-quality mate can allow a woman to enhance and evaluate her mate value, and many women cited this as a reason to have sex. The authors refer to research showing that women do this more often around ovulation.

So what does this have to do with leaving a woman’s company soon after sex? Much can be inferred from the study results in the quote above. For instance, if women use sex to keep a mate satisfied and his mind off chasing other women, then a hasty post-coitus skedaddle undermines her mate guarding efforts; she will be compelled to try even harder in the sack next time. And as I’ve noted before, a solid, healthy relationship rests on a foundation of the woman chasing the man. The day your woman succeeds at guarding you is the day you begin the slide into betahood, infrequent sex, cuckoldry, and eventual breakup.

More importantly, since women sometimes use sex with new men to enhance and evaluate their own mate value, a calculated quick departure after sex will disrupt her self-evaluative process, leading her to conclude that she isn’t as hot as she thought (which is exactly what you want her to think). While landing a charming SOB like yourself for sex will boost a girl’s ego, persuading you to linger afterward to cuddle will send her ego straight into the stratosphere. Since American women’s egos are already in the stratosphere, theirs will get propelled into distant galaxies. It’s critical that you keep a woman’s ego in check if you want to enjoy years of blissful love and sexual release.

This study, and its implications, confirms my everyday experiences. I have noticed that when I leave a chick right after sex — either directly by walking out or indirectly by nudging her out — she will text or call like a woman in love the very next day, or even later that night. The post-coitus premature exit (PCPE) is especially powerful when executed at two in the morning.

If you are at her place, many times a girl will invite you to stay for the night. She’ll couch it in plausibly deniable terms, such as “You’re welcome to stay if it’s too late for you to grab a taxi now.” If you need an excuse to drop a PCPE, just tell her you have to get up early for a business trip. If you and her are at your place instead, assume the PCPE by announcing soon after sex that you’ll be happy to walk her to her car or her home, and that she must be looking forward to sleeping in her own bed.

Whatever you do, avoid the post-coitus cuddle with a new girl who is above the average quality of girls you normally get. If you’ve had the good fortune, or expertise, to bag yourself the female equivalent of a 12 point buck, you don’t want to ruin your established high mate value and budding relationship momentum by snuggling and squeezing her tight as if she were your childhood security blanket. Post-sex cuddling is like a chemical reaction which drains your testosterone by the minute. Intimate cuddling will convince a girl to give herself high marks on her self-evaluation, and once she’s done this the odds she will see you as a worthy mate for the long haul — sexual or otherwise – drop precipitously. It’s all done on the subconscious level of course, but that’s the level that is most dangerous, since it operates by flying under the radar of our conscious perimeter defenses.

Looking at all my flings, one night stands, and relationships, the ones where I rolled over after sex and gave the girl my back, or where I got out of bed and put on my clothes to go home, were the ones I was in complete command of the direction of the romance. I never had to initiate texts or phone calls, or come up with date ideas, with those girls; they did all the legwork.

Posted in Biomechanics is God, Game, Girls, The Id Monster, The Pleasure Principle | 415 Comments »

She’s A Superflirt

Jul 15th, 2010 by

“Yo man, let’s go next door.”

“Why? It’s good here. And the bathroom is only ten feet away. Very convenient.”

“There’s a new club next door. It caters to the international crowd. Last time I was there it was filled with Russian women. And I know how you are about Russians.”

“How is it I haven’t heard of this magical land before?”

“You’re out of the loop. Time to pack up and move to the burbs.”

We left to check out club eurotrash. It was as advertised; hot foreign-looking women everywhere. I heard three different languages spoken as soon as I walked in the door, two vaguely Slavic and one Spanish. My buddy and I sat at a two seater table near the bar. The bartenders were women. The only men working here were the DJ and doorman.

We had barely settled in when a pretty blonde flitted up to us, smiling broadly. She had a delicate feminine jaw and chin, and high cheekbones. Very slender with nice sized tits. She was a hard 8.5. Later I would discover she was American, but spoke with a funny generic euro accent that she said she picked up from all her foreign friends.

She put her hand on my knee. “You’re cute. Where you guys from?”

Before I could answer she continued. She craned her head slightly upward as she spoke.

“Let’s dance! Come on, get up! It’s my birthday this week.” (Are girls now celebrating week-long birthdays? Isn’t there enough female entitlement?) She had grabbed both my hands and was guiding me up off my seat, her hips in a perpetual wriggle.

I knew this type well. The superflirt. Not drunk, but buzzed. Exraverted. Superficially confident. Used to getting her way with men. Weaponized femininity. A classic eternal ingenue. Likely had a boyfriend somewhere else and a couple of mother hens in attendance to supervise her.

The superflirt’s frame is all-powerful. Few men can resist getting sucked into it. But resist you must. I had three choices before me.

  1. Brush her off.
  2. Refuse to dance but attempt to get her to join us in conversation.
  3. Dance with her.

Number one is fine if you want her to leave. But don’t expect to pull a superflirt out of her euphoric frame with aloofness and indifference. She’ll just waltz to the next guy willing to entertain her machinations.

Number two is a battle of the frames. Can you convince a hyper happy chick to focus on you for more than a second? All her energy is pulling her onto the dance floor, into the embrace of an envious or horny audience. You have no value to her other than your looks, and that’s weak sauce to a cute girl. She has approached you, thus stripping you of the momentum and careful planning of a male-initiated approach, and she has thrown out a hoop for you to jump through which is rigged to ensure failure. You jump, you lower your value. You refuse to jump, you look like a stick in the mud.

Number three is jumping through the hoop, but with an eye on the long game. That’s what I did.

I got up and we all danced languidly around the bar, her leading the way. (I had tried to maneuver myself in front but obstacles prevented a smooth transition.) She introduced me and my buddy to her two friends, a sausage-shaped older, short Latina and a tall, big-boobed, meaty girl. The mother hens. I tried to preemptively neutralize any future mother hennery by asking the tall girl if she was responsible for babysitting Superflirt while she had all the fun.

“No way. She can take care of herself.”

Bullseye.

I danced with Superflirt on and off for fifteen minutes. Every few seconds she would saunter away to harass the DJ, dance on the bar, or drink a free shot, courtesy of the gawking older men gathering around us. She would return and put her hands on my stomach, exclaiming with delight how hard it was, or she would tickle me. A few times she leaned in and rested her cheek on my cheek, whispering in my ear. She smelled like concentrated estrogen. Then she would recoil in mock indignation, and, without my prompting, announce she had a boyfriend.

“I have a boyfriend, just to let you know. No, really, I have a boyfriend.”

I’ll admit I was enjoying the spectacle, regardless if it led anywhere or not. Of course, I would do my best to lead it somewhere, but the superflirt is normally quarry best left to shot-buying chumps who can convince themselves they’re going home happy having danced with a cute chick for a minute.

“That’s great. So does my girlfriend.”

She cocked her head and stared at me quizzically, then giggled. “I reeeeeeeally have a boyfriend. I’m supposed to go to his place later.”

I ignored her. She hopped up on the bar again. I figured at this point she was teetering close to the edge of outright drunkenness, so if I was to make a bold move, I had to execute quickly.

There are two ways to handle a superflirt. One, nuclear negs followed by a bold sexual move that shocks her out of her attention whore programming. Two, jealousy plotlines that flip the script so she is chasing you. I wanted to do the first option, but she had stopped clambering into my lap in between dance moves. All I could accomplish was a few negs.

“Hey, stop tickling me. Do I look like a piece of meat?”

“Yes!”

“Sexual harassment! Is this how you hit on men? It’s not working.”

She twirled. I tried to keep her focused.

“How would you like it if I did that to you?” I tickled her middle and she shrieked joyously like a little girl so loudly I though my ears would bleed.

This was going nowhere. She was in full-on attention whore mode. Out of the corner of my eye, I spied a leggy woman of exquisite beauty wearing a miniskirt that climbed past mid-thigh. Her makeup was expertly applied, and she didn’t smile. An expression of disdain swept across her purse-lipped face.

Had to be Russian.

I sidled closer to her table where she was standing with a couple girls and some men, and listened in; yep, Russians. She glanced in my direction. I realized why. Preselection. She had front row seats to me getting pawed by Superflirt. A man can go up as much as five points simply by being seen in the company of a hot babe.

This was one last opportunity to break Superflirt’s frame. If I could be seen by her chatting up the Russian, she might reengage and be open to a proper seduction. All her earlier boyfriend chatter suggested to me she was subconsciously looking for an excuse to step out with a new man. And nothing works like jealousy on an eternal ingenue. She has to feel a competitive threat from equally pretty women.

Unfortunately, this story does not have a good ending. I opened the Russian, asking her why she wasn’t embarrassing herself like the other girls by dancing on the bar, because it’s what all American women do. As we talked I would steal a glance at Superflirt to see if she was watching us, but she had fallen on her ass next to a bar stool, drunk as sin, and one shot away from puking. Three men rushed in to help her up. I didn’t budge. When I turned back to continue my conversation with the Russian, the doorman was saying something to her and she clopped in three inch high heels toward the door to make a phone call outside.

It was near closing time. Superflirt stumbled past me on the way to the door. She stopped to drape her arms over my shoulders, and I told her to give me her number. It was a last ditch effort that I knew had a low chance of succeeding. She was barely cognizant. But she stuck to her boyfriend script.

“Can’t. No I really can’t. I’m going to my boyfriend’s place right now! He lives nearby.”

Admiring her tight ass and perfect 0.7 waist-hip ratio as she wobbled out into the street, I figured her boyfriend either had very strong pimp hand to feel comfortable letting her get drunk by herself in his own hood, or they were heading for a dramatic breakup within the month. What a fucking headache it is dating a superflirt. Best way to keep them in line is to date two or more of them at the same time.

Posted in Game, Girls, Self-aggrandizement, The Big City Life | 182 Comments »

Feminists Still Not Getting It, Never Will

Jul 14th, 2010 by

McArdle has a follow-up post to her contention that the men women love are girly.

Incidentally, I’m being accused in the comments of engaging in some sort of conspiracy to keep the Beta Man down.

These things are never conspiracies. They’re more like hindbrain blurts.

More on primate theory later, but for now let me point out that as a married woman in her thirties, I have very little possible interest in the behavior of the PUAs; I’m not their target, and they’re sure not mine.

Marriage is no plenury indulgence from the soul ripping cenobite chains of the sexual market. You are being judged always and forevermore, and you are always wishing to be judged in the best light possible, even though you may not have practical reasons for feeling so. Lest you think I’m kidding, tell me what happens to the glowing love your hubby lavishes on you if you bloat up 70 pounds in the next year. Similarly, let’s see how much love — sexually and otherwise — you feel for your husband should he find himself unemployed for years on end and devoting himself to herb gardening. The attentions of the PUA (or, as I like to call them, the freelance seducer) is just a single infidelity away. Don’t tempt disaster by thinking that dropping out of the fuck market is an acceptable lifestyle choice.

To a person with a hammer, everything starts to look like a nail, and to a person with a sociobiology theory, everything starts to look like some primeval competition for resources on the veldt.

The dismissiveness of the anti-reductionist (complicationist? squid inkist?) never ceases to amuse. All your extravagant and high-minded appeals to human rationality, individualism, and exceptionalism are but a coat of desperately hopeful rhetoric concealing the animal motives below. To those with the eyes to see, the veldt is everywhere. Indeed, the veldt is written into the machine code of your brain. The average American woman has a hippo grazing in her brain.

But it’s misleading to claim theory as a sole teacher. Years of messy real world experience and observation endorse sociobiological theory, while the theory offers guidelines to men looking for answers and a plan of attack. Game is, if nothing else, field tested and motherfucker approved. And that’s what gives it credibility, as opposed to the lofty academic discussions that waft like a stale fart across women’s studies departments. Once a tactic stops working, it is jettisoned in favor of something that does work. If a tactic is proven ineffective, it hardly lasts more than a few approaches before being discarded. And with the zoom zoom of the internet, proven tactics are uncovered and disseminated very quickly.

This tendency should be strenuously resisted; not everything fits into a neat primate model, whether your Preferred Primates are bonobos or silverback gorillas.

Human nature can be observed and analyzed to form a working generalizable sociosexual theory without resort to knowledge of the habits of our ape cousins. The fact that there exist those precious special snowflake exceptions that hearten rationalists and equalists alike does not disprove the rules.

My off the cuff observation was a genuine one; this whole thing sounds like what girls used to do.

Yeah, because we all know how much girls try to figure out how to pick up women. And “used to do” — what, have girls suddenly changed their nature in the last few years?

McArdle is conflating the learning process with the execution. For example, a PUA teaches himself how to walk and stand and motion such that he signals nonverbal alpha dominance which is universally attractive to women, and this process may sound odd to women accustomed to imaging courtship as something magical that “just happens”. But once the PUA is “in set” and executing his game plan it will all seem natural and unforced to the woman if he is doing it right. She won’t be thinking “oh how girly he is”; instead, she’ll be thinking “wow, this guy is kinda cute and really cool”. (“Cute” being the internationally accepted girl code for describing any man — cute or otherwise — they are attracted to but unable to verbalize exactly why they are attracted.)

And in fact, at some level the PUAs have to know that it’s not really particularly manly.

Men use many tactics to attract women. It’s just the socially approved ones that transfer wealth from men to women, like slaving away in a corporate hellhole and buying dinner at expensive restaurants, that don’t raise the shaming hackles of banal, unreconstructed feminists like McArdle. It happens to be the fact that game is successful because it co-opts a woman’s tools of the seduction trade to use against her. Qualifying? Negging? Teasing? Takeaways? Push-pull? Aloofness? All are tactics that women use naturally in their dealings with male suitors. That perhaps is why game strikes older women as girly; there are indeed elements of femininity in seduction, and it is well known that this is highly attractive to women. The classics of literature abound with examples. The best seducer must get into the mind of his quarry, and to do this requires a level of empathy that is almost transmutative.

In the final analysis, though, I doubt many men getting their dicks wet are gonna fret that they might be perceived as girly by a scornful married feminist.

Why do I think this?

Because you’re a masculine woman? nttawwt.

Because if your girlfriend (however temporary) caught you mimicking Tom Cruise in front of the mirror, or spending your spare time trolling message boards for magic tricks to impress women with . . . well, would she be more enamored, or would she slither out of bed in disgust and start looking for her clothes?

The mirror thing is a red herring. No freelance seducer spends his waking hours posing in front of a mirror to get his stance right. That’s the domain of bodybuilders. Dominant body language can be learned by observing alpha males in the field. As for reading online seduction material, I was once discovered by a girlfriend to be reading one of those forums. Looking over my shoulder, she asked me what it was about, and I explained it exactly as it was, describing the science of human social dynamics and male female psychological differences. I didn’t cringe in embarrassment or apology like some weaker betaboys would have. I was matter of fact. She became intrigued and read along with me. The only slithering that night was her receiving my meaty intrusion.

I am not against people attempting to upgrade their social skills, nor am I horrified at the thought that “beta” males will somehow sneak into the gene pool; after all, I live in the city often called “Hollywood for Nerds”.

Beta is a state of mind that can be found anywhere. It is anhedonic. Game is the cure.

But the combination of artificiality, superficiality, and manipulation in the PUA manifestos makes it really hard not to snicker.

Ok. So her beef with game can be best summed up in this:

Artificiality — makeup, zit medicine, pushup bras, high heels, wrinkle creams, nail polish, botox, bikini wax.

Superficiality — Lavish adherence to fashion and culture trends, consumption of celebrity gossip, fascination with the supernatural and occult, upholders of PC shibboleths, ingrained sexual preference for tall men, lantern jawed men, and high social status men.

Manipulation — Making a guy wait for sex, wearing sexy clothes and pretending to be offended when he notices, flaking on dates, coyness, not picking up the phone on the first or second ring, expecting paid-for drinks on dates, shit testing.

I wonder if McArdle is aware she has indicted her own gender?

By the way, the manipulation criticism is one I hear all the time from detractors of the crimson arts. It’s a tawdry conceit. All goal-oriented communication — verbal or nonverbal — is a form of manipulation. When a woman advertises her cleavage she is manipulating men to do her favors or otherwise impress her. When a man works hard at his job to buy a nice car and house he is manipulating women’s attraction mechanisms. When both refrain from picking their noses or farting in public they are manipulating people’s impressions of them. McArdle and her ilk need to get over this manipulation mental roadblock they construct to assuage their feelings of lost power. If seduction is manipulation, then women don’t want guileless entreaties. The spread pussy speaks louder than the snickering blog post.

A reframe: if soccer is the beautiful sport, seduction is the beautiful manipulation. The herculean efforts required of the vast majority of men to seduce women that strike McArdle as unseemly and calculating when compared to the relatively easy go of it women in their prime years have when setting about to seduce men is just a reflection of the biological inequality between the sexes in their value on the sexual market. Sperm is cheap, eggs are expensive, and all that. McArdle is mistaken to assume this disparity in degree of mating effort caused by intrinsic sex differences is proof of men’s venality or women’s nobility.

(We will return to our regularly scheduled programming of learning about actual game, rather than jawboning about its cultural significance, tomorrow.)

Posted in Game, Misandry, Pretty Lies, Ugly Truths | 578 Comments »

Aging Urban Broads: The Manliest Of Women

Jul 13th, 2010 by

Yet another churlish, resentful SWPL broad is on the warpath against game, armed with the same primitive stone tools all the other anti-game broads wield.

Reading the half-baked hate, I can’t help but get the impression of a very nervous woman. A woman apprehensive that men are gaining power in the sexual market and perhaps appalled that she is not any longer the primary target of that invigorated male sexual power. I can imagine her speaking truth to her indignation by assuming the role of the wise SWPL lady to a generation of younger women, admonishing them to never settle and scolding men to grow up.

But, you know, the times they change. The cock has no interest in your feeble hate. It doesn’t believe in synthesis, or syllogism, or in any absolute. What does it believe in? Pussy. And whatever it takes to get it. It’s self-evident.

The hater, McArdle, read an article by S.G. Belknap in The Point Magazine about pickup artists and seduction technology. McArdle sneers that men who learn game to attract women are “girly”.

I find it hilarious that the pick-up artists think of themselves as especially manly.  When I read this piece, what they sound like to me is girls–specifically, girls in the 14-17 age group.

The “learning seduction is girly” sneer is one of the most tedious repressed neoVictorian sniffs at game. It’s almost as if McArdle reads the comments here and sent a private shout out (and a pizza) to a bunch of my haters (hi, spoogen!) to agree on what they thought would be the most cutting sort of jab with which to poke the PUAs.

Spending all of your time thinking about how to attract the opposite sex?  Check.  Practicing poses in the mirror to figure out which ones are most attractive?  Check. Talking about it endlessly with your friends who only seem to care about the same, one, thing?  Check. Increasingly elaborate strategems for getting attention?  check.  Eventual evolution of said strategems into rituals as mechanical as playing the opening levels of an old-style video game?  Check.  If I close my eyes, I can still smell the bubble-gum scented lip gloss . . .

Worried that all that strategizing works? Check. Worried that all that strategizing will help men date younger, hotter, tighter women? Check. Doubly worried her lip gloss not be poppin’ anymore? Check.

For a supposedly rational liberdroid, McArdle seems oddly afflicted by the effervescent romantic idealism of the “just be yourself” and the “it should happen naturally” schools of nonthought. I’ve got news for her: courtship, attraction, and seduction ARE biomechanical processes that can be extracted from the misty ether and reduced to their core components. From such knowledge, generalizations can be made about the sexes. Does this fact bother many women? Sure it does. And I explained why in this post:

Generalizations offend women in a way they do not offend men because they breach the perimeter ego defense and strike right at a woman’s core self-conception — her belief in herself as Princess On A Cloud Carried Aloft By Admiring Suitors. If it’s true that her genes account for nearly all her success or failure with the men she wants, then there isn’t much she can do to improve her chances to fulfill her deepest desires. If it’s true (and it is) that men value beauty above all else, then it is logically inescapable that she is, to an unsettling degree, interchangeable with any women who are at or above her level of physical attractiveness.

Game, by stripping the seduction process into a flowchart for ease of learning and applying in the field, offends women’s sense of mystery and prerogative to act on intuition. Things better left shrouded in the unknown is the working preference of most women, not because they are more romantic than men (just the opposite is true), but because women are constitutionally wired to abhor the thought that men can exert calculated influence on women’s sexual desires and choices. Women want total and untrammeled choice in the dating market, and they want to prohibit men from enjoying the same extraordinary power. Game brings balance to the force, and that is highly threatening to women, particularly aging women for whom options are rapidly running out. (Reminder: Maxim #98: Marriage is no escape from the sexual market and the possibility that you may be outbid by a competitor with higher value.)

Ultimately, women hate the thought of game, (not game itself; that they love), because they want their alpha male – beta male distinctions predigested and unsullied by interference from proactive men intent on bringing chaos to the male hierarchy. This is why women love royalty and kings and princes so much; in that world, the alphas are identified and known. There is little churn. The women have only to concern themselves with competing with other women for the cocka of the top dog. But in a world of game, where the status of men is in a constant state of flux, ever-shifting and spoiling the tidiness of the women’s preferred caste systemed zero sum sexual market, there are additional stresses and concerns. Now the women have to figure out who among the millions of men trundling through their gleaming anonymous urban jungles tingling ginas left and right are the alpha males of their dreams and expectations. By muddying the waters, game makes this filtering process more difficult for women. More exhilarating, too.

McArdle imitates a snarky lip curl:

Do they send out for pizza while they talk, or would that just make Erik cry because he looks so fat in his new jeans?

Projection, it’s what’s for dinner!

She continues:

Who–over the age of 25–believes that investing most of your time and energy in attracting another person means that you’re gaining power over them?  At least the little girls eventually learn that sex and flirting are supposed to be fun.  And very few full time jobs are fun.

First, a man invests time and energy in attracting women in almost anything he does. Directly, he does this through courtship and game. Indirectly, he does this through status increasing activities which his genes have programmed him to do because it is an effective way to attract a lot of fertile age women. How does that Chris Rock joke go? If a man could get blowjobs with no effort, he’d be satisfied living in a cardboard box. That one method is considered less noble than the other and frowned upon by polite PC company is not a man’s moral crisis.

Second, in what warped fembot universe is successfully attracting women so that they have sex with you a sign of powerlessness? Is McArdle unaware of men’s ultimate goal? Hint: insert penis into vagina.

I’ve previously responded to the hackneyed hate from the likes of McArdle and her sisterhood of the traveling prigs. See this classic post. It’s nothing new. On the subject of “girly” male seducers:

12. Fallacy of Misdirected Obsession Hate

Hater: A guy who spends his life obsessing over how to get women is a loser.

A guy who spends his life obsessing over climbing the corporate ladder to get more attention from women is a loser.
A guy who spends his life obsessing over mastering guitar and playing in a rock band to get more attention from women is a loser.
A guy who spends his life obsessing over pursuing financial rewards and acquiring resources to get more attention from women is a loser.
A guy who….. ah, you get the point.

[…]

16. Dancing Monkey Hate

Hater: Men who run game are just doing the bidding of women. Alphas don’t entertain women.

If you want success with women, you are going to have to entertain them… one way or the other. The same is true of women. Once a woman stops entertaining men with her body, her femininity, and her commitment worthiness by getting fat, old, ugly, bitchy, or single mom-y, she stops having success with men. We are all doing the bidding of our biomechanical overlord, and on our knees to his will we surrender, by force or by choice. You fool yourself if you believe you have some plenary indulgence from this stark reality.
Or: If you can’t beat ‘em, join ‘em.

According to McArdle’s impeccable logic, I suppose the billions of women who studiously do their hair, dress in the latest fashions, wear makeup, tone their glutes, play hard to get, and consume everything from herbal elixirs to plastic surgery in order to turn back the hands of time are acting manly. Yes, I find it hilarious that all these women think of themselves as feminine.

There is also something to be said for the power of contrast. A man who displays dominant body language (learned or inherited) can strengthen and speed the seduction of women by handicapping himself with feminine flash. This flash can be expressed either through peacocking (exaggerated male fashion) or by running vulnerability game. Women are very attuned to male status, and a man can signal high status by refusing to play by the rules or fall in line with the norm. Defying a woman’s expectations is an effective seduction strategy.

Allow me to get personal for a moment. (double heh) This “men who learn the science of seduction are girly” meme has been spreading like a dumpy middle-aged ass among the cackling witch crowd lately. Perhaps a little of the old remote psychological diagnosis is in order. I wonder if these yuppie broads are projecting their deepest unmet desire for a sexy man who can properly seduce them after they daydream their way through another tepid rutting session with their pasty, doting, domestic chore-splitting beta provider husbands and boyfriends. Ya know, too much relationship exactness and complementarity is sand in the gears of the female soul.

(Note: Regular commenter Thursday has a number of insightful comments over at McArdle’s blog. Go check them out.)

Posted in Culture, Misandry, Pretty Lies, Ugly Truths | 337 Comments »

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