Archive for the ‘Escape’ Category

Your Mission

It’s time that mama bird CH pushes some of you fledglings from the internest to embark on a confidence building mission.

The men who read this site fall roughly in line with the following ratios: 10% cellar dwelling WOWmegas, 30% undersexed betas, 40% curious betas in relationships (or capable of getting into them with some growing pains), 20% alphas of various stripes.

How do I know this? SCIENCE. Actually, it’s an impression I get from the circadian rhythms of the comments section. No claims or proofs by assertion necessary; enough words will coagulate to convey a picture.

So, given that over half the readership are men who genuinely need help meeting and seducing women, and that a substantial portion of these are men who aren’t doing anything to fulfill their desire besides stare at a flickering screen hoping for PIV through CH osmosis, I have decided to give some of you a ticket out of here, in the form of a manbuilding mission.

Understanding how hard it can be for a lot of men to say hi to girls, this mission is fine-tuned for the hopelessly lovelorn and intractably awkward. Baby steps. You won’t have to say word one to a girl. All you have to do is…

1. Squeeze a twinkle into your eye.

Now naturally there’s no physiological way to do this directly. But if you imagine you have an eye twinkle, like some mischievous imp who pulled off a righteous prank, then your eyes will begin to respond to your mental state and manifest twinkles on their own.

2. Smile, but just a little at the corner of the mouth.

Again, you’ll need mental preparation to do this right. Have you ever sauntered alone in your thoughts, musing on some funny scene from your life, or some joke you pulled on a friend (or enemy)? Have you then noticed, once jolted back to your surroundings, that your mouth had aligned into a badboy smirk all on its own? That’s what you’re aiming for. Not a goofy smile; a self-satisfied smile that tells the public world your private world is a trip.

3. Walk with your crotch leading the way.

Sounds silly, but it’s the secret to many an alpha’s intoxicating swagger. Imagine your baton is a marching band leader, setting the tempo, securing the parade route. Or visualize your iron schlong is being pulled forward by a magnetic force, dragging the rest of you behind it. Shoulders square, chest out, chin up, frank and beans forward and pushing your legs apart to make room. Don’t be comical about it. A little goes a long way.

Your mission is to assume the above three changes to your countenance, and walk around in public. That’s it.

Once you get into a groove, I want you to notice how girls respond to you. I think you’ll be pleasantly surprised. These subtle body language alterations make a bigger difference than you might have thought.

After you’ve accomplished this rudimentary lesson in confidence building, you’ll move on to mission #2: How to say hi to a girl without deucing your diapers.

If, for whatever reason (pathological neuroticism), mission #1 is too high a hurdle for you, there are aids you can enlist to help you acquire that arrogant alpha demeanor women so love and cherish. Jam in ear buds and blast your favorite testicular tunes. Remember, you aren’t talking to girls on mission #1. Your only job is to project an alluring aura. If music doesn’t do the trick, there’s always that old reliable coc[REDACTED].

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CH continues to explore the Elliot Rodger story because it reveals cracks in our culture that go beyond one man’s murderous rampage. In the days that have followed, the Hivemind has been busy concocting twisted narratives to see which one best tarnishes its free-thinking enemies. I examine their accuracies and fallacies below.

Sexual Entitlement

This theoretical gambit is a favorite of feminist fruitcakes, who blame the killings on Rodger’s thwarted “entitled” belief that he was “owed” sex with hard 10s, a feminist-friendly analysis that provides a handy springboard upon which they can launch into attacks on “pickup artists” who are learning how to become sexier men in order to date higher quality girls.

The fallacy in this feminist hypothesis was astutely noted by Liger (recently upgraded from Lamb) of the Blogosphere, who wrote that sexual and romantic entitlement is a natural condition of humanity, and that without it men would feel they had no right to approach women and initiate a courtship, and the human race would go extinct.

Here are some uncomfortable truths about “sexual entitlement” that feminists dare not contemplate:

- What Elliot Rodger had was sexual desire. Feminists often confuse sexual desire for sexual entitlement (because feminists loathe male desire), but they are two very different things. To conflate them, one would have to assert that Rodger was weird for feeling attracted to a hot young blonde. But men are attracted to beautiful women. That is their nature. Rodger was no different than the vast majority of men in this regard, alpha and beta alike. However, this is the part where Liger goes astray; Elliot didn’t need to be surrounded by pretty Hollywood actresses or steeped in a culture that reveres female beauty to feel urges to want to fuck cute girls based on their looks. The stripling CH did not grow up in Hollywood, and yet I, like almost every boy I knew, valued girls for their looks above all else. No “looks message” is necessary for a boy like Elliot to feel sexual urges for cute chicks, and to feel dejected if those urges aren’t fulfilled.

