Archive for the ‘Beta’ Category

Cuck Up

Cuck up, idiom, slang, origin: Chateau Heartiste.
1. Variation on the “man up” theme; to demand of a cuckolded man that he support the bastard child of his cheating wife or girlfriend.
2. A taunt directed at a beta male to ostensibly shame him to provide for the child of another man’s seed, often delivered by ugly feminists and low SMV white knights who are projecting their fear of mass beta male abandonment of a sexual market skewed by law and custom to satisfy the preferences of women and women alone.

Courtesy of reader Waffles, a (probably fake but still illuminating) story on Reddit that serves as a wonderful microcosm of the murky churn at the bottom of the sexual market, where fat sluts dupe manboobed omegas into race cuckoldry.

Off topic but will be appreciated by the CH crowd. Over on Reddit a debate was going on after some guy posted this. His kid came out black. There apparently were actually people telling him that he should “man up” and take care of the kid as his own! Delusional.

The OP:

I did not walk out on anything. It is not my responsibility to raise a kid that did not come from me. I may sound like an ass, but I can’t believe the people who said to raise it as mine. Imagine your wife finally getting pregnant, only to see a different race pop out, and you realize it’s not yours. I am not raising that kid, however enjoy your free karma.

definitely not master of her domain

Some choice replies:

Some white babies do come out looking black though, sometimes you gotta let it air out for a little bit for the complexion to even up.


At least your wife had the decency to fuck a black man, so you could tell she cheated on you. So you’ve got that going for you, which is nice.

Womb half-full.

Did you drink grape soda the day before?


Before you lawyer up and sue for divorce, I would ask you to take a step back and a deep breath. Try to remember that it isn’t the little guy’s fault.

Cuck up… “for the children”.

I must ask, are you mad that the child is not yours; Or is it because the child is Black?

Because racism is the true moral outrage here.

He has your palms.

at least he has a chance to get laid before he turns 30

You laugh, but every other relationship depicted on televagina these days is essentially a warmly accommodated race cuckold fantasy. Sorry White knighters… white women eat that shit up.

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Word of advice: Barring extenuating circumstances, don’t go out with a group of guy friends and one cute woman. You will righteously tool yourself before you’ve taken two steps toward self-hell into the bar.

The ultimate in toolbaggery is the group of mirin’, pleased-as-punch über orbiters who show up to a venue with one hot girl in tow. Or rather, at center stage. Because that’s where she inevitably ascends — straight to a social throne that her gaggle of beta pissboys have adorned for her.

I recently witnessed such a spectacle. Five men — not strange looking by any stretch, just normal dudes in department-wear — and one flaxen-haired hottie tucked in the middle of her men-ses, like a small sun radiating through a Saturnian Tool Belt. Everywhere she drifted, they followed, establishing without a doubt to the unbiased third party eye who was gravitationally in charge. When she smiled, her triptych of tools smiled on cue. When she pointed at something, they looked en masse in the direction of her pointing finger. When she laughed, they laughed uproariously. When she sat down, they encircled her even more tightly, parting occasionally to unwittingly afford her a better view of better men.

And when she touched the arm of any one of them, the rest shuffled and frowned with noticeable agitation.

But the coup de brah by a long shot was when the five guys enlisted the help of a passing bartender to take a photo of the girl surrounded by her eunuch guards. The barkeep obliged, and the assembled onlookers retched. When he walked away after returning the phone-cum-camera, I was privy to his eye roll and bastard grin that he signaled to a colleague still behind the bar. The girls in my company also noticed the entire scene as it unfolded, and politely strained to hide their pity.

No one respects a beta orbiter, not even women. Everyone knows a beta orbiter when he sees him. But FIVE beta orbiters hoisting the royal palanquin of a darling princess? Have you no shame, sirs?!

Not one of those men was boffing that girl, I would bet your life savings on it. Every one of those men *wanted* to boff that girl, continuing in the theme of betting your life savings on it. She had no interest in boffing any of them, and to this bet I would add your mom’s life savings.

What is happening to men of the West? By most indicators they have forgotten how to be men, or if they know they’ve lost interest in the art. They kneel at the feet of women, kiss her painted toes, and kowtow to her every whim. They gleefully sacrifice their dignity to public judgment and ridicule. They thirst for the pussy like lost adventurers lapping sand from hallucinatory oases.

Mind you, my complaints extend as far as my big-picture interest in preserving the culture which facilitates my poolside time. As a practical, day-to-day calculation, the abject fealty of my competition increases the destructive power of my game.

If you’re a beta suffering a lengthy dry spell, don’t expect relief to come from the accompaniment of an asexual female friend. Certainly don’t expect it if she is accompanied by four more of your male buddies. If you must go out accompanied by a cute female friend, leave your buddies home. Insist that any additional hangers-on exclude too many of her male friends and include a few of her female friends. And, for the love of all that is hole-y, check the game literature for strategies and techniques detailing how to use a cute girl-friend as a pivot to other cute girls you have a realistic chance of sexing. Because that’s about the best use of a cute female buddy.

