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

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

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

Then they say “but your profile says xx”

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

Then I make a comical shudder.

Hasn’t failed me yet.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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Why Online Dating Is Limiting

Reader Just Saying offers a new way to look at the inherent shortcomings of online courtship.

Online Courtship Can’t Replicate Face To Face Courtship

Of course not – for a simple reason, when you are face-to-face they don’t compare you to their mythical ideal, they feel attraction and voila, the panties come off. But with an app they compare you to their “idea” of what they should date. That is much more limited, if you meet that criteria, you’re golden, if you don’t you won’t get any trim… Simple…

Remember, women cannot control whom they are attracted to – and it’s often almost the opposite of what they think they want. Heck, no young 18 yo old thinks, “What I need is a 50+ year old to plow me like a field.” And if they thought about it, they would walk, but when they are there and feeling the attraction – all of that doesn’t matter, their little rationalization hamster goes full speed later to justify what they are feeling, “Sure, he’s older, but that means we can do more, and it’s FUN.” I have one that loves it when people will refer to her as “your daughter” when we’re out, as she’ll practically attack me and then say something like, “He’s my step-father.” Just to shock them… That is what women live for – the excitement, and an “app” on a phone can’t deliver that.

It is that simple…

This is well said, and I extend Just Saying a CH Honorary Degree in Preening.

The fact is that any medium which removes context and nuance and body language from the courtship will invariably redound to the man’s detriment, because men are judged by women on far more than their looks. Online dating does not penalize women as much as it does men, because women were always judged first and foremost on their looks. A profile pic may be a flawed substitute for a 3D representation of a girl, but it’s still a serviceable substitute that gives men most of the information they need that they would similarly get in the field, (barring fatties and oldies posting inaccurate pics).

In contrast, men are more harshly penalized by a medium in which the profile pic is heavily weighted. Women are attracted to men’s personalities as much as or more than they’re attracted to men’s physical presences. Online courtship handicaps the ability of men to project, spoken and unspoken, those sexy contours of their personalities that arouse women. Yes, there’s the option to write a witty or indifferently douchey bio that captures some essence of the man, but the style and rapid-fire trawling of online dating sites conspires to focus the female mate judgement algorithm on the attached pic before anything else comes into view. Average looking men are at a disadvantage online that they wouldn’t be in the real world, where they could boldly approach women and force them to take the measure of all their cocksure attributes.

Online courtship isn’t hopeless. For some men — the top 5% in looks, the exceptionally witty who have cornered a niche market, the mass copypastas playing an urban numbers game, the convicts with internet access — online game is a useful adjunct to whatever fleshworld game occupies their time.

But don’t expect internet game to net you the high quality lays and high octane love that face to face game has the greater potential to deliver. In the field, you only have a woman to seduce. Online, you have to seduce her and her alpha male apparition. One hurdle is better than two.

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Men instinctively know to avoid single moms and BPD headcases. No man wants to help raise another man’s kid, and crazy drama whores aren’t much fun after the post-coital glow wears off.

Now we can add another archetype to the list of women to avoid: The Credentialist Whore.

Reader Dr. Giggles explains,

Perhaps we’ve found another type of woman who, like the single mom, should be avoided by men at all costs. Call her the credentialist bachelorette. She carries baggage like the single mom in the form of spiraling college debt which you end up subsidizing, by either paying for everything during the relationship, or outright paying the debt itself once married. Unlike the bastard spawn you can kick to the curb once it turns 18, the debt may last into her golden years, according to a recent Beta times article.

A woman who whores herself out for useless college credentials like an MA in Vagina Pondering, and amasses a mountain of debt on her quest for status feels and anonymous urban fucking, is a horrible long-term relationship prospect. Not only will you invariably get stuck directly or indirectly paying off chunks of her debt, you will have to deal with her insufferable “credentialed girl” entitlement lovingly honed from years fobbing her bills off on her daddy. If you’re really unlucky, she might be the type of CW to unload on you about the patriarchy during a first date.