- Women feel more true entitlement to men’s commitment and money than men feel to women’s sex. Few men will rape in order to feed their sexual entitlement, but many women will hold out until they get promises of commitment from men, and many marriages end with women feeling entitled to half their husbands’ wealth. A more accurate description of the sexual market, then, is that women have commitment and provision entitlement.

- Finally, the scariest realization for feminists: Sexually entitled men are more attractive to women! If you don’t feel entitled to a woman’s love, she won’t think you’re worth her love.

Elliot Rodger’s problem was not sexual entitlement. His problem was sexual desire coupled with crippling introversion that left him no means to satisfy his desire. This created a cognitive disconnect that he filled with his own untested theories for why women weren’t with him when they were with (to him) obviously inferior specimens.

Father Emotional Abandonment

Elliot Rodger’s father, Peter Rodger, from all accounts sounds like he was uninterested in Elliot’s upbringing and preferred his time in the company of naked women taking pictures of their behinds, (which included Elliot’s mother). His father either never loved Elliot, or grew to despise him when he began to sense something was off with the boy. (If the former, it’s likely that Elliot’s biracial appearance contributed to his white father’s disenchantment with him.)

Bolstering the father abandonment theory, a reader sent some juicy insider information which I will post here, taking care to edit it in a circumspect manner so that no identities are accidentally revealed.

Elliot Rodger’s family has been part of a reality show the last seven years often recorded in his house. This is significant because his father on the show has always said he has “a” son, as in only one. In this video from the TV show it shows the father at the family table with the son from the second marriage, but not Elliot.

Elliot is shown in the show, for example when they met Sylvester Stallone (23:50), but Elliot is never acknowledged or speaks. Imagine a father that has a reality show in the house, keeps talking about “his son” and the “three of us” as in “Mother, Father, and son” as opposed to sons.

Elliot mentions the jealousy he has for the other brother. The fact his father says on TV, in the house Elliot lives in, that he has one son, might be enough to push someone over the edge.

In other words, complete family dysfunction.

Elliot doubtlessly sensed his father’s loathing and embarrassment of him, and this family dynamic may have set the ball rolling on Elliot’s eventual psychosocial schism.

Regardless where you fall on the “fathers are crucial/father’s genes are crucial” argument about children’s development, it’s a good bet Elliot lacked a positive parental influence and a loving father’s advice that would have helped him through his struggle into manhood. Nevertheless, the father emotional abandonment theory can’t fully explain Elliot’s eventual psychotic break; something awry already had to be present. Was Elliot’s blood tainted?

Psychopathy/Schizophrenia/Narcissism/Neuroticism/Asperger’s Syndrome

A common theme that often emerges from mass shootings is the revelation that the killer was on some kind of psychotropic or suffered from an anti-social disorder like autism. Then people say “Aha! He was a bad seed, not right in the head”, and feel satisfied that they can ignore any environmental insults that may have triggered the killer’s rage.

News stories present contradicting information on how much, or whether, Elliot was on any happy pills or had been formally diagnosed with any personality disorder. If he was on pills, the causal mechanism then becomes the issue; did Elliot’s psychological disease push him over the edge, or did the drugs he take to ameliorate his disease act as the trigger for violence? Evidence is slim that Elliot had a congenital mental disease, but this photo of him as a child is telling (via reader Tony Nick):

Dem eyes. We’ve seen them before, staring vacantly out of the faces of Dylan Kliebold and Seung-Hui Cho.

Right now it’s a guessing game, but the best guess is that Elliot Rodger had inherited a form of narcissistic and anti-social personality disorder. Some wags may ask your esteemed host, “If chicks dig dark triad narcissists, why didn’t they dig Elliot?” The problem here is that narcissism doesn’t attract girls if it’s hiding behind a shy, retiring, aggrieved personality. You’ve gotta bust a move, and Elliot Rodger clearly never saw a move he wished to bust, unless it involved spilling coffee on a girl who was dating a guy he didn’t like.

A severe organic personality disorder alone won’t typically create a killer, but combine it with some external variable — like incel — and all the bomb needs is something to light the fuse.