It’s almost tragic how unaware beta males are of the latent male SMV-boosting power which resides in an attractive female friend who can trigger the preselection algorithms of nearby girls. Unaware, and incapable of exploiting it. But isn’t that just another dulcet note in the battle hymn of the beta male? Strike suicidally at one’s own breast plate, and drip blood until a chubby spinster with sprog on the mind rescues you.

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James Franco is an A-list Hollywood actor who could have women fellating him within fifteen minutes with an inviting smile, so it would be surprising if his text game read like it came from a tone-deaf beta sperg. Or would it?

in case you didn’t know, i’m a really famous dude

don’t i look like a brooding james dean in my avatar?

i mean the # of inches you can take

autistic? or accustomed to easy lays?

he just has that “x” factor.

A normal non-famous man without compensating attractive personality traits would bomb badly running Franco get-to-the-point anti-game right out of the gate. But Franco is not a normal man; he’s famous, and Fame Game is the most powerful game known to exist in the universe. Franco has likely had no problem throughout his starfucked life getting laid when he wants, so he has been conditioned by his experiences with eager beavers that anything beyond minimal “name, rank, phone number” is unnecessary effort. His SMV is so high he could condense his courtship displays to pointing at his crotch. It would therefore be a mistake to draw lessons from Franco’s text game and apply them to the average aspiring womanizer.

But even the gravitational pull of Fame Game will yield to the electromagnetic push in the opposite direction of needy omega-ish anti-game. Women HATE HATE HATE desperate beta behavior maybe more than they LOVE LOVE LOVE famous men. It appears here that Franco’s charmless interrogation was sufficiently off-putting to ruin his chance with a springtime fresh Scottish lass. As a commenter put it, “Dewd gave her the social validation she craved, and is now in damage control mode.”

More than a few celebrities could use a dollop of game (as well as a primer in discretion). Some readers have shared stories of celebrities they overheard in the act of hitting on women, and they recall how surprised they were by the celebrity’s incongruous beta behavior. Being famous doesn’t necessarily mean being a smooth seducer. Presumably, these hapless actors either fell into their fame by accident, or they are so accustomed to women making all the effort to bang them that they regress to an M.O. of sheepish grins and stilted interview-style questions, perhaps resorting to handlers to do the actual dirty work of arranging face-to-face meetings with their hoped-for conquests.

Funny enough, the best part of Franco’s text game was near the end, when he wrote a curt “bye” to the girl. The threat of his disappearance suddenly loosened her tongue and switched her id gears from chasee to chaser. It was a helpful reminder of his incalculably numerous sexual market options.


To head off the mewling nancyboys and nurse ratcheds menstruating about age of consent and “creepy older men”, a strong dose of reality: It’s as creepy for older men to lust for nubile teen girls bursting with secondary sexual characteristics as it is for teen girls to lust for older male stars bursting with charisma. That is to say, not at all. The necessity of drawing arbitrary legalistic AOC boundaries to thwart genuine pedophiles to the contrary, it’s totally normal and sexually healthy for older men to be aroused by the sight, scent and aural sphere of sprightly teenflesh. Nothing abnormal about it. Of course, whole edifices of cultural baggage to shame and contain that natural male impulse have been erected (heh) by threatened older women and beta males on the receiving end of the fallout from unchecked alpha male romantic pursuit and the delight of their pursued.

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Mate guarding is a science-y term for possessiveness. Both sexes mate guard, but for reasons having to do with the inherent skew in reproductive value and goals between men and women, men are the sex who generally mate guard more often, and with more intensity. Men of the northlands, at any rate.

To be precise, beta men and lesser alphas are chronic mate guarders. Established alpha males don’t typically mate guard — at least not obviously — because they don’t fear their women cheating on them or falling under the spell of other men, and, less benignly, they redirect some of their relationship energy that would normally be spent on mate guarding toward hooking up with side lovers.

Beta males, whether consciously or not, sense more keenly the sexual interloper threat posed by other men and the wandering eyes of their own women. This heightened threat detection system is likely an evolved instinct that serves the useful purpose of keeping the lover of a beta male faithful, (or constrained in her ability to cheat).

Here’s where it gets interesting for philosophers and warriors of Game alike: While mate guarding may offer some temporary or discrete relationship security, multiple acts of mate guarding will paradoxically increase longer term relationship fragility. The mechanism by which this LTR instability is generated is a status feedback loop; if a man mate guards, his woman will subconsciously evaluate his romantic worth downward because (her sensitive idware will reason) only a beta male would feel the need to mate guard. An alpha male would not; his aloofness would be perceived as proof of his impenetrable high status.

Yes, when a beta male mate guards, his girlfriend will proclaim in the moment her ego-stroked thrill at his display of jealousy, but over time the accretion of those displays will erode her charitable judgment of his mate value. This is why women are viscerally disgusted by the thought of overly “possessive” boyfriends. It’s not the chauvinistic possessiveness per se that makes women wince (a shibboleth to which rationalizing feminists constantly allude); it’s the betatizing fallout that repulses women. No woman wants to think she’s hitched to a lower value man, just as no man wants to think he’s with a woman uglier than he can be expected to get.

It’s therefore in the master womanizer’s interest to avoid the trap of mate guarding. The temporary happy ego boost it might give your woman is not worth the long-term erosion in your mate status. If you doubt this, try to visualize scenarios of men in the act of mate guarding. Recall moments when you witnessed mate guarding by other men. Does “alpha male” spring to mind? Or do you feel something closer to pity for those men?

If you’re having trouble organizing your thoughts on the matter, a picture can help to wonderfully focus your mind:

Assuming for purposes of discussion that this isn’t a creep copping a cheap feel, who among you can restrain the impulse to mock this fingertip-affixed beta male boyfriend claiming ownership of his snoozing girlfriend’s thigh? This is what mate guarding frequently looks like: A quasi-pervy, insecure beta trying hard to let the world know that this is HIS girl, and you (or her) better not get any ideas. This is also why excessive PDA is beta.

When you think of alpha males, you picture a self-possessed (rather than possessive), somewhat standoffish dude with a girl gazing adoringly at him and squirming to wedge tighter into the nook of his chest. He might drape a noncommittal arm over her shoulders, but even that small gesture of mate guarding appears as if it had to be coerced from him. Your mission, should you choose to accept it, is to emulate this guy and not the guy in the photo above.

CH Maxim #57: Beta males mate guard, alpha males disregard.

Before the EXCEPTIONS ARE THE RULE crowd chimes in with their insipid blather, no one denies that there might be rare times when a forthright act of overt guardianship is necessary to remind an especially obstinate man or slutty woman of your boundaries. The rule to avoid mate guarding doesn’t mean avoid it at all costs. If the cost of avoidance is high enough, you’ll be better off breaking the rule. But if you find yourself breaking the NO MATE GUARDING rule a lot, you need to reassess exactly who in your relationship is the real break-up threat.

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Fed up with public perception of new media “journolism” as a bastion of blushing hermaphrodites opening up about their day to day experiences having sex with themselves, Matt Yglesias and Ezra Klein have teamed up to inject a healthy dose of raw masculinity into the discourse with their unique brand of confident swagger. Check out the introductory video at their swole SWPL venture, Vox.

The days of “vegetable and spinach” news are over. These men (and one manlike-woman) are ready to tackle the challenges of regurgitating liberal opinions in a fresher font. Vox’s headquarters in Washington, DC, like Ezra’s suit jacket, are oversized with room for muscular growth. Matt Yglesias dresses with a dash of panache, a talent he honed after years of feedback from admiring Logan Circle homosexuals. His proudly nasal vocal fry resonates with the spirit of ancient valley girl warrioresses, and practically demands your attention, like nails on a chalkboard.

This is alpha male territory you’ve entered. There’s a new kid on the vox, and he takes no guff, and will do as he pleases, including plaster stickers all over his Macbook in a show of countercultural defiance. The Vox Man is a gender nonconformist man of principle; if you don’t like the news he gives you, he’ll break all the rules and give you the news you want. Yeah Matt! Titty bump!

Ezra Klein… do the men get any realer? Here’s a big swinging dick crashing your stale news cycle. So big, he has to cross his legs for decorum. Eyes up here, right Ezra? Say goodbye to getting only 24% of the news; News Team Vox can actually just put the information there for you. Confused? Don’t think too much. Just take a sip from Vox’s juice box of testosterone. Rest easy that Ezra is signaling to the right sort of white people — people like YOU — with his standing workstation.

And when you’re all done getting the unfiltered opinions of rugged Ivy Leaguers with a worldly perspective that can only be gained from living in whitified urban neighborhoods where a new Pan-Asian restaurant opens every week, you can send a thank you to News Team Vox for their trailblazing balls-to-the-wall approach to taking on the old media dinosaur of aggregator hyperlinking:

You stay classy, internet!

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Continuing with our latest CH series exploring the historical records for choice bits of wisdom that would be the equivalent of PUA game and Heartistian theories of the sexual market today, reader Arbiter forwards this excerpt from a 1902 issue of Cosmopolitan Magazine (before it became a women’s rag. Rag. Heh.):

The author explains the “Sissy”:

He is polite and rather anxious to please. He wishes always to do the thing which happens to be the proper thing at any given time. He never would think of initiating anything novel or starting out in a new and unexpected course. He likes very much to be with ladies, and ladies like him – in a way. He is a most useful creature and absolutely harmless, intended by Providence to carry wraps and rugs, to order carriages, to provide theater-tickets, flowers, bon-bons, opera-boxes and four-in-hands, according to his means and the position which he holds. He will call regularly upon a girl and in fact upon all the girls he knows, and he will keep it up for years, and it will never mean anything to him or to them, for he is essentially a tame cat…He is really an indispensable person in our modern life; for it is desirable that young women should have some male creature about them to fetch and carry – one who will do it all for the mere pleasure of the service, and who will never agitate them and disquiet them or make them feel it necessary to be on their guard.

“In a way”. :lol: :lol:

In 1902, (a modern age to the men living back then), men knew what being a beta orbiter meant. Thus we have proof that the sexless friendzone and the female exploitation of servile, supplicating men for “beta bux” have existed for over 100 years, and probably a hell of a lot longer than that.

He then proceeds to describe the qualities that make men respect other men. The explanation is long, but in short he must be honorable, reasonable, courageous and gentle.

The last one does not mean being effeminate, but a refinement in character:

Intellectually it means intuition, sensitiveness to all impressions, and the imaginative element which illumines the dark places of the mind and shows the way to great achievement. Temperamentally it denotes gentleness, and the tenderness which is the perfect complement to strength. It is to men who have this last and finest gift, that other men, since history began, have given not alone their liking but their service, their devotion, and their very lives.

What then is the conclusion? Men like in men these traits: the honor that ennobles; the justice that insures the right; the reasonableness that mellows and makes plain; the courage that proclaims virility; the generous instinct that disdains all meanness; the modesty that makes no boast; the dignity that wins respect; the fineness and the tenderness that know and feel. But when one thinks of it more carefully, may he not sum it up in just a single sentence, and accept it as truth, that all men like a gentleman?

Beta niceguys reading the above passage are undoubtedly saying to themselves, “Reasonableness? Generosity? Modesty? Tenderness? Hey, wait, I have all those qualities! Why don’t men admire me and women invite me to their beds?”

Because, dear beta, you must impress upon people you are those virtuous things by choice, and not by necessity. And the way to prove that is by first demonstrating that you are capable of behaving in the opposite fashion, as suits your needs.

Take a page from the sexy jerk. Watch how he shits with impunity on the polite norms of society, gets the girl and the admiration of his friends, and then pulls a rabbit out of the hat with a sudden and unexpected generous gesture that provokes an explosion of love kibbles raining on his dinner plate.

People, particularly women, overdose on virtue quickly. The scarcity principle applies here. You don’t want to be that dependable guy who’s always there for her; you want to be that inscrutable dark triad jerk whose occasional forays into the Light are greeted with glowing encomiums and flowering furrows.

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Remember this post about the romantic Kiwi betaboy who followed an American woman around all night on New Year’s Eve like a puppy dog, only to part at 6AM with nothing to show for it but her coy instruction to “find me”? The niceguy romantic beta had one photo of her on his phone, which he promptly enlarged to masturbation size and uploaded to Facebook hoping she would see the green light at the end of his pier and the world would help them reunite in McLovin bliss.

There’s an update to this story. The girl found out about his Facebook campaign to locate her. Guess what happened.

A lovelorn New Zealand man who asked the Internet for help finding the American girl he met in Hong Kong last year on New Year’s Eve has found her – and she doesn’t seem too happy about it.

Reese McKee, 25, gained thousands of followers when he posted a picture of ‘Katie’ and his story of dancing the night away with her last December. She left him only with a first name, a hint that she lived ‘in D.C.’ and the alluring request: ‘find me.’

He has now revealed that online sleuths did, indeed, find her. And they mobbed her with so many messages that she deleted every single one of her social media accounts within hours. [...]

Mr McKee says he hasn’t reached out to her yet – he’s waiting for the online furor to die down.

But, as one slightly horrified blogger points out, it’s likely she has no desire to to speak with Mr McKee now. Their romantic night took place nearly one year ago.

‘A year is enough time for someone to get married, go through several relationships, or even have a child,’ blogger amiantos writes.

It takes a lot of beta to convince a blue city American girl to tear down her Facebook wall. She must have felt the kind of disgust that’s typically reserved for mutilated bodies, dog shit, and flabby male feminists.

Moral of the story: Women are so predictable.

Some good does appear to have come out of this niceguy’s romantic abandonment.

Even Mr McKee seems a little sheepish about his quest to be reunited with the girl he had a chance meeting with a year ago. He told the Herald that he has turned down multiple media interview requests – including from ABC’s Good Morning America.

Shortly after Katie was found, he deleted his Facebook profile and the Facebook event that invited fans to help find her.

What’s that sensation hiding between the lines? Oh yes. Burning shame. Enough time has passed since the RealTalk Revolution invaded the public consciousness that it wouldn’t be a stretch to think betaboy here caught his eyeballs on a few websites such as this one and experienced a rude awakening about the nature of women and his own self-defeating courtship missteps. Two people win when a man is saved from incel purgatory: The man, and the woman he dates who gets to experience the joy of a proper seduction.

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The title of this post comes courtesy of commenter PA, who writes:

Behold the Twenty Commandments of Involuntary Celibacy:

The comments that follow are awesome — and each is hugely upvoted. A small sampling:

21. Don’t take advice from a columnist that just spews generalizations on Yahoo.
22. Instead, read the Comments section for real advice


My stomach turned after reading this. If a woman wrote this, no man would want to know her. This is sick. Reason why some men stay players for life, just to remain sane. Even players know when a good woman comes along. Even a player can have a change of heart and or mind.
Such writ-ups are the corner-stones players are built on.

Yes, the “Twenty Commandments of Involuntary Celibacy” is in reference to a Yahoo post called “20 Ways to Please a Woman”, written by a female pop culture borg entity. Here’s a few gems of her vapid boilerplate:

Be understanding if we’re workaholics
Don Draper’s got nothing on us.

Because a woman loves nothing more than a man who only wants to see her five minutes a week, when she isn’t slaving away for the patriarchy.

Don’t expect us to diet
Being skinnier is not that high on our priority list.

But it is high on men’s priority lists. And women don’t stay happy for long when their boyfriends aren’t happy being with them.

Don’t expect us to be gym fiends
Aside from your average stress-busting yoga – but it’s more for the head, not the body. If we want abs, we’ll get them. But not for you.

This is something women tell themselves all the time, but the reality is that looking good feels good because your DNA directive is to make yourself as attractive as possible to men with options, thus ensuring better survival fitness for any future children.

Be cool with the fact that we make more money than you
We can go Dutch!

Then maybe your post should’ve been titled “20 Ways to Please a Man”.

Bring us cookies when we had a crappy day at work.
Storebought or from scratch, either way.

Because there’s nothing like fattening up your girlfriend to make it easier to break her heart and leave her.

Let us watch our Bravo in peace. Better yet, go do something else while we watch.
Tease me all you want, but my addiction to Real Housewives of New Jersey doesn’t mean I’m not still smarter than you. You know it, I know it.

No, watching twat schlock doesn’t necessarily mean you’re dumber, but it is a leading indicator.

Just say what you are feeling instead of being weird.
Use your words like a big boy.

Yes, chicks really dig men who emote profusely like a View hag.

Do the dishes.
We can take turns.

And chicks love men who do the dishes. Oh, wait

Remember our friends’ names, at least the important ones.
No, that’s not Jessica, that’s AMANDA.

You know what you call a man who easily remembers your female friend’s name? A cheater.

Be a good cook.
There’s almost nothing hotter. Especially to a girl who can’t cook.

And there’s almost nothing less attractive than a woman who can’t be bothered to cook a home meal. Be thankful you’re not a fat chick, because that’s worse.

Love our pet, even if you secretly hate our pet.
Especially if it’s a cat.

If you’re considering whether you need to ask permission to do something (like hang out with an ex), ask permission.
She should be cool with it, but it shows that you’re considerate of her feelings.

You know what’s really sexy to women? Toadies.

Read books.
Not just nutritional labels and Men’s Health while you’re on the treadmill.

Swap out Men’s Health for Vogue, and this is about as clear a case of projection as one will find on the vaginanet.

Don’t crash girls nights
No men allowed.

If you’re dating a man who wants to join your girls’ nights out, you’re doing it wrong. Or you’re dating a beta. Same diff.

So there you have it. If you’re a man who never wants to get near a vagina, follow this woman’s guide to pleasing her sex. You’ll be in the friendzone faster than you can unzip your fly and twiddle it to barely legal porn. A leetle rule of thumb you should keep in mind whenever you read nonsense like this article by Anna Breslaw: Women are thinking of that inconsiderate alpha male they really love and whose cock they can’t gobble fast enough when they write empty-headed crap like this. They’re reformulating the alpha’s refusal to commit as their frustration with his inability to suck up like a proper beta male. This sophistic legerdemain makes the pain of the alpha male’s commitment rejection easier to deflect. It’s no longer “his choice”; it’s her choice to live single and free and careening to spinsterhood because he doesn’t do the dishes.

But of course as anyone who’s got the slightest sexual experience with women knows, a woman in love will never let go a man who leaves his underwear on the floor. The alpha male lover is forgiven everything; the beta male wooer nothing.

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When did the pussification of America’s men begin? Speculating on this sort of thing is always fun, but it serves a larger purpose: If we can identify the origin of the Ascended Testes Era, we can theoretically reverse it.

One reader believes he has an answer,

I was just thinking back to my early 20s, when I found myself married to the dumpy chick I knocked up.  [ed: pre-game, natch] I did what was expected of me at the time, which meant marriage, and it meant Lamaze classes, and La Leche League, and all this girlie baby nurturing liberal SWPL crap I’m sure pajama boy would totally embrace in his plaid onesie.

There was only one other father in the Lamaze classes.  All the pretty girls were there with a friend or a neighbor or a mother, and the only two fathers there were with dumpy average looking chicks.  The other guy was such a wuss he kept passing out during the videos, and his wife had to revive him repeatedly.  (They eventually had like six kids, and are still together as far as I know.)

Yeah, beta males may have slightly more kids on average than do alpha males, but would you want to be a beta? (Procreation Pusher: “wouldn’t you like to be a beta too… be a beta, doooon’t be a playa…) No, I think I’ll skip out on the incomparable joy of loading up the belly of a frump.

I’ve been reflecting on the whole Lamaze thing, and how hot girls don’t have babies with guys who would go through that kind of crap in the first place.  Can you see Mystery in Lamaze classes?  I can’t.

Where was Tywin Lannister when his kids were being born?  The same place my father was, and my grandfather, and every man back for thousands of years.  Smoking cigarettes and letting the women handle woman’s work.

I blame Lamaze for the pussification of America.  It all starts with dads going “hee hee hee hooooooo” with their dumpy wives.  It really does.

Besides, blood, shit, and gore belong on the battlefield, not in the vagina you’re fucking.  No man should ever have to see that.  History had this right.

Lamaze was invented by a French fop in the 1940s, and gained cultural traction in the US a decade later. In the annals of herstory, I’m sure a few alpha males were hornswoggled into attending a Lamaze class (which they undoubtedly instantly regretted), but those men who agreed to attend without a fight or, worse, who happily jumped at the opportunity, are truly the most beta of betas.