File the Credentialist Whore, along with the Single Mom and Crazy Bitch, under “pump and dump”, and don’t even think about moving in with her. Sex is a lot more satisfying when you’re not paying for it in some form or another.

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In a word: Credentialism.

Credentialism, as defined by CH, is a system where the signaling value of a credential exceeds the content value of the acquired knowledge implied by the credential.

Keep this definition in mind, because it will explain a lot about the shortcomings of assortative mating data.

Assortative mating is the theory that people pair up according to social class, which in modern America is nearly synonymous with educational class. Proponents of assortative mating theory speculate that a cognitive elite — and perhaps soon a racial elite — is evolving from the observed mate choices of the upper classes to marry solely among themselves. Sort of like an “educated class inbreeding”. The mechanism by which educated class inbreeding happens is through meeting one’s mate on college campus, or later at the office or within social circles, both of which tend to be segregated by smarts and its proxy, college degree.

The more generations that pass through the filter of selective breeding for credentials, the likelier that a distinct race of übermensch becomes a permanent piece of the American social scene. A Bindi-style caste system is not far behind.

The flaw in assortative mating theory lies in its major premise: That credentials are as accurate a gauge of smarts and knowledge and social class now as they were in the past.

There’s no doubt women have flooded academia, and now outnumber men on campus by a nontrivial margin.

The fact that the female representation in college has risen so dramatically in such a short time period tells us that genetics are not the driving factor. Women did not suddenly become smarter, nor did they become smarter than men, during their rise to higher ed prominence. No, what happened instead is one-parent families became unaffordable in The Disunited States of Diversity, and, more pertinently, the average college degree lost a lot of its value.

Crudely, women have flooded into college to earn shit degrees like Communications, English, Education, and Women’s Studies.

Liberal arts degrees are useless degrees, because everything you’d wind up doing in a cubicle job with such a degree can be learned in two weeks if you have half a brain. In fact, these degrees are worse than useless, because they saddle women with a mountain of debt that they must pay off by marrying in their dried-up 30s a no-game-having, scarcity-mentality, provider beta male.

The uselessness of humanities degrees to real world value creation is exacerbated by the diversity industrial memeplex, which has further eroded the college cachet by the necessity of dumbing down and grade inflating the degree programs that vibrant students swarm into on the largesse of creator class endowment money.

What you are staring at is the twisted face of credentialism, the college debt racket and status whore end game that proves nothing except that women can be gifted conformist suck-ups in the stampede to earn a parchment declaring them competent at arranging client meetings, thinking inside the box, and mingling with white collar men who satisfy their hypergamous desire.

Empty, status striving credentialism is the reason assortative mating theory is flawed. Men and women aren’t matching up by IQ or class; they’re matching up by credential. Except that, on average, the men’s degrees are actually worth the paper they’re printed on.

Assortative credentialism is the more precise term for the marriage trend that we observe took off after women stormed the campus citadel. Conflating runaway credentialism with IQ misses the fact that today’s paper pushing woman with a communications degree was yesterday’s equally competent secretary with a high school degree, and perhaps even yesteryear’s farmhand mother with sharp instincts for survival.

So there will be no genetic überwench class. This isn’t to say an evolved cognitive elite is impossible; rather, what appears to be happening is less IQ stratification than a perverse reiteration of the patented CH BOSSS (Boss-Secretary Sexual Strategy) sexual market mechanism to reduce wealth and class inequality. The high school grad secretary of yore has been replaced by the college grad secretary of today. And as long as she stays thin and pretty, she’ll catch the eye of that high status man, and GSS data will erroneously pick this up as mate sorting primarily based on college experience or IQ.

