Archive for the ‘Beta’ Category

Incel stands for involuntary celibacy, and it refers to beta and omega males who, for a variety of factors, are horrible with women and wind up enduring long and unwelcome sexless droughts. Rumor has it there are whole forums of quasi-men who, for reasons likely having their origin in mommy’s quickness with the back of her hand, nurse a deep hatred for game and “players”, and who spend most of their time on these gayforums analyzing with the precision of a spectrometer the facial dimensions of various pick-up artists for their conformity to Brad Pitt’s visage, apparently believing that no man ever in the history of the world who didn’t look like Brad Pitt got laid with a cute chick.

The incel is now an internet caricature, loathed and ridiculed by men and women equally. But there’s a female analogue of the incel. And CH was reminded of this when resident female apologist Amy, once again bravely trying to salvage the reputation of her sistren with squirrely semantic maneuvers intended to evade the Guns of Heartisterone, made the claim that there are men who would willingly sleep with fat chicks and that this must mean those men find the fatties sexually attractive.

But what about beta fat guys with no game? There are plenty of them. Who are they going to date? They want relationships. They’re going to end up with women like this [fat] chick. And they must feel some attraction for them if they’re having sex.

Settling isn’t attraction. Settling is, for men, finding a hole that is a little bit wetter than the couch crease. Losers settle for each other all the time. But fat chicks are so repulsive to men that there aren’t enough omega males willing even to settle for them as a last resort and think of England while spelunking the pig. As a result, fat chicks are alone more often and for longer dry spells than are thin girls. And the fatter the girl, the more intractable her involuntary solitude. Call it… Insol.

The Insol is the female equivalent of the Incel. She fails at finding the one thing in life that is most important to women: The love and commitment of a desirable man. Her failure is no less dispiriting or cruelly mock-worthy than is the failure of the omega male who can’t get laid in a brothel with a fistful of hundreds.

People don’t think of fat or ugly women going long spells without love, because those women are adept in ways that beta males aren’t at concealing their misery from public scorn and pity. And, to be sure, the fat chick has a better shot of getting pumped once or twice than does the omega male of getting laid. Because of this slight sexual disparity, and because of the male instinct to project their sensibilities onto the female sex and imagine that getting laid is proof of romantic success, the Insol receives more of a break than the Incel.

Sure, you’ll occasionally hear about fat chicks getting face fucked by drunkards, but rarely will you see them in long term happy relationships with men who aren’t complete rejects. And this reality grows with the pounds. Female fatness has exponentially increasing blowback. Ten extra pounds won’t put too big of a dent in a chubster’s sex life, but 100 extra pounds will relegate her to incel with the omega males.

Loser women, like fat chicks, can sometimes pull off a simulacrun of a relationship, but only after a lot of time alone and sacrifice of anything worth living for. The occasional sight of a fatty in an LTR notwithstanding to the contrary, most fat women go epically long times without a man’s love. You just don’t see them because most fatties don’t advertise their loneliness the way loveless beta males advertise theirs.

The problem with the “even the ugliest/fattest women can get laid” trope is that the issue is not whether a fat chick can manage once in her life to get a weirdo to drill her face for three perfunctory seconds in an alcoholic haze. For women, sex isn’t the relevant metric. Women want love and commitment with a high value man. On that score, fatties fail miserably.

Even if we limit our claim to three second drunken sex with losers, fat chicks still have problems in that department that thinner girls don’t have. It’s hard to directly compare the two groups because thinner/prettier girls are less slutty than fatties and fugs, but if we draw on the subset of sexy thin girls who don’t mind boffing the same losers that fatties boff, then we would find the fatties badly outcompeted for the sexual attention of those losers.

Simply put, there is the tendency of people to miss what they don’t see. Omega and to a lesser extent beta males repeatedly try and fail with women. We see that. Fat chicks, being women first and fatties second, are more passive about courtship. When they fail, it tends to be less spectacular, less conspicuous. They are simply ignored rather than rejected. When fat chicks fail in the dating market, they retreat away from men or they surround themselves with female friends so that they can continue engaging the social scene without the stink of celibacy driving them to isolation or handicapping their ability to converse with strangers. The involuntary loneliness of fat chicks is thus more concealed than the loneliness of loser men.

In contrast, incel men don’t have large groups of socially attractive male friends to shield them from their own failure. The sexual poverty of the male incel is more readily apparent in his loner lifestyle and his bitter, stunted personality. When he fails, he retreats, regroups, fails, retreats again, and the cycle continues. His failure is unmissable.

In the grand scheme, incels and insols are two sides of the same coin. Both lose in the sexual market. Both lose in the LTR market. Both suffer long droughts of sexlessness. If there’s a difference between the omega male incel and the female fatty insol, it’s that perhaps the fatty can amass (heh) a couple more lays in her lifetime than can the omega male. But two extra lays over a lifetime does not a proud, confident, non-bitter woman make.

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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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