No man worth his two taters will enjoy any aspect of the Lamaze spectacle. I bet a man’s T level drops 300% as soon as he steps foot in a Lamaze classroom. And given that betas are already short a couple liters of T, they can’t afford to have their precious reserves siphoned off by the sight of distended bellies, pork roll camel toes, and red-faced plumpers method acting the passing of a gargantuan turd.

So, yeah, there is obviously some selection bias going on with regard to the types of men who can be found empathy birthing in a Lamaze class. More telling is what this reader noticed about the hotness of the pregnant women who weren’t with their men. What he observed was a female selection bias that complemented and reinforced the male selection bias: Hot babes have more choice in men, and they invariably choose high value alpha males who are the least likely to sit through an insufferable Lavaje class. These alphas could be captains of industry with no time for Lamaze silliness, or they could be dominant personalities who won the test of wills contest. Either way, it shows that hot women — women who have, after all, an incredible array of sexual market options — will choose insensitive sociopaths before new age sensitive empaths.

Lamaze was probably not a cause of the emasculation of American men, but it was a harbinger. All those betas lining up to hee hee ho with their women were castrates in a coal mine. A mere fifty years later, we have Youtube videos of bronies coming out with their stuffed animal lovers.

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A writer, Andrew Smiler, for the e-zine ‘The Good Men Project’ has unintentionally parodied the mission statement of that blog with such zeal that one expects their next post to advocate mass castration. Titled “A Guy’s Guide to The Gender-Minimized 1st Date“, Smiler offers suggestions to men for how to date without being a man. You think I’m joking. I’m not. The intro paragraph is auspicious:

It’s not possible to have a completely gender neutral date. Gender, our cultural and personal notions of how people should act based on their biological sex, influences too many aspects of our behavior to be completely neutralized. In the dating context, gender roles provide an outline of how things “should” work. But in a day and age where equality is the expectation, why stick to a rigid outline based on your genitalia?

Weighing the efficacy of mocking the puffboy’s pretensions or spelling out in tiresome detail where his premises are wrong, I am stuck deciding between low effort fun or high effort usefulness. *flips a coin* The latter it is.

1. Gender is not a synonym for sex. Only appeasing nancyboys throw around the word gender like candy, ostensibly to ingratiate their feminist overlords.

2. There’s no such thing as a sex neutral date. The point of dates is to bring together the two sexes and determine if there is enough shared attraction, based upon sex-particular needs, for a romantic entanglement. The sexes’ differing reproductive goals, especially the woman’s, require a relatively lengthy courtship period to override natural trepidation.

3. Cultural and personal notions don’t influence people to act “based on their biological sex”, (is there any other type of sex?). Rather, the innate biological foundation of sex differences influences cultural and personal expressions of dating behavior.

4. The moral presumption that sex differences should be neutralized is a feature of the warped mind of losers who compete poorly in the organic sexual market.

5. “Gender roles” don’t provide an outline of how things “should” work; instead, sex roles emerge naturally and unbidden from primal biological impulses that are activated and sustained in the most intractably evolved parts of the brain like the limbic system.

6. “Equality” is only an expectation in the stifling prison complexes of liberal arts universities and on the broadsheets of leftoid propagandists. Among normal people, concerns for equality are about the last thing on anyone’s mind during a date.

7. The genitalia produce no dating protocol outline, rigid or otherwise. The brain is primarily responsible for the phenomenon of sex differences in courtship behavior. A man or a woman don’t follow rigid outlines only after they locate and identify their genital package. (For Smiler, this could take hours.) They follow sex-specific behavior patterns because their brains are wired differently, and this wiring began at the moment of conception, and before that at the moment the human race was conceived.

Now you see why low effort glibness when dealing with these fruits is so tempting.

I’m trying to write this guide to apply across all genders, masculine, feminine, trans*, etc.

There are two sexes. Anything else is an escapee from nature’s discard pile.

 If I’ve missed or something is very wrong, I have faith someone will let me know in the comments.

Good sire, I think yee’ve forgotten the thimblepeeners. Inclusiveness is job one, chop chop!

The butch asks some version of “I’d like to take you out to dinner, a movie, coffee, etc.,” does all the logistical work to make that date happen, initiates physical/sexual contact, and is responsible for starting conversation the next day if “he” wants the relationship to continue.

“He” is in nuance quotes because I suspect this pastry impersonating a man has relinquished the butch role to his morbidly obese feminist dates to take the lead jamming antique walking sticks up his rectum.

Hetrerosexual American guys assume they’ll pay for the first date, regardless of whether they endorse traditional or egalitarian gender roles.

More precisely, beta males assume they’ll pay for wallet-busting dates. Savvier men know the smart play, if a free date isn’t an option, is to pop for a cheap drink and tease the girl about buying the next ten rounds.

This role means the femme becomes the “sexual gatekeeper” because “she” is the one who accepts or rejects the butch’s sexual advances.

These “roles” you speak of are intractable properties of evolved human sexual psychology. They aren’t tasteful dresses you slip on in the privacy of your masturbatorium before an enthusiastic audience of Realdolls and brony onesies.

Very little of this requires sexually dimorphic genitalia.

Technically, this is true. You could lop off a man’s junk and he’ll still have a male mind, with the suite of behaviors that entails. I’m sure pudding bowl here has a wealth of experience in the matter.

Talking to someone, kissing and groping, and asking to see someone again (or not), requires a heart, a brain, a mouth, and the ability to communicate.

Well fuckin knock me over with a feather! Here I thought disembodied telepathy was all the rage.

Your genitalia—and your partner’s genitalia—are only relevant if you prefer some types of genitalia over others.

Trying to parse this, getting nowhere. I think he means a vagina is optional on a date. Her vagina, not his.

To minimize the impact of gender roles,

you’ll need to think about this now so you know what you want to do before you start doing it.

Hmm, sounds like… game!

Before you can do something new, you’ll need to get past the messages that have been beaten into your head by American culture.

“Cultural conditioning.” Define this “cultural conditioning” without resorting to circular shamanistic chanting. Use of any mathematical formulae in your presentation of evidence for cultural conditioning discernibly influencing sex specific mating behavior earns you bonus points. Stamping your wee feet doesn’t count as evidence.

Male feminists so funny thinking they can wave away biological reality by uttering two words ad nauseum. Which antediluvian “messages” have been beaten into American men’s heads the past sixty years? The gay marriage message? The black doctor message? The fat is beautiful message? The Lena Dunham is hot message? The white privilege message? The you go grrl message? If I didn’t know any better I’d say the cultural messages percolating throughout the entirety of the media and academia complexes extols a qausi-androgyny and sex role reversal. Funny, too, how *this* cultural conditioning has been so effortlessly rebuffed by all those men and women who continue to adhere to outmoded sex norms.

One part of this is learning to adopt the other role, at least at times.

“I’m wearing panties. The lace tickles my scrotum!”

Given how many times most guys hear some version of “don’t act like a girl,” that may not be the easiest way to approach it.

Maybe men are advised to not act like a girl because it’s a turn-off to women? Just a thought.

Instead, think about being asked out as someone paying you a complement and offering to buy you dinner in exchange for the chance to get to know you better.

If men wait around to be asked out by women they are gonna be pulling their puds alone for a long time. I suppose to get around this minor obstacle, you could taser women until they agree to your enlightened terms of engagement.

If a woman asks a man out or puts the sexual moves on him, it doesn’t mean she’s a slut (and it never did), it just means that she was ready for those things to happen before he was.

Leftoid reductionist thinking. Women don’t usually make the first move because it leaves them feeling less attractive, and it robs them of the need to gauge a man’s ardor and his drive. A man, of course, will take a pussy freebie if it’s thrown his way, but he won’t prize a woman as much as if she had retained her womanly prerogative to play coy and coax his initiative. These are fundamental principles of human value assessment that exist because the reproductive goals of men and women are different, and that transcend lazy, vapid platitudes about “being ready” first.

 If a guy doesn’t initiate, it doesn’t mean he’s a wimp.

A leading indicator of gutless lapdog faggotry is a penchant for using the word “guy” in place of “man”, yet maintaining the use of “woman”. As some readers might have perspicaciously noticed, CH combats this puling media trend by using the terms “man” and “girl” with bracing regularity. The upturned prolapsed rump of the anklebiterrati must be balanced by the forces of righteous phallocentrism.

He might be shy. Or maybe he doesn’t trust his ability to read your nonverbal messages and has adopted a “better safe than sorry” approach.

No nuts, no glory.

In any dating scenario, you’ll need to decide if and how much sexual contact you want to have with this person at this time. Remember,guys are allowed to refuse,

This is how eunuchs like Andrew Smiler rationalize their never ending procession of sexless dates.

even if you’ve never heard one admit doing so.

The universal cheat code of the SMV reality denier. Something about the sexual market that bothers you because it highlights your inability to compete? Just claim the opposite happens all the time, but no one admits to it. It’s super secret and stuff.

If you’re not sure, you can always say something like “I’m not ready to [fill in the blank] yet. Can we go back to what we were doing?”

A man who says “I’m not ready to get a blowjob yet. Can we go back to what we were doing?” as the girl is unzipping his pants has to think seriously about his sexual orientation.

Some of this is inevitably influenced by those gender scripts we’ve all learned

Present a hard copy of this gender script for examination.

If you want to get out of gender-land quickly, share some of your “gender atypical” interests.

“I masturbate into doll houses.”

Or, if you’re really bold, talk about the fact that you don’t really (or only partially) buy into gender stereotypes. Heck, you could even send the link for this article.

Along with a restraining order form she can fill out at her convenience.

Interestingly, there is a subgenre of game that implicitly mocks the new age sensitive gumbo that is especially effective on overt feminists. By adopting a pose of antipathy to “traditional” sex stereotypes that will be taken as intellectual flattery by the feminist, the sneaky player can breach her perimeter defenses and then seal the deal later by acting like an unreconstructed cad. The feminist will have to square contradicting paeans to her worldview with behavior that speaks directly to her libido. The enticement to “understand this wild man” will be insuppressible.

When you ask someone on a date, it means you make all the plans. Start by selecting an activity (e.g., dinner, bowling, movie) and asking your partner if they’re ok with that choice.

Never ask a girl if she’s ok with your date suggestion. Make a plan, and leave it to her to nix it if it’s something she really doesn’t want to do. If she demurs, make a counter offer, and if she nixes that one, sarcastically admire her spontaneity and adventurism.

I firmly believe that whoever does the asking is also responsible for paying.

How conveeenient, since it’s men who will have to do the asking if they want to get anywhere with women who aren’t desperate, purple-haired fatties.

When I’ve initiated a date, the bill comes, and my date has asked to split the cost, I’ll usually just say “why don’t you pay next time?” But if it’s going poorly and I don’t want there to be a next time, I will accept that offer to split the cost.

If the date is going really poorly and the girl turns out to be a first class cunt, slip out the back Jack, and leave her with the bill.

If I’ve asked someone out, I never ask them to pay for half, even if it’s going poorly. I asked, so I pay.

This is why if you’re going on a date with the expectation you’ll be paying, just go for drinks. May as well liquor the girl up on your dime and make a dent in her inhibitions.

You’ll need to get ready before the first date. That means getting dressed in a way that shows who you are and may—or may not—mean emphasizing the parts of your body that are sexually desirable.

I’m trying to think of a scenario where emphasizing the parts of one’s body that are sexually repulsive is the winning move. I suppose men can get away with the tactic as part of a game of signaling overconfidence by self-handicapping, and making light of it. Women should not pursue this strategy under any guise.

Given that our standards of attractiveness are closely connected to gender, this is one place where you probably want to get all gendered up.

How conveeenient, part 2.

Then again, “getting all gendered up” might be confusing if you’re mostly not following the standard gender script.

I could carve a straighter man out of Andrew McRawGlutes Sullivan.

Beyond this, there’s no formula. You can maintain one roll (leading or following)

You *can*, but it would be personally advantageous, if you’re a man and not a castrate, to lead rather than to follow, because the overwhelming majority of women prefer men in the former role to the latter role. So yeah, switch sex roles around all you like; just don’t expect to avoid the consequences.

Although it can be awkward, I recommend having at least a little conversation about gender roles—especially as they apply to dating and sex—during the first date.

Do NOT talk about “gender roles” on a first date in anything but a humorous, self-aware tone. I can’t think of a faster way to deep six a date than droning about society’s pressure on women to conform to cross-legged sitting positions. If you’re gonna game a hardcore feminist by pretending to be sympatico with her dumb beliefs, at least choose topics that are tangentially related to sex, so that the idea of sex with you gets lodged in her brain.

If you 1) have a disagreement about one of these topics and 2) it’s a topic that you both feel strongly about, it may be a sign that you’re not supposed to be with the person. Personally, I’d rather know sooner than later. If the two of you are able to find common ground and resolve that difference, that’s also good to know.

Older men with abysmally low testosterone levels become more interested in finding “common ground” with women at the expense of getting laid. Then they upsell it as enlightened thinking when all it really reflects is an inability to get aroused by the wrinkly cougars they’re stuck waltzing to arid dinner dates.

If you’ve been leading the whole time, then momentum says it’s your job to follow up.

How does momentum say this? Citation number counts toward your final score.

If you enjoyed the first date, tell the other person;

Because no woman worth pursuing ever liked a little bit of ambiguity in a man.

From here, it’s back to flirting and you’ll need to make a decision if you’re going to initiate the second date or wait for your partner to do it.

Never have so many words said so little with such dullness.

The key here is that you don’t need to stick to a set of gender-based rules that are older than you are.

These rules are ancient for a reason, you dumb fuck. You shitlapper. You Facebook mom.

You and your partner can structure your romantic and sexual life—who is responsible for what and when—any way you like.

You can live in your home any way you like.
You can take care of your body any way you like.
You can shit in public parks any way you like.
But that doesn’t mean women want to live in pig sties, bang soft manboobs, or date men who crap into water fountains.

Actions have consequences. Repeat until your misfit rage against reality consumes you.

Apparently, to the desiccated male specimens at The Good Men Project, a good man is a gelded man. This Andrew Smiler and his ilk are the mirror image of the fatty feminists who assert with no real world evidence besides apocryphal anecdote that fat women are just as desirable to men, and women should stop worrying so much about staying slender. The gelded man asserts an equally pernicious and debilitating reality warp about the appeal of asexual psychological neuters that would, if taken to heart, contribute to the total repository of ugliness and unhappiness in the world, both by men suffering romantic rejection and by women suffering the disappearance of alluring men.

One wonders what motivates these modern manlets. Are they sincere, or are they fly by night viral marketers for page views? Are many of them in the midst of sexual identity crises that collaterally drive them to public forums in outsized numbers to broadcast their self-hate? Is there really some kind of a gender-bending parasite, or a chemical, that has seeped into the rivulets of Western society and shriveled the nut sacks of millions of men?

Whatever they are, whatever their origin, CH will stand as a bulwark against the anhedonic emasculati’s dangerous nonsense. The Shiv of CH will disembowel their id viscera and display the mess on the operating table for the world to ridicule as mercilessly and joyously as we turn out the vitals of the freak feminists and malign equalists.

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