There’s another flawed premise bedeviling assortative mating theory: It’s not really assortative MATING as much as it is assortative MARRYING. Whatever marriage trends we see between degreed SWPL women marrying degreed SWPL men are happening later and later in life, late 20s to early 30s. But before then, during those prime female nubility late teens and 20s, marriage rates are low among the “inbred educated class”. However, women aren’t waiting fifteen years in stark celibacy before assortatively marrying. There’s plenty of Pill and rubberized reproduction-thwarted mating going on between ages 15 and 30. The mating is what really animates men, moreso than the marrying. And women *are* assortatively mating, if by assortative we mean women are choosing to fuck sexy alpha cads who aren’t interested in footing the living expenses bills for women with feminist studies expertise who delight at the prospect of earning a paycheck to throw back mimosa-fueled single lady brunches.

Like I’ve said, it’s no coincidence that charismatic jerkboy game rose to prominence at the same time female college attendance and credentialism skyrocketed.

UPDATE

Audacious Epigone adds his pence to the assortative marrying topic.

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Eric Barker, a guy CH has linked to several times over the years because of his outstanding work compiling data-rich studies into the workings of the sexual market, has a new article in The Week titled ‘The Science of Sex: 4 Harsh Truths About Dating and Mating’.

The four harsh truths he lists and thoroughly corroborates with links to scientific studies will be very familiar to regular CH readers, as they all vindicate a number of Heartistian field observations of the flesh and blood dating world where men and women collide in hopeful union.

1) Those things we say we hate actually make us more attracted to people.

When someone plays hot-cold, keeps you guessing, makes you constantly uncertain?

Yeah, that makes you even more attracted:

Participants in the uncertain condition were most attracted to the men — even more attracted than were participants who were told that the men liked them a lot. Uncertain participants reported thinking about the men the most, and this increased their attraction toward the men.

Never listen to what a woman says; watch what she does. You ever wonder why women complain about equivocal men, when you yourself and every man you know are niceguys who never lead women on or play head games with women? Wonder no more. Women complain about these kinds of men because these are the men women choose to date and screw. They’re like children who complain about the sugar rush from eating lots of candy.

2) Yes, guys are pretty shallow.

The stereotypes are true: men want sex more than women and, yeah, guys are more likely to hit on girls with big boobs.

Men dig beauty.
Chicks dig power.
The rest is hamster nibbles.

3) Women can be quite dastardly too.

The science of sex tells us that the romantic comedies lie. Sex is an area where nice guys do finish last:

In one survey of men, Trapnell and Meston (1996) found that nice guys who were modest, agreeable, and unselfish were disadvantaged in sexual relationships. Men who were manipulative, arrogant, calculating, and sly were more sexually active and had a greater variety of sexual experiences and a greater number of sex partners. [Journal of Sex and Marital Therapy]

Women are very often attracted to bad boys like James Bond. In fact, research shows young women sometimes prefer out-and-out jerks:

In the end, young women may continue to claim that they find certain qualities in a “good guy” nice guy as highly desirable and that they want to be in a committed relationship with one man as their ultimate goal, but, at the same time, they seem content to spend “the meantime and in-between-time” going out with fun/sexy guys who may or may not turn into “jerks.”

For every Ray Rice who knocks a loving wife out, there’s a loving wife who chose to be with a Ray Rice. It takes two to tango. Someone tell that to Rod Dreher and Ross Douthat.

4) Little of the above will be changing anytime soon.

This is the science of sex, not the culture of it. Most, if not all, of these things are true around the world.

In a study of over 1000 participants in three dozen cultures it was consistently found that men are focused on looks and women on status:

Several standard sex differences replicated across cultures, including women’s greater valuation of social status and men’s greater valuation of physical attractiveness. [Personality and Individual Differences]

But we grow out of it, right? Nope.

Our tastes do not mature as we get older:

Findings suggest that although emerging adults believe that their peers’ mating desires change systematically over time, emerging adults’ self-reported mating desires vary little with age.

Unlike most other human attributes, the sexual preferences of men and women are remarkably uniform across the earth. Which makes sense. The sexual market is the one market to rule them all.

And we pretty much want the same thing throughout our lives, which must cause an amazing amount of pain for aging feminist beauties who are no longer able to cash in their prize assets for their hearts’ desire.

To recap:

Women say one thing but do another.

Male ambiguity, coyness, overconfidence and entitlement are sexy.

Men value female looks far above all other considerations.

Women value male social status above male looks.

Niceguys finish last.

Sexual desire is immutable.

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A 59-year-old woman, international speaker and writer (“productive citizen”), laments the icy rejection she received at the hands of a 55-year-old man who felt a surge of natural male biological disgust for her naked wrinkly old lady body.

And so, we planned a weekend together. That’s when things got confusing, unspoken and just-not-quite there. We went to bed in a couple’s way — unclothed and touching — all parts near. Kisses were shared and sleep came in hugs. I attempted more intimacy throughout the weekend and was deterred each time.

On Monday evening over the phone, I asked this man who had shared my bed for three nights running why we had not made love. “Your body is too wrinkly,” he said without a pause. “I have spoiled myself over the years with young woman. I just can’t get excited with you. I love your energy and your laughter. I like your head and your heart. But, I just can’t deal with your body.”

I was stunned. The hurt would come later. I asked him slowly and carefully if he found my body hard to look at. He said yes. “So, this means seeing me naked was troublesome to you?” I asked. He told me he had just looked away. And when the lights were out, he pretended my body was younger — that I was younger. My breath came deep and full as I processed this information. My face blazed as I felt embarrassed and shamed by memories of my easy nakedness with him in days just passed.

We talked for some time more, my head reeling at the content of the conversation. He spoke of special stockings and clothing that would “hide” my years. He blithely told me he loved “little black dresses” and strappy shoes. He said my hair was not long and flowing as he preferred, but that was okay because it was “cool looking.” I felt like a Barbie Doll on acid as I listened to this man. He was totally oblivious to the viciousness of his words.

She thinks this man a sadistic monster, but he was perhaps more honest with her (and with himself) than any man she has known. They aren’t called the ugly truths for nothing.

Men don’t get impotent; women get old. You won’t hear any therapist telling that raw reality to struggling older couples. Be prepared for soul-flaying pain of this nature to become commonplace in post-sanity and post-restricted female sexuality America. Marriage rates are at a historical low and never-married or divorced older women are desperate for romance. They’re in the field when they should be in the home with grandchildren, deluding themselves that the older men who they think by rights are theirs instead are more interested in the younger women with tighter bodies and fresher histocompatibilities. And to make matters worse, more than a few of those younger women love the company of older men.

The sexual market is not equal. It’s not fair. It’s not progressive. And it’s not a rom-com with a happy ending. It is a tearjerker, however.

Compounding the difficulties that older, single women face in the arena of zero-sum mate acquisition is the altered perspective of single older men who are accustomed to dating younger women. When you’ve tasted a morsel of Kobe filet mignon and washed it down with a 2010 Hewitt cabernet, an 80/20 ground beef burger with a tepid Bud Light just isn’t going to get you up in the morning.

Some commenters had a fun time with this lady’s id yelp.

I can relate…there is this woman who is obsessed with me who calls me everyday, she is the nicest woman I ever met,but when I saw her naked I freaked out.

I usually like to keep the lights on but with her I did not want to see, and I tried to think of my ex who had a superb body.

Everything is wrinkly and saggy…it is impossible for me to be passionate about such a woman even though she has the best personality.

Part of me feels sad for her, but I just can not be with her, I have to be passionate about what I see, not only about what us in her heart and her head.

Men are very visual, I am very visual. At some point I had no choice but to tell her I had trouble looking at her naked body.

She is my age but I look 15 years younger while she looks older than her age.

with clothes on she is cute, she even has an hourglass figure, she gets a lot of attention from men but they have no idea what is under her clothes. how everything is very saggy and wrinkly.

sorry if I go on and on, but I am right smack in the middle of a similar situation as the Huffington story..

***

Women gotta understand, God put our eyes right up front…

Personality? Well, okay… but our ears are way back on the head.

***

“I didn’t even want to try to explain the hurt and the horror that he had inflicted upon me. I actually felt sickly sorry for this man as I hung up the phone”

!!!Hamster time!!!!

HE HAD INFLICTED ON HER!

Try servicing a monster and you’ll understand what horror is.

Older women’s best hope is for an epidemic of mass amnesia to strike men and men only. In this way, no single older man crashing the dating market and creating tsunamis for older female hamsters to surf will remember what prime pussy looks and feels like under clothes. Unencumbered by these fond recollections, he can more easily be catechized in the belief of stylishly-clothed but surreptitiously wrinkled hags as the pinnacle of female sexuality… at least for a short while, until his occipital resumes control of his prefrontal and penile.

The whole sordid spectacle reminds me of a dating exploit from a time not yet beyond crystalline recall. I had met a 20-ish blonde in the dusky brick-relief bowels of a drunken after-party. Already buzzing from one drink too many, I began to imagine scenarios… transactions… with her shapely vessel as she spoke of childhood dreams and favorite movie scenes. I made feints toward a same night lay (never a dull moment on the CH sexpress) but she wouldn’t bite, preferring instead to indicate her interest with strong pleas for a follow-up date. “you will call me, right?” “you’ve got my number right there.” SMILE SMILE SMILE “i’ll see you soon!”

Sufficiently sated from recent conquests, I dropped the idea of an effortful seduction whisking her from venue to vainroom before sleepiness took its toll. I agreed to call her, and confessed to myself that the date was happily anticipated. I like blondes. I like 20-ish women. I like them most when they like me in kind.

Two evenings later, we met at a small bistro. She was already there when I arrived, seated indoors under bright light only paces from an outdoor area softly illumined by decorative patio lights. This was her critical mistake. From twenty feet, barely through the restaurant’s entranceway and acutely sober, I saw her heart-swelling silhouette from two nights ago, now unshadowed, had morphed into the splotchy, shattering skin wrap of a woman accelerating to her upper 30s. My smile dropped faster than an unsupported witch’s teat.

I am a master actor when crisis calls, but this disappointment was too great to conceal. She caught the full impact of it and, exacerbated by the contrast of my insanely youthful countenance, stood up from our table seconds after I had introduced myself to calmly but with a hint of croak in her voice cut the date short with a prematurity that must have set land speed records. “if it’s ok with you, we really don’t have to do this. i’m not ready for this. I’m so sorry.” Her entire body downcast and my guilt cresting a harsh wave, I eagerly (but not too eagerly!) accepted her offer.

It’s hard out there for the older woman. Yer ‘umble mareslayer revels in revealing the barbarous clashes that bloody the innersides of our polite vestments, but in real life he’s a bit less callous and handles life’s sad cameos with a softer glove.

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Comments are disabled on all posts published during Approach Week to encourage readers to limit their internet time and go outside to apply the lessons they have learned here. Approach Week celebrates the spirit of the approach, which is, in essence, a celebration of the spirit of assertive masculinity.

Achieving romantic dominance over a woman — a dominance, mind you, women intuitively crave — and therefore her fidelity and everlasting love, is as simple as finding her thermal exhaust port and lubing the entrance with your id-penetrating sheathseeker. Every woman has one, though some women’s psychosexual ports are more accessible. The cougar’s nemesis is the younger woman. The ugly, the beautiful. The dull, the smart. The fat, the slender. The misshapen, the lithe. The slut, the modest pretty girl next door.

And the single mom’s torment is the carefree childless woman.

Reader olympiapress writes,

I dabbled with a few single moms right after the ex and I separated.

Nothing wrong with a sexual expediency to get over an ex.

They will try to push you around/flake/issue rules for you that no other guy followed if they think you’re weak. Secret is, if they see you in the company of women who are just single and not a mom, they’ll go nuts letting you know they’re interested. You can easily build a harem of spawn-encumbered lassies if you want. Social proof for the win.

As long as you don’t mind tripping over the toys on the way to her bangroom.

(And I do mean nuts. One chick, couple years younger than me that I took home but didn’t quite bang, flaked, got deleted, came back on the scene a few months later to discover I’m hanging out with gals 15 years my junior. She threw herself at me every time she saw me afterwards, and when I didn’t respond to her efforts, she decided to have a going-away threesome with two guys, one of whom usually hangs out at this gay bar up the road. Which… didn’t make her more attractive in my eyes, actually.)

Female preselection is an amazingly effective attraction generator. You can turn a woman from coldly indifferent to crazy with desire through the transmogrification process known colloquially as “other women”.

The best thing about fucking a single mom (and it is fucking we’re talking about, nothing more) is that you won’t feel the slightest twinge of guilt hastily jettisoning her once an unencumbered womb-fresh woman enters your life. There is a profoundly repulsive force that operates within the male psyche that propels him safely away from wasting any precious resources on helping, however apathetically, the bastard spawn of another man’s short-lived lust. This force is so naturally strong in healthy men with functioning testicles that absence of it in a man is evidence he sleeps in a blue fox costume and can’t bench more than a twelve year old girl.

Yer tunnel aerator loves to troll the shit outta single moms (they are in fact a blight on civilization, and most of them gravely overestimate their ability to coax a quality man into a surrogate father relationship under one happy broken family), but societal ramifications and overstuffed hamster rationalization issues aside, a hot young single mom is no worse a ten minute lay than a hot young child-free woman. If you find yourself trawling the waste product of womanhood for easy lays, you’ll have a blast (literally) manipulating single moms into frenzies of appeasement. Although my personal experience with single moms is limited (and self-imposed, due to justified concerns that a desperate single mom might misconstrue my giddy romantic abandon for long-term commitment probings), I can tell you that this tactic of slyly slighting the single mom with offhand comparisons to her untethered competition is a winning one. The trick is to smash her ego with a velveted fist. Frame the contrast in a way that appears, superficially, to be complimentary of her chosen (or ill-chosen) lifestyle.

“It’s nice to talk to a woman who understands responsibility and has bigger concerns than just her own fun. I date enough carefree women to know how shallow they can be.”

After you’re banging the tragic yearning out of her, you have to take care to sidestep her attempts to insinuate you into the rhythms of her shattered family life. The longer you’re with her, the harder it will be to avoid kid cuff chafing. Either limit your use of her to no more than two months, or affect an air of borderline psychopathy whenever her chess pieces are present. The following three rules should suffice to protect yourself against bloodsucker assimilation:

1. Make it a priority to bang at a neutral location. The less time in her romper room, the broader your path of escape. And keep in mind that a lot of single moms are emotionally unstable, so giving them your home address is not recommended.

2. Don’t do favors for her. Single moms will test the commitment waters by assaulting you with requests for favors that gradually increase in complexity with time. Smarter single moms can entrap men this way within a year, leaving the man wondering what the hell just happened. What happened, goon sir, is that you just forfeited your genetic prime directive.

3. NEVER play with her kids. You may acknowledge them with a head nod or a dry observation about how big they are for their age, but anything more than that and you risk stoking dangerous hope in the single mom.

The above three rules are for men with a conscience. If you are a clinical psychopath, you may find it more fruitful (and instinctive) to pretend interest in commitment, marriage, and proxy fatherhood, and then, when your dick has rifled her barrel to satisfaction and her heart has swelled with visions of green lawns and a decent school system for her future juvenile delinquents, to bolt with no reason nor closure given.

You might drive a few single moms to self-deliverance in this manner, but that’s a small price to pay to ensure your fathering isn’t wasted on the spunkjunk of a felon or bankrupt basketballer.

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