Male Feminism/White Knightism

A good argument can be made that Elliot Rodger was, in his writings and beliefs, a male feminist. And that the cancerous, deceitful message of male feminism warped his view of women and contributed to his ignorance about female nature and dating. Rodger believed “supreme gentlemen” should get the girls. He thought merely showing up and plopping down on a park bench would have the girls falling into his lap (and like a peculiar subspecies of MGTOW, his belief system similarly embraced the strange notion that making efforts to get girls was beneath him). His dad, probably equally deluded about women and dating in the year 2014, figured that buying his son a BMW in the last year of his life would help him get dates.

Did male feminism create a monster? It certainly didn’t help Elliot get laid; in fact, it helped repulse girls from him, the external factor which seems to have been the dark driving force throughout his post-pubertal life. Male feminism is not just castrating, it kills. Ask Hugo Schwyzer.

Status Envy

In the Hollywood culture Elliot knew, very high status men, beautiful women and botoxed women, and snotty children of high status men and beautiful and/or botoxed women surrounded him. Most of these people are entitled (far more entitled than Elliot) and bipolar. A fun bunch to throw a party, not so great for raising a biracial, effeminate (though not physically unattractive) male like Elliot who couldn’t look people in the eyes and barely spoke two words to family acquaintances. In this milieu, Elliot would have felt like a tragic outcast, and everyone who knew him would have thought that, too.

Absolute low status does not destroy souls, but relative low status can do the trick. Any other town, Elliot might’ve stood a chance of carving out a social niche for himself. A dad with some awareness and compassion would have taken him out of Hollywood, but then that would have meant no more naked photo shoots and handshakes with Sly Stallone.

The Anti-Boy Therapy Culture

Elliot’s family had him in therapy for years. The psychiatrist he saw was a quack who dated a skank blonde with gargantuan fake tits. Harken back to your childhood. How would you have felt if your family basically pulled a Pontius Pilate and washed their hands of you, sending you to a sleazeball who’s idea of therapy was promptly writing a script for Risperidone, an anti-schizophrenia drug?

This is a tragic example of the anti-boy therapy culture that pervades the US. And by “therapy”, I mean that feminized, womanish therapy that shoves pills down throats to solve the problem of boyness. Maybe Elliot was born sick and needed therapy. But what he didn’t need was a castrate asking him his feelings about his mother while he jerked off under the desk. Elliot needed the therapy of a clear and present father to inform him of the ways of the world. Maybe that wouldn’t have saved him, but it at least would’ve given him a fighting chance.

Pickup Artists and PUAHate

Elliot Rodger didn’t frequent the PUAHate forum to grouse about pickup techniques he tried that didn’t land him a bombshell hottie. He went there to bemoan women and the men those women loved with sympathetic company, and to complain about his looks. While there, (and elsewhere), he picked up (heh) a few bits and pieces of PUA jargon and proceeded to construct an inner fantasy world featuring himself as the put-upon alpha male. But, sadly, to the outside world he was still that shy kid who never talked and looked at his shoes. This was about the time when a complete dissociation between Elliot’s inner world and his outer reality was underway.

The Estrangement Of The Modern Sexual Market

If ever there was a subculture where the modern sexual market was most conspicuously operable, it was the la-la land Elliot grew up in. You can imagine what it was like for a shy kid who had to navigate a dating apocalypse where 90% of the girls were bangable and 99% of them were chasing after the top 1% sons of A-list insiders. This poor lesser beta didn’t stand a chance.

Elliot Rodger’s 132-page autobiography/manifesto (autofesto? manigraphy?) is filled with brutally confessional admissions of loserdom. If he carried even a fraction of that self-pity with him to real life interactions with girls, they would have immediately written him off as a romantic prospect. Girls can smell the stink of beta incel from twelve parsecs.

Failure with women compounds until the beta male succumbs to bitterness, at which point the process of sexual isolation accelerates and solidifies. If an intervention goes missing, the beta can drift into omegaland, and fall victim to his worst compulsions.

Reader Steve Johnson writes,

He was totally isolated because he made bad choices.

He chose world of warcraft over socializing because it’s an effective narcotic.

He chose puahate because it told him what he wanted to hear – that girls choose guys for mysterious reasons that no man can understand – or change about himself.

He specifically avoided socializing in any way that would threaten his narcissistic self-image and motivate him to change in any way – after all if he has to change, then he’s not perfect and we all know that can’t be true, right?

He was omega by choice because it was easier than doing any work.

Martyrdom complex, bad family, crippling shyness, pathological narcissism, biracial neuroticism, unfulfilled sexual desire, a sexual market rapidly separating introverted beta males from the sexual spoils… these things put together don’t guarantee a man will become a killer, but they sure don’t help.

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You may not think a study of social spiders would have anything to say about such disparate topics as racial diversity and pickup, but that’s just because you haven’t taken a fistful of shrooms and gone on a vision quest.

…these oddball spider socialites may offer fresh insight into an array of human mysteries: where our personalities come from, why some people can’t open their mouths at a party while others can’t keep theirs shut and, why, no matter our age, we can’t seem to leave high school behind. [...]

[Researchers] have determined that character-building in social spiders is a communal affair. While they quickly display the first glimmerings of a basic predisposition — a relative tendency toward shyness or boldness, tetchiness or docility — that personality is then powerfully influenced by the other spiders in the group.

In laboratory experiments, the researchers showed that spiders exposed to the same group day after day developed stronger and more distinctive personalities than those that were shifted from one set of spiders to the next. Moreover, the spiders in a stable social setting grew ever less like one another over time.

In other words, far from fostering behavioral conformity, a predictable social life accentuated each spider’s quirks and personal style, rather as the characters in a sitcom — the Goth girl, the huckster, the lovable buffoon — rise ever more to type with every passing laugh-tracked week.

“The longer the spiders were with the same individuals, the stronger their personalities became, and the more different they became from each other,” Dr. Pruitt said. “The aggressive ones became much more aggressive, the docile ones more docile.” The consistency of their behaviors also mounted with time, he said, “to the point where they seemed almost rigid.”

As most readers are here to learn how better to attract women in a world gone mad, the story within this story is what group familiarity and uniformity say about your chances to escape your beta box, (or, conversely, to exploit your alpha cred).

Summarizing, a lack of inter-group diversity (say, growing up in an idyllic all-white suburb where Rush blasted from angst-y teen bedrooms) actually increases individual diversity, through the mechanism of amplifying preexisting personality differences among same-group members. In contrast, a lot of inter-group diversity (say, moving to a SWPL hipster enclave in a minority white city soaked in vibrancy that makes daily living an adventure in survival) produces a uniformity of thought and, CH will note, of aesthetic within groups, which is why we see SWPL hoods in nearly every major American city converging on the same farm-to-table Obama-loving liberal hypocrite norm.

Paradoxically, group cohesiveness creates more individual diversity, while inter-group diversity creates more intra-group uniformity. Diversity + proximity = conformity.

In other words, the diversity that really matters — diversity of thought and personality — flourishes in less racially diverse environs.

That’s the diversity angle of this spider study, What about the game angle?

Equally dramatic was the impact of social conditions on the boldness test. Stable spider groups, composed of six spiders that remained together for up to four weeks, showed the greatest variety between individuals, the greatest mix of bold and shy, as well as the highest individual consistency: The pebble-playing times of the boldies grew shorter while those of the timids lengthened.

Among shifting spider groups, by contrast, the boldness scores proved far less predictable, as though the spiders didn’t quite know what was expected of them. [...]

Alison M. Bell, who studies stickleback personality at the University of Illinois, says the spider work neatly illustrates the mix of plasticity and predilection that underlies personality.

“I think it’s such an appealing idea that social interactions could cause social niches, and it resonates with our own experience as humans,” she said. “When you go into a group, your behavior changes depending on the nature of that group, but it can only change so far.”

Yet so long. Soon after getting results from the experiments, Dr. Laskowski met with a group of friends she hadn’t seen since graduating from high school a decade earlier.

“All of a sudden I’m high-school Kate again,” she said. “Just being in that social environment completely reinforced my old behaviors. It was my social niche, that’s what I felt.”

Your identity can be altered by removing (or removing yourself from) social dynamics that reinforce your old identity. Personality is part predilection, part plasticity (ratios subject to debate), and what this spider study hints at is that if you are a docile beta male who wants to inject some alpha characteristics into your behavioral regime, you can move the needle on your suite of personality traits by getting the hell away from stale social settings in which you are known as the niceguy who doesn’t pick up women.

For some men, this won’t be news. Many a former beta male has testified to social and sexual success that accrued after he left his comfortable social circle, or his hometown, for strange new lands and new friends who didn’t know of his past nature. Like the rattled spiders who got confused when their social landscape shifted, the beta male will be able to more easily experiment with bold alpha moves in a new environment filled with new people who haven’t yet pigeonholed him. Additionally, the alpha males who luxuriated in the rewards that familiar people’s expectations granted them will be less bold in new environments, thus paving a path for uppity beta males to exploit the slick seducer niche.

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Stomach dropping. A pressing, radiating hollowing on the innerside of your solar plexus. Eyes widening to surprise-shaped orbs, drinking in threat. Face burning with bloodrush. Clammy hands, racing brain.

If you’ve ever lost a girl’s attention to another man, you know that feeling. It could be a first date who unexpectedly sing-songs an encomium about some guy who’s been on her mind, or a girlfriend you’ve started dating whose eyes dart around the room checking out other men as if you’re blind and can’t notice her distraction, or a more established girlfriend who betrays a wobbliness of the knees and a yearning in the voice when an ex-boyfriend joins your company.

You’re losing her, and that sinking feeling is your bioalert system letting you know she’s slip slip slippin away.

What do you do? When it happens, the advice from players with icy game in their veins is usually a variant of the following:

- Flirt with another girl. Act indifferent. You demonstrate high mate value by maintaining state control and refusing to get flustered by the imminent threat of another man or your woman’s emotional straying. Re-establish your attractiveness by signaling preselection from other women, and unlimited options which you threaten to act upon.

In other words, make her come back to you, like an iron filling to a magnet.*

This advice is given because it works. No doubt about that. But the problem is that certain conditions are needed for practical application of the advice. One, you need other single women around with whom to tactically flirt. Two, you have to be a borderline psychopath to be able to remain so coldly unaffected by the whirlwind of emotions emanating from your limbic engine room. That kind of eerily cold indifference to romantic outcome is either innate, or developed from years of profligate poon plunder.

Most regular guys don’t have years of poon plunder under their belts. And most of the time you’re out with a girl, there won’t be readily available single women within eyesight to welcome your counter-attack flirtations. You will be left with your date/girlfriend, her roaming eyes, and your sinking feeling, and that’s it. So, what now?

I’m about to give the best piece of advice you’ll ever hear on this subject. Advice that’s worked for me when I most needed it. Here it is. When you feel that sinking feeling:


Don’t even tell her you’re going. Simply walk out. This is the best… BY FAR the best… method for maintaining your aloof indifference in the face of reproductive annihilation. Get away from the negative stimulus that is impossible for you to properly manage, and you won’t be there to announce your beta insecurity to the world. Leaving in a flash has a second benefit: It frightens your woman. It fills her with the fear that you might skip out on her for good, to cash your higher value mate chips in at a better paying table.

Now this won’t always work — she might stay behind and wind up making out with someone else; but if that happens, she was never close to being your woman, so you saved yourself wasted investment — but when it does work, it works like a MOAB. Plus, you get to enjoy the wonderful, if temporary, feeling of taking the manly initiative and salvaging your dignity.

In the latter scenario, she’ll come running out, sooner or later, maybe the next day, hurling invective, demanding explanation. This is not the time to express the pain of your romantic disappointment like a lovesick beta. Drive the id shiv in a little further, with a twist of ambivalence: “I felt like going. Do you want me to slap on a GPS monitor so you can track my whereabouts?”

Chaser-chasee roles… INVERTED.

Reward good behavior intermittently, punish bad behavior promptly.

Her company should now improve. But if it doesn’t you have the luxury of timing the release of your disappointment with her behavior during happy moments when she least expects your ire, and when your state control is set to Maximum Aloofness. There’s nothing so psychosocially exhilarating as catching a woman off-guard; it’s similar to how a curse is more effective when you lull your foe into complacence with calm rebuke and then drop the soulsmashing insult at the very end.

*Some players recommend calling a girl out when she mentally strays, sort of an agree & amplify of an unspoken context. For example, “Hey, eyes over here you crazy slut. At least wait until I’m gone before you throw yourself at another man.” CH does not agree with this strategy. It sounds workable on paper, but the reality is quite different; you’re more likely to come across butt-hurt than bemused.

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Beta males who get stuck in the friend zone (“LJBFed”) with women are rightly mocked for their self-defeating clinginess and the burden of their blue balls. But the strategy — if it can be called that — to befriend girls that one would like to fuck must have some utility for some men some of the time, or it wouldn’t exist in the state of nature. And, if one observes women through the years, there are those beta male orbiters who do manage, through sheer force of persistence or ungodly patience for a stroke of luck to come their way, a tender five seconds of intimacy with their female friends which the girls immediately regret afterward.

So you might say the undercover beta male orbiter strategy is extremely long-term, with no guarantee of sexual closure. It’s a painfully slow and laