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Archive for the ‘Alpha’ Category

Alpha Or Beta Male?

Sandals. White tube socks. Is that a fanny pack? His fashion sense is clearly beta.

But then there’s his body language. Leg up, the fulcrum of his maleness insolently displayed under her nose. If this were a gif I bet we’d see him swinging his pelvis into her. A fat nerd in the distance looks on, horror-stricken.

Alpha or beta male? Let me put it this way: If I wanted a solid wingman, and my choices were 1. a dapper fellow stylishly appointed and subtly accoutered to catch the inquisitive female eye, but shy and liable to spend the night leaning against the wall for support, or 2. tube sock guy fearlessly projecting his male sexual entitlement, I’m taking tube sock guy, every time.

Boldness beats style, and it’s no contest. Why? Because a nerd with a ZEROFUCKSGIVEN attitude can be molded into something great. But a retiring fop who waits for women to approach him has to make an attitude adjustment before he can be great. The ALPHA ATTITUDE is the bedrock of tight game. It’s a lot easier to improve a man’s wardrobe than it is to improve his attitude, so rock out with your socks and cock out, Package Delivery Man, you’ve got that special something chicks dig.

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Which man is envied by more men and desired by more women?

a. The childless player who has a history of bedding beautiful, unencumbered women and is currently in a relationship with a pretty girl on the Pill, a relationship which he seasons every so often with side flings.

or

b. The low class oaf who has five children with two different land whales.

Envy is a palimpsest that reveals aspiration. Few men, even those who profess belief in the familial dynasty model of alpha maleness, would envy man B. Children do not make the alpha male. Children, quality children at any rate, are a byproduct of the condition of being an alpha male in a world where reproduction thwarting technologies don’t exist or are expensive and unreliable.

We’re no longer in that world, but we still retain the intuitive discernment from our not-so-distant pre-prophylactic past of which men are winners and which are losers. The winners — the envied — are those men who live varied and fulfilling sex and love lives with beautiful women. Just as CH once elegantly defined the alpha male.

After all, the hard work is persuading a woman to relinquish her sex and fill her heart with love. When she has, it’s a mere formality — in the environment of procreative adaptation from which our post-procreation minds are still molded — to fill her womb.

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From Craigslist (remember that site?):

thanks again for leaving me out in the rain! w4m

my phone is now ruined, so I’ll have to resort to this – the way we first met. here.

we both knew the other was married… but now that I tell you I’m pregnant, you have nothing to say… your only reaction being to leave the bar and go hail a cab!?

i ran after you for about half a block until almost movie-like it began to rain and i just felt like a whore.

so i stopped.

those raindrops felt like an amplified otherworldly expression of my soul dying.

please at least talk to me through here. tell me how you feel. i think safer speaking here anyhow. more freely. quasi anonymously.

how we started…

“I’m pregnant.”

Another option is to toss her a Groupon for Planned Spinsterhood services.

It’s an interesting speculation if the gotcha pregnancy risk profiles of married and single women are the same. A single woman faces the prospect of raising a bastard on her own, which is a powerful disincentive to seeing it through. A married woman might similarly want an abortion before her beta hubby finds out, but then she also might calculate that a cuckolding is worth risking discovery say, ten years down the road. As a player cad, you must weigh the available incentives influencing the “accidentally” pregnant single or married woman, and decide which outcome you can most tolerate.

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A reader generously offers a glimpse into the mind of a woman stricken with “five minutes of alpha syndrome”.

CH,

Having been a regular reader of your blog for a while now, I couldn’t quite join-the-dots in the general ’5-Minutes-Of-Alpha-Beats-5-Years-Of-Beta’ (or variations thereof)
I couldn’t quite see it working in the ‘Real World’.
Until last night.
I contacted a woman from a well-known online-dating site that requires a strong rod and large net.
The woman: 44, 5’8″, Mom-of-one, blonde, pretty, maybe a solid ’7′ with her war-paint on, separated from nice guy husband of 12 years, recently split from relationship with BF of 7 months.
The Boyfriend: 45, 5’7″, fire-fighter…really average-looking but with serious ‘issues’.

I was initially pulled-in by her looks and IQ (she’s a smart woman, a buyer, by trade) and a comment she made struck me: “I’m scared I’ll never find the level of intensity I had with my Ex”
Me: “What, with your husband?”
Her: “No! My Bf”
(husband, apparently was a tall, handsome guy, 6’3″, but had two things not going for him: ‘Nice Guy’ and liked to crush a 6-pack each night)

Anyway, we met.
For a drink, at 20:00pm, a bar not far from where either of us live.
We left at 22:45pm, after each having a single drink each, mainly because of her life-story of the last ‘X’ months with Fire-fighter Bf.
I could wax-lyrical about it, but it’s best set out in list form:
* upon first meeting, she said “the sort of man I wouldn’t look twice at – he’s 5’7″ for God’s sake”
* didn’t even date him for at least 3 months after 1st meeting, and he pestered me daily for a date
* finally met and things took-off (in her words, “sexually, emotionally and mentally…it was intense, daily”)

Then things start to slide:
* he breaks her left-cheekbone with a straight-right
* deletes names of male co-workers and friends from her iPhone
* secretly hacks into her FB account and sends ‘Don’t contact me again’ messages to male contacts
* constantly, calls, queries and questions her about where she is and who’s she’s out with
* rips her off for 86,000
* finally after 7 months she dumps him and throws him out.

Cue:
* paint poured over her Audi A3
* hate mail sent daily
* threatening phonecalls made multiple times daily
* bogus online-dating-agency profiles created and setup to monitor her on website
* fellow friends recruited to keep tabs on her
* drives by her home multiple times a day, checking up on her

Finally, the police are involved.
They urge her to press charges, a) for the physical assault and b) threatening behaviours

What does she do?
Protects the fuck out him, claims she doesn’t want him to lose his job or get into any trouble.

And the clincher? She spent the whole 2.45 hr date talking about him (liked to call him ‘Twat-Face’, and this whole sorry episode to me, her supposed date.
No matter what I did, no matter how blasé or cool I was about it….she just looked like she’d rather be anywhere else but on a date with me….
Why?
Because I wasn’t him.

Thoughts, opinions, rants?

Yeah…

Chicks dig jerks. And Ross Douthat handwaved.

Less glibly, yet another reason to avoid a long-term relationship with a woman who has amassed an above-average number of sexual partners in her life is that the odds increase that she has dated, fucked, and fallen deeply in love with an asshole. And though she was able to extricate herself from his intoxicating grip to one day go on a half-hearted date with you, his memory continues to scour her dreamscape. What man who isn’t a desperate loser needs the extra headache?

The girl with a lot of past lovers is never alone. You aren’t sitting across from her at a bar; you’re sitting across from her and all the cockas that rocked her.

My advice:

Date virgins.

Ok, that’s a tall order nowadays.

Your next best options, should an execrable date of this nature ever occur again, are to fight asshole with asshole.

Flirt with another woman in front of her.
Text while she’s talking about her ex.
Keep changing the subject. But make it obvious that’s what you’re doing. Humor helps. “You ever wonder what it’s like to piss in a moving elevator?”
Lay down the man law, in so many words. “If you want a shoulder to cry on about your ex, there’s a gay guy I know who’s much better at this. Don’t worry, he won’t judge.”
Get up and leave without warning. This is your last card, and it’s an Ace. Don’t be afraid to play it. You shouldn’t be spending three minutes, let alone three hours, of your valuable time listening to a woman bitch about her ex, anyhow. That’s beta male scarcity mentality.

Whatever you do, don’t sound jealous or butthurt. This is a game, treat it like one.

The advantage will be yours because a clear and present asshole trumps an invisible asshole. And given her history, you may be the new asshole who helps her get over her last asshole.

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Pulled from a sexxxy players’ forum, here’s some advice for older (or younger) men who want to know how to handle large age differences, particularly as the issue applies to online dating, where inclusion of age in the profile is required.

I lie on my dating profile and put it 7 years younger.

When I get asked my age in person I tell the truth.

Then they say “but your profile says xx”

“Oh, yeah that’s because when I had my real age on there all these old chicks were messaging me as if I want that”.

Then I make a comical shudder.

Hasn’t failed me yet.

Almost poetry. Why does this work? One, he’s assumed the sale. “Why *wouldn’t* younger women want to be with me?” Girls love that. Two, he’s implied his high mate value. “I have options, and age-appropriate women aren’t one of them.” Three, he’s demonstrated that reckless, careless asshole attitude that drives women crazy with desire. “Yeah, I faked the funk. What of it?” Four, he’s implicitly qualified and complimented her. “I’m with you, which means you made the cut.”

This technique can be used for real world interactions as well. The effectiveness will depend to an extent on how invested in you she has become. If you later reveal your real age with an insouciant disregard for her potential outrage, her ability and willingness to forgive and forget will be directly proportional to the love, or lust, she feels for you. You can do this with a lot of conventionally perceived mate value negatives that may deep-six a courtship before it has had a chance to get off the ground. Strategically omit any facts about yourself that you suspect deviate from her “Mr. Right checklist” until a later time when her 463 bullet point checklist has surrendered to her one bullet point vagina tingle.

One other thing… as one of the forum members wrote, a redirecting, strategically deployed compliment can go a long way to defusing female indignation over your naughtiness.

When/if she finds out, just smirk, “did you really think I was 25?”.

Then be impressed at her ability to find out your real age. Chics love thinking they were clever and can’t be fooled.

This is Sun Tzu seduction: Using a woman’s fondness for flattery against her. Just be sure it doesn’t come across like a last-ditch hail mary. Delivery matters. Pleasantly amused surprise is what you should shoot for.

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Stanley Kubrick On Game

Hat tip: Sunny Bunny.

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The Young Alpha Male

A reader watched a future heartbreaker lavish alpha male love on a hot woman.

Witnessed this pre-Alpha moment at a family restaurant waiting area last week:

HB8 sits down next to a ~5 year old boy

Boy: Hi

Girl: Hi!

Boy: You smell like my grandma!

Girl: What! That’s not very nice.

Boy: I love my grandma

Girl: Oh ok! Well that is adorable. What is your name?

Boy: You’re…goofy! *walks away*

Perhaps a loyal young reader?

When I see the tightest of game in action, it’s like listening to the crescendo in Beethoven’s Ninth through noise canceling headphones in a living room dimmed by twilight. Time slows, the hairs on the back of my neck stand straight, and all the beauty and love and possibility of the world pour into my heart in that moment. This boy, practicing an ancient art which comes naturally to his sex but which he will probably relinquish as he grows into a young man assaulted by schoolmarmish do-gooders, weak beta males, and feminist propaganda, has crafted a work of seduction art so pure, so innocent, and so transcendent that Ovid himself would honor the young ladyslayer in poem.

There’s the bold approach…

Hi

the teasing neg…

You smell like my grandma!

the refusal to backpedal and the accusatory reframe…

I love my grandma

the swatting away of the beta bait, the teasing escalation, and the magisterial takeaway…

You’re…goofy! *walks away*

My Son, I am your Father.

Naturally, spergs and dweebs and misfits will cry up to the heavens from their dank fap prisons that the caprice and recklessness of the boy child holds no lesson for the adult man. To act like this boy, they would claim, invites disrepute and women’s scorn. They know so because they were told so by the skepchicks and gothghosts passing through their lives.

Experienced men know better. This conversation would fit right in place between a scrotally vital charming tomcat and his curious field mouse. About the only thing that would be different is the sexual percolation powering the words into a froth of raunchy promise, and the “incidental” erogenous touch that would accompany the grown alpha male’s playground ponytail tugs.

“You smell like my grandma” is hereby declared “Neg of the Year”. Thank this precocious boy for showing you how to act more like a sexy man.

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