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Archive for the ‘Alpha’ Category

Beta George Zimmerman’s wife when he was a nobody neighborhood watchman trying to do some good for his community:

Alpha George Zimmerman’s girlfriend after he killed a thuglet, endured a mass media circus, became infamous, earned an army of wannabe vigilantes, got that cold thousand yard stare from his ordeal, armed himself to the teeth, and took off on a cross-country journey while picking up a couple of speeding violations and domestic abuse charges:

Lesson #1: A significant rise in male social status and perception of badness will allow a man to trade up a full 4 to 5 SMV (sexual market value) points in girlfriend quality. Zimmerman took advantage of his increased mate market options and dumped his UG2 fat wife for a 6.5 girlfriend with admirable titties.

Lesson #2: Women with higher SMV want infamous badboys. Women with lower SMV must settle for invisible neighborhood rent-a-cops.

Lesson #3: Fat chicks who claim that their beta schlub boyfriends are proof that there are plenty of men who love fat women don’t comprehend the nature of the sexual market. Options = instability. When tragically sad beta or omega males experience a sudden rise in status or desirability, it’s Bye Bye Fatty! The very few exceptions to this rule (Hugh Jackman, possibly gay) are cleaved to fat women’s pendulous breasts like cherished infants, swaddled talismans against the suffocating encroachment of ugly, hopeless, relentless reality.

Lesson #4:

George Zimmerman’s girlfriend — who authorities said accused him of pointing a shotgun at her — no longer wants him to be prosecuted, and wants to resume their relationship, according a new motion.

A sworn statement made by the girlfriend, Samantha Scheibe, was attached to a motion by Zimmerman’s lawyer seeking to modify the conditions of Zimmerman’s bond in his domestic violence case.

In the statement, Scheibe says she felt “intimidated” when police questioned her about the Nov. 18 incident that led to Zimmerman’s arrest. She adds that she “may have misspoken.”

“I want to be with George,” Scheibe says in the statement, adding later: “I do not want George Zimmerman charged. I make this decision freely, knowingly and voluntarily,” and without coercion, she says.

If a woman thinks you’re an alpha male, however flawed, she will move heaven and earth — and even deny her own words — to be with you. What’s a little shotgun-waving tiff between two lovers?

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Remember Ice Cream Guy who jerked his ice cream cone away from his girlfriend when she reached over with a spoon to take a scoop? The good and the great were offended by this raw moment of microalphatude, but CH guests of honor knew better. This guy had his girlfriend wrapped around his finger. So wrong, he could do no wrong.

Well, Ice Cream Guy is back in the news. The couple was on TV recently as “Fans of the Week”, and the pre-game hosts were giving Jake — he of ice cream guardianship fame — a hard time. He was ribbed “when’s the wedding?”, and in true alpha style he responded, “Ohhh, shit.”

Another quickie microalphatude dropped like a daisy cutter on his Daisy, and naturally she reacted by… waaaiiit for it…

… can you guess?

…yeah that’s right, by gazing at him adoringly.

His “oh shit” reaction was spontaneous, but neophytes to game should know that alpha spontaneity comes with practicing the behaviors that distinguish alpha males. What was once canned will, over time, start to spill from your presence unbidden. Fake it till you create it.

There are other alpha male tells in this video, which the learned reader should be able to easily identify, so I won’t belabor them here. (Ok, here’s one: notice their body language. She is turned slightly toward him, leaning into his body, while his torso is pointed straight ahead, neither rejecting nor obsequiously receiving her feral affections. He is a rock, upon which she may lay her loving submission.)

The amoral tale of the tape is that you can get… and keep… a cute girl by acting like God’s gift to women, by doing the opposite of what conventional society advises, and by remaining unapologetic for your JERKBOY CHARISMA. You can even do all this while insouciantly announcing that you’re “too broke” to take your girlfriend to a basketball game. She won’t mind, because she’s in love.

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Are you a psychopath? A schemer? A narcissist? How about a fully flowered sadist who loved to tear the wings off insects as a kid? Congratulations! You’ll do better with women than emotionally stable, sincere, modest and kind men.

Along comes another study (just in time for Christmas!) to pry into the darkest nooks of the human sexual psyche to see what it is that allows some men to succeed with women beyond the wildest dreams of romantical herbische kopfs.

The Associations Among Dark Personalities and Sexual Tactics Across Different Scenarios.

Although malevolent individuals may be willing to use any tactic necessary to obtain sex, not all antagonistic traits will predict coercion or coaxing in all situations. A sample of 447 adult men, collected in two waves, reported their intentions to engage in coercion or coaxing of hypothetical targets. Study 1 provided three hypothetical scenarios that result in sexual rejection: (a) an expensive date, (b) a stranger, and (c) a relationship partner, and Study 2 provided the same scenarios, and three additional scenarios: (d) a rival’s partner, (e) a bet, and (f) a powerful person. A Structural Equations Model indicated that a common antagonistic factor, indicated by Social Dominance and the Dark Triad traits of psychopathy, narcissism, and Machiavellianism, predicted coaxing across all situations, whereas only psychopathy predicted coercion across all situations. In addition, narcissism accounted for additional variance in coaxing when rejected by an expensive date. These findings suggest that across the different scenarios, psychopathy is primarily associated with coercive tactics and the common malevolent core among the traits is associated with coaxing tactics.

Evidence piles up that women are sexually and romantically attracted to Dark Triad jerks, and that men with the Dark Triad personality traits are more aggressive (and less ethical) in their pursuit of sex with women. The two libidinous energies combine to make life a pussy paradise for assholes and a sexually arid Abaddon for niceguy beta males waiting on the sidelines for their shot at a post-prime cougarfriend with the pre-Wall jitters.

If you’re wondering what all this has to do with game and picking up women, well, when in doubt… be a jerk. Niceguys might feel better about their romantic comportment, but all that self-righteousness and a buck buys them is ten minutes of broadband-streamed fapping.

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Paul Walker recently offed himself in a high speed sports car race. By most accounts, he qualified as a super alpha male: famous (most important factor), good-looking, well-liked, thrill-seeking. He started dating, i.e. fucking, a 16 year old girl when he was 33. They were still a couple seven years later at the time of his death. She is said to be emotionally devastated.

No matter how you bristle at the concept of men being divisible by their sexual market value into gradations of omega, beta and alpha, you’d have to spin some sophistic legerdemain to believe Walker didn’t have way more options with women than the average man with honor and integrity up the wazoo. He may not have availed himself of all the pussy throwing itself at his feet, but he could have if he so wanted. And that’s the critical distinction.

A funny anomaly in the laws of the sexual market occurs when a man reaches the rarified heights of super alphadom. Rules governing human interaction break down and recombine into strange new polarities, nearly the inverse of the laws that regulate most biocommerce between the sexes. The dating market constraints that almost all men must abide don’t act with the same force on super alphas. These few high stakes male winners are so massively pre-selected by literally millions of women fawning over the texture and aroma of their daily dumps that the value these anointed men bring is no longer a function of their ability to attract women. The value of the super alpha male, paradoxically, resembles more the value that very physically attractive and feminine women hold: that is, it’s the value of the scarce resource trying to maintain its scarcity. It’s the value of perceived purity.

A regular reader with a lot of ideas in his head writes,

It doesn’t seem like sex was a big deal to Paul Walker. He was raised Mormon. He had a daughter.

I just don’t get the sense he planned his vacations or nights on the town based on the women he planned on meeting.

As we’re hearing girls confess, Paul Walker could have done anything he wanted to them. Who knows if he did. [ed: if i had to bet...] They’re now saying he should have been praised like Brad Pitt and we know what women thought of Brad in his prime.

Assuming he’s straight, the fewer number of girls Walker banged, the more power he had over them. Some female fans probably waited til his death to speak out because it’s too risky to give a man that looks like him that much power and ego. In that sense, by keeping his sperm to himself he has more in common with a chaste woman than 99.9% of men.

What this reader is hinting at is unattainability. A super alpha is perceived so unattainable by most women (keep in mind that super alpha males are much rarer than very beautiful women) that without some compensating behavior or signal designed to reduce the perception of his unattainability, most women will studiously ignore him to preserve their delicate egos.

An ordinary man who surrounded himself with women festooning him with adulation would incite intrigue and sexualized curiosity in other women on the outside looking in at his social harem. His flirtatious profligacy would elevate his SMV. But a famous super alpha who did the same would merely confirm what most women already suspected about him. He would be playing to type, and in an odd twist of hamsterfied feedback his predictable alpha behavior would rob him of some power over women. Perhaps at the highest levels of womanhood — the HB 9s and 10s — any desire to have a long term relationship with such a man is dampened. His sexually entitled behavior might even create limits on the willingness of more average women to indulge in alphamania.

Like the crooning boy band singer who wails in the fashion of a beta male suffering heartbreak, the famous super alpha who, purposefully or otherwise, plays against type to construct an impression that he’s more attainable (in the way that women prefer, i.e., more open to monogamous commitment) than he really is imparts to himself a degree of power over women that only mighty kings free of legal consequence enjoy. In this sense, the super alpha male is similar to the exquisitely aloof beauty: his perceived chasteness is proof of his high commitment value.

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Charles Manson, 79 years old and still proudly sporting a swastika on his forehead, has a 25 year old girlfriend.

Charles Manson, perhaps the most infamous convicted killer of all time, is 79 years old and still locked up in California’s Corcoran State Prison, where he walks with a cane and sports chipped prison dentures. Star is a 25-year-old brunette who’s been loyally visiting Manson in jail since she was 19 years old and maintains several websites devoted to defending Manson and his pro-Earth environmental causes.

For those two of you who don’t know, Manson is one of America’s most infamous killers and cult leaders. When you combine fame with that sexy psycho vibe, pussy juice erupts all over the fruited plains.

And Star [ed: girls with one name are same night lay guarantees] says she can prove Manson is more devoted to her than any other girl: “I’ll tell you straight up, Charlie and I are going to get married,” she tells us. “When that will be, we don’t know. But I take it very seriously. Charlie is my husband. Charlie told me to tell you this. We haven’t told anybody about that.”

Star says there won’t be any conjugal visits because “California lifers no longer get them.” If they were an option, “we’d be married by now.”

Manson, however, seems less convinced the impending nuptials are a reality, “Oh that,” he says. “That’s a bunch of garbage. You know that, man. That’s trash. We’re just playing that for public consumption.”

Young hottie falls deeply in love with imprisoned killer 54 years her senior (and looking kind of badass for a geezer if you ask me). Young hottie wants to marry her old killer. Killer brushes aside her nuptial dreams as a PR ploy.

Alpha Achievement Unlocked: Supreme Aloof Overlord.

I want to say that a million loveless betas wept, but I’m sure by now they’re moved on from weeping to seppuku.

PS: For those perennial dumbasses who babble indignantly about how only ugly skanks fall for psychopathic murderers:

I got a hold on you, baby!

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Senior Management: the harem kings.
Management: the first wives.
Accounts Support: the inner circle concubines.
Sales Support: the trafficked East European sex slave.
Support Team: the royal penis washers.
Account Managers: the threesome coordinators.
Business Managers: the young dick sucking upstarts.

There you have it, the modern corporate harem, in all its flowcharted glory. Seven women per one high status man. A more illuminatingly succinct snapshot of the Western sexual market aligned with the globalizing economic market you won’t see. The only surprising thing about it is the lack of any land whales or witches among the female staff. This is Britain; you’d have to spend years scouring the countryside to find and place that many bangable women under one corporate umbrella. So you know a lot of hard work went into developing a staff that looks like a country with all its men and war pigs removed.

The other thing that’s missing from the chart: Beta males, the invisible demographic.

The four kings at the top of the Spermular Solutions organization may or may not be boffing their happily indentured servants (but if you had to bet…), however the exact dimension of their relationships with their underpantslings is irrelevant in the bigger scheme. These women are, no doubt, enthralled by the power of their male masters. They don’t need to be taking their masters’ cocks to experience the same feeling of submissive joy that a real concubine would feel. All those women are de facto harem girls, at the beck and call of their four alpha kings, gossiping and tittering amongst themselves like court mistresses to determine who is the favored girl of the moment.

This social and quasi-sexual dynamic, playing out across corporate hierarchies all over the West, pollutes the minds of women and renders them less able to appreciate the dull ministrations of the less-than-senior-management beta males that buzz about them outside the office. In the company of beta males, a de facto corporate harem girl is emotionally aloof, cocksure, unfeminine, petulant and entitled. She has felt the presence of a real modern king, a maestro of the symbol manipulation secret society, and now peasant men simply won’t do. So she lashes out at the piss bucket boys with undirected, malevolent spite, for their naive importunings fill her with disgust. Who are these nobody betas, to consult her? She has warmed the cock…les of a king’s heart! No commoner’s girl is she!

What the corporate West is becoming is a soft concubinage of a few alpha males and many attractive female HR drones whose job it is to protect the privilege of the transnational globalists by acting as a gatekeeper against infiltration by wrong-thinking elements and potentially powerful competitors. That’s the real story behind the graphic above: the total disenfranchisement of the West’s beta males. If the poor bastards can’t be disappeared the old-fashioned way, drive them out with “anti-discrimination” sophistry.

Naturally, foul feminist cunts and their bubble-headed beta male toadies immediately saw a “glass ceiling” at work in this corporate chart. For them, a workplace that is 90% female is discrimination against women if the top four positions are held by men. All the lesser men who are missing from the bottom 90% ranks are completely forgettable, nebulous specters resembling some human shape and form. Beta males? Who? What? Is that a new social media app?

I have a helpful reminder for the feminists and kingpin ruling elites waving victory signs and placards demanding further concessions from the sexless masses of men who have little left to sacrifice: When you lock out 90% of men from productive society, really bad things tend to happen in the wake of your short-sighted selfishness.

Update

It gets better. As if more confirmation was needed that what we are witnessing is the legitimization of soft concubinage, the fine alpha males at Spermular Solutions held a bikini contest featuring their charges. The winner was the guy holding his mic.

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A reader suffered a grievous insult to his dignity when a man caressed his face and recommended masturbation as an alternative to competing in the sexual market.

So here’s my situation … There’s this girl that I like.

The prologue of every beta male lament ever.

I’ve liked her for over 3 years, and made out with her when her and her ex (now current boyfriend) broke up. This guy left her and started seeing her sister for 5 months, yeah he’s that big of a douche bag, and he’s not even that good looking!! See attached pic. (That’s his profile pic on Facebook..)

Verified.

I’ve tried to AMOG this guy using the information on your site, I’ve tried in school and I’ve tried at clubs. He’s literally patted my cheek and told me to “go jerk off” right in front of her!

Physical contact with the face is a thermobaric dominance move. He may as well have been taking you from behind to the roars of the approving crowd. This dude is a Nimitz class AMOG.

And she doesn’t say anything!

Of course she doesn’t. Her tongue is trapped in a cognitive dissonance dimension where her estrogenic tingles for the douchebag and her oxytocinic pity for your debasement drive her to catatonia.

She just says sorry then asks him to be nicer to her friends, which he shrugs off!

He shrugs it off because he knows her words mean nothing when her vagina is saying something else.

This guys an asshole and doesn’t deserve her at all!

The epilogue of every beta male lament ever.

I’ve tried talking with her secretly and telling her he’s an ass and that she deserves some one better, even if it isn’t me!

Are you pulling our legs?

He didn’t get her a birthday or a Christmas present, and on their anniversary he tried to convince her to have a threesome with her sister!

Didn’t even bother with the bag of Skittles. Alpha.

She stormed off, to my house ;) unfortunately couldn’t get any, she was too rattelted up, and he went off to her house, where her sister was! This guys not an alpha, he’s an ass hole!

For all practical purposes, one and the same.

I hired a professional “PUA” in [Canadian city] to help me out we went to the club they were at and [XXXX] (the mPUA) approached her at the bar and within a minute one of [XXXX]‘s (the douche bag) friends was all over [the mPUA] telling him to “fuck off – she’s taken”. [The mPUA] tried to AMOG his friend by tapping his shoulder and trying to continue conversation and he got punched in the face! I’ve never seen this animalistic behavior before between grown men! How do I AMOG this guy!?

Now that I’ve read through the entire email, I’m 99% certain it’s a variety of troll known as the exaggeratum ad absurdum troll, the intent of the troll being to discredit game blogs by trapping them in long-winded debates about the merits of this or that tactic for dealing with a fabricated crisis.

It’s a good bet none of this stuff ever happened. So why publish it? Because it’s funny. More importantly, because far out on the asshole curve there really do exist men like the guy in this reader’s fantasy story, who will tool you horribly in front of a girl, say by patting your face and telling you to fuck off. You won’t meet these kinds of guys often (if ever), but it doesn’t hurt to be prepared should you have the misfortune of crossing paths with one of them. It therefore behooves the reading audience to use such troll attempts as a springboard into wider discussion about how to handle AMOG antagonists who love to humiliate lesser men in public.

Let’s get the crux of the matter out of the way. If a man malevolently touches your face, that’s grounds to sock him. No question about it. A demeaning face pat is the G-rated equivalent of a cock slap against your cheek. You reply with a hammer blow to his gut or nose. This goes whether a girl is present or not.

If, by some chance, the fighting force is too weak in you to muster it at the moment it’s most justified, then you can try the “agree & amplify” technique for disarming brazen AMOGs. A dude pats your cheek, you look at the girls, then back at him, and say, “Was that like a signal for gay sex? Because I have to tell you, I don’t roll that way.” Or, “You can’t stop thinking about my cock, can you? Don’t worry, I won’t judge. My cock is unforgettable.”

If you really want to fuck with the AMOG, ask him within earshot of everyone what it’s like to date sisters, at the same time. Then direct some of your artillery at the girls themselves, to implicate them in the AMOG’s assholery. Tell the girls you’re really impressed with their willingness to share a man, that it’s very 21st century and open-minded. If you think this is a step too far, recall that the AMOG (allegedly) punched a PUA in the face. (Some readers may get a thrill up their legs about that little detail, but let’s try to empathize with the beta here. He’s the one who wrote for assistance.)

In the meantime, reader/troll, go find a new social group and next the girl. She’s obviously cunt over heels for this lunkhead, so let her be with her Chris Brown. It’s a good life strategy to avoid getting entangled with girls who helplessly swoon for ragebots, if for no other reason than the increased likelihood one of her exes will come back to take what he thinks is his, and his problems become your problems.

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More evidence emerges that the game principle of “fake it till you make it” has real world validity.

How your posture might make you more likely to cheat, steal, and commit traffic violations.

Here, the researchers tested whether a person’s posture — specifically, how “expansive”, or spread out, it is — affects their willingness to perform dishonest acts. Turns out that tricking people into adopting an expansive body position make them more willing to steal money, cheat on a test, and even commit traffic violations in a driving simulation.  Not only that, but cars with wider seats were more likely to be found illegally parked on the streets of New York City. The authors hypothesize that the effects they see are due to the expansive body position making people feel more powerful — and, as we know, powerful people tend to be both dishonest and hypocritical.

And sexy to the ladies. mrowr.

Yes, adopting “alpha male” power poses will actually make you FEEL more alpha and ALTER your behavior, even your hormonal profile, so that it is aligned more closely with the behavior of rubber-stamped alpha males.

In short, faking the alpha male demeanor turns you into a living, breathing alpha male. It’s more precise to say that you should “fake it till you create it”. Incorporating game concepts into your life will create an alpha male version of yourself. If you’re already alpha, it’ll make you alpha-ier.

The first three experiments showed that individuals who assumed expansive postures (either consciously or inadvertently) were more likely to steal money, cheat on a test, and commit traffic violations in a driving simulation. Results suggested that participants’ self-reported sense of power mediated the link between postural expansiveness and dishonesty. Study 4 revealed that automobiles with more expansive driver’s seats were more likely to be illegally parked on New York City streets. Taken together, the results suggest that, first, environments that expand the body can inadvertently lead people to feel more powerful, and second, these feelings of power can cause dishonest behavior.”

If you sit (or stand) like a powerful man, i.e., an alpha male, you’ll feel more powerful. This feeling of power produces real consequences for other people, whom you will be more likely to screw over for your personal benefit. It also produces another benefit: girls will want to sleep with you.

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A reader emailed a run-of-the-mill question about the effectiveness of his text game, seeking advice from Chateau paragons of carnality. He’ll get his question answered, but there’s a bigger theme to this post.

I’m trying to extract the most fun out of this conversation with a girl. Comments? I’m building my skills. Met her on college campus and she gave me her number on the spot. Do post it if you wish, but keep my name off the post please.

Friday: Me: Hi. I see you around sometimes. Saturday at noon buy me lunch at _____; we’ll forget the world and relax in a limited time.  20-30 minutes; more if the world will wait.

The bloated prose of overgaming. Why did you text “I see you around sometimes” after she had given you her number? It sounds disjointed. Good rule to follow: there’s never a scenario when “I see you around sometimes” doesn’t sound stalker-ish. The rest of your text is comical in its romantic abandon. I know you’re trying to be ironic and funny, but does she know that? Your intense come-on, however disingenuous, reveals the limitations of text conversations.

Her: Hey sorry if this sounds rude but I’ don’t really feel comfortable texting with you and definitely not comfortable meeting up with you. I don’t know you. And also I don’t know what your intentions are and I have a boyfriend. And we don’t feel comfortable. Sorry.

The lead may have been warm, but after your initial text it went ice cold.

Sunday. me: I laughed.

Did you laugh to yourself, or did you text her a status update on your chortling?

(another text) me: Silly your defense mechanisms activated. congrats your gfs are proud. I’m not interested in dating you or telling the world I’m talking with you. Assumed I wanted more? good girl you freaked out so hard. now I want shaved ice at ______(different place).

So hideously try-hard. Of course she assumed you wanted more. You’re reaching out to her, right? Implausible deniability is the branding of the butthurt beta who chewed off a bigger mouthful of chick sass than he could handle. If it’s obvious to everyone here reading this then it was obvious to her that you were stung by her rejection and backtracked clumsily into a transparently empty denial of intent.

I forgot to mention the girl is light-skinned Asian, about 5’5″ or 5’4″… a six or seven among the asian pop. (pretty big at my school), a four among the other white girls. I’m white. 5’6″.

Mostly irrelevant. Asians girls need more emotional investment than do white girls, but this minor racial difference wouldn’t have mattered in your case. You nuked yourself from orbit.

You came for comments on your game and suggestions for improvement, and you’ll get that, but there’s a bigger problem you need to solve: your mental state.

Better reply:

Her: Hey sorry if this sounds rude but I’ don’t really feel comfortable texting with you and definitely not comfortable meeting up with you. Sorry sorry sorry blah blah sorry sorry no tingles sorry sorry sorry you’re creepy sorry sorry sorry sorry.

You: so marriage and kids are out, then?

If you want to leave the impression that you don’t take a girl’s dodges seriously, you should approach with an attitude of amused detachment. Like she’s nothing in the scheme of your life. Which she is. If you think a girl you just met is more than nothing, your behavior will reflect your inner beta psychology. And lame, needy and tactless is no way to go through life, son.

No matter how many text suggestions you read at this blog, you will continue making the same mistakes, because your ATTITUDE is WEAK. You feel aggrieved, you feel urgency, and you feel scarcity constraining your dating market options. As long as you feel those things, you’ll never quite grasp the art of flirtatious badinage. You might parrot a killer line here or there, but that line will be book-ended by pages of betaness.

So instead of giving you a clam to eat, we’ll teach you how to fish clams for yourself. There’s really only one thing you need to know: have the right attitude, and the details of seduction, with just a little prompting, will fall into place. What’s that attitude? It’s best summed up in a thought experiment:

A girl communicates with you. It’s on! You get nervous. Don’t want to blow it. Don’t be beta don’t be beta don’t be beta. You strain to retrieve some smart response that establishes your alpha boner fides.

Instead of struggling for that perfect quip, access your deeper psyche and mold your emotional state. What would you say to her if you received her message while swaddled in the smooth flesh of three gorgeous nymphets going down on your knob?

There’s your answer.

Now let’s revisit your hopeless interaction, but this time in the form of a super alpha male luxuriating in the caresses of three darling dainties.

You: what’s up. drinks fri?

Her: Hey sorry if this sounds rude but I’ don’t really feel comfortable texting with you and definitely not comfortable meeting up with you. I don’t know you. And also I don’t know what your intentions are and I have a boyfriend. And we don’t feel comfortable. Sorry.

You: sweet.

That’s the aloof attitude to have if you want success dating the modern single woman. She doesn’t love lovesick Romeo. She loves lovestuffed Romeo whose sexy attitude is a product of getting wrung dry by a cortege of concubines.

Maxim #14: Whenever you’re at a loss for what to say to a girl you like, imagine you’re a man in bed with three beautiful women. Then say what that man would say.

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We learn what to emulate from the successes of alpha male womanizers as much as we learn what to avoid from the failures of beta male saps. Toady’s inspirational AOTM is Porfirio Rubirosa, a legendary slayer of snatch born in the Dominican Republic to an upper middle class (and from the looks of him, white European) family.

He bedded thousands of women, including such legendary beauties as Ava Gardner, Jayne Mansfield, Eva Peron and Zsa Zsa Gabor.

Not only that, he married the two richest women in the world, first Doris Duke, then Barbara Hutton, and bedded another millionairess, Tina Onassis, as well as queens and countesses.

In the Forties and Fifties no high-society party or jet-set gathering was complete without him. But as the many women who wanted to possess him discovered to their cost, it was this Latin lover who always possessed them.

Preselected by women? Check.
Well-crafted identity? Check.
Chasee, rather than chaser? Check.
Used money to seduce women? Unchecked.

Porfirio Rubirosa — Rubi to his friends — was good-looking, although at 5ft 8in far from tall…

Male charm >>> male height. Judge for yourself if you think he’s good-looking:

Personally, I don’t see it. But then I’m no ‘mo, so most men look ugly to me. I suppose if you’re the bruised ego type who wants to believe only good-looking men get the ladies, you won’t be convinced that Rubirosa’s rise to poonhound fame was largely by virtue of his con and his charm. But keep in mind that the high society women he ran with had their pick of the world’s best-looking men, many of them far better looking than Porfirio, and yet they chose to surrender their bodies (and their fortunes) to this gnomic Latino. Obviously, he had something else going on for him than a devilish smile.

He never did a proper day’s work in his life — yet his success with women enabled him to mix with royalty and film stars, and own private jets, racing cars and polo ponies. He was charming, attentive and thoughtful, but prone to violent jealousy, graceless and utterly amoral.

Chicks dig charming, impulsively violent, sociopathic layabouts.

So what exactly was it that made Rubi the most desirable man on the planet, the man over whom the world’s richest heiresses competed?

The honored guests of Chateau Heartiste know. Let’s see if the Daily Mail knows.

Famously, his attraction lay not only in his mesmerising charm but his bedroom prowess — and his remarkable physical endowment. Along the Riviera and in the nightclubs of Paris and Manhattan, Rubi was known as ‘Toujours Pret’ — always ready — and the large peppermills in Parisian restaurants came to be known as ‘Rubirosas’ in homage his impressive appendage.

Yet, as a new biography makes clear, his rise to fame and riches was due as much to his ruthlessness as his virility. What distinguished him from other handsome young seducers was his astuteness, his ability to spot a vulnerable rich woman, to know the moment to strike and to make her feel desired and wanted.

Classic sneaky fucker (aka renegade alpha) game. He was not the accomplished, admired husband of a lonely trophy wife; he was the secret lover who traveled in shadow and brought promises of passion. His reputation as a great womanizer didn’t hurt him, either. Women can’t resist tempting the ardor of a known Lothario. It’s as if women love the feeling of getting burned, like a retarded child putting his hand near the flame again and again. Hurts so good.

Rubi had been unfaithful from the start of their marriage, but in Paris his womanising became relentless. If Flor [his first wife] remonstrated when he came home covered in lipstick, he would lash out with his fists.

Poon Commandment VIII: Never say you’re sorry.

Eventually she fled back home and they divorced. She later denigrated his sexual technique, complaining that he went on so long she grew bored. Nonetheless, for years after their divorce she continued to sleep with him whenever they met up.

:lol: Chris Brown high-fived Porfirio.

Now jobless and penniless — Trujillo had sacked him from his job as ‘Inspector of Embassies’ — Rubi was in desperate need of money. When a jeweller he knew asked him to retrieve some jewels from Madrid, then in the midst of civil war, Rudi agreed.

But he returned with — he said — only some of the jewels, claiming that the rest, worth some $180,000, had been lost when his car was shot at in an ambush; an unlikely explanation, as the car bore no bullet holes. He had, of course, stolen them.

The temperament that compels cads to thieve jewels is the same temperament that so enraptures women. This is why chicks dig jerks *because* they’re jerks, not *despite* their jerkiness.

Rubi further enriched himself by selling Dominican visas at inflated prices to Jews wishing to flee Nazi persecution as war loomed in Europe.

Chicks also dig a man who enriches himself, no matter how unethically. (I doubt Rubi was the kind of reflective man to make pained efforts to justify his actions as a karmic con of a con.)

With his newfound wealth, he had a nose job (he had always hated his broad nose). The best barber in Paris cut his hair, and the best tailor made his suits. His bespoke underpants were shipped over from London’s Jermyn Street and his shoes were handmade.

Bespoke underpants. The master seducer leaves no detail unattended.

He was even restored to his diplomatic post after Trujillo came to Paris and Rubi introduced him to the seamier side of Parisian nightlife, acting as Trujillo’s pimp, to the dictator’s delight.

Beta males are hounded for minor trangressions. Alpha males are quickly forgiven the worst sins.

‘Be careful, this man is dangerous,’ warned the hostess, but within weeks Danielle had left her husband for him.

The most melodious words a man can hear from a beautiful women are not “I love you”. They are “Be careful this man is dangerous.”

Doris [Duke] was the richest woman in the world, heiress to the American Tobacco fortune and worth a staggering $100 million. She had become a journalist following the collapse of her first marriage — her husband had been unable to accommodate her sexually. Rubi had no such difficulties. ‘His purpose was to satisfy women,’ Doris later recalled, and he achieved it with distinction.

Haters who whine that game is tantamount to doing a woman’s bidding should acquaint themselves with Porfirio, the man whose “purpose was to satisfy women.” Whose life would you rather have? A celibate’s who has gone his own way? Or a playboy’s who relishes the pleasure of women’s company?

Rubi’s flagrant infidelity upset Doris, while he chafed at her imperious ways: once, in Cannes, she sent him down to a hotel lobby to fetch some cigarettes. Her ran into an old girlfriend and did not return for three days.

Doris sought to secure his love with extravagant gifts: a townhouse in Paris, a stable full of polo ponies, several sports cars and even a converted B25 bomber.

Beta males buy women’s love and intimacy and call it a victory. Alpha males run into old girlfriends, disappear for days on high sexual adventure, and return to have magnificent gifts lavished them by the women they jilted.

What specific game tactics did Rubi use?

His seduction technique could be crude: seated next to a beautiful woman at dinner, he would take her hand and place it on his lap to show her just how exciting he found her.

Massive kino escalation.

At other times he was more romantic. When he met the film star Zsa Zsa Gabor in a New York hotel, she was married to her third husband George Sanders, a handsome but violently jealous actor. Undeterred, Rubi had her suite filled with red roses. Zsa Zsa invited him into bed and was hooked.

Unpredictability is king. So is knowing your mark’s weaknesses.

Rubi frequently hit her, once blacking her eye just before she was due on stage, but still she found him irresistible, describing him as a ‘sickness’.

Women are aware, on some primal level, that their attraction for the baddest badboys is a sickness to which they can’t help but succumb. Women, in their uncontrollable servitude, loathe the machinations of their own tingles.

Rubi saw a solution to his money problems and set about wooing her, serenading her with a band outside her bedroom window. The fact he had previously been married to her friend and rival Doris Duke made Barbara determined to have him, too. Months later, in December 1953, he had become her fifth husband and she his fourth wife.

Women are natural rivals, at each others’ throats not with daggers, but with innuendo and whisperings. Master seducers exploit this reality about the fairer sex.

Like Doris Duke, Barbara showered him with gifts including an estate in the Dominican Republic and another B25 plane, but he continued to humiliate her with his infidelity and cruelty.

Chicks dig a man who is a challenge. Women don’t want to gaily traipse over your dreary flatlands; they want to strain climbing your rugged mountain peak.

One night, at a dinner party, she punched him and walked out. Rubi merely shrugged, then flew off to join Zsa Zsa Gabor.

Aloof indifference. It’s an acid bath to a woman’s defenses.

The marriage was over: it had lasted a mere three months, but once again left Rubi considerably richer.

What man wouldn’t love to have this guy’s life? Garish pussy buffet, bestowed riches after every bedroom conquest.

until in Paris in 1956, aged 47, he met a pretty 19-year-old actress named Odile Rodin.

‘I’ve heard much about you, Monsieur,’ she told him. ‘None of it good.’ But like all the others, her resistance soon crumbled and before long they were lovers, then were married.

“I’ve heard much about you… none of it good.” The second best thing a man can hear from a beautiful woman.

But if he had finally found a girl who could tame him, it was too late. In 1965, after drinking all night at the nightclub Jimmy’s in celebration of a polo win, Rubi drove home at 7am and crashed his Ferrari into a tree. The steering column crushed his chest and he died on the way to hospital.

He was 56. He had lived and died fast. After nearly four decades of partying, he had little to show for his life. He had never had children — despite his virility, he was sterile — and had spent all the money he acquired.

So sad. And yet, the memories Porfirio carries with him to his afterlife are the same memories that a typical, play-by-the-rules, dutiful beta male who married one woman and bore three kids brings to his afterlife: None. When the cosmic tally is taken of each man’s life, the only difference will be in how they lived while they were alive. And on that account, Porfirio lived a hell of a lot more than the niceguy office drone who rejoiced when his chubby wife relented and gave him a birthday BJ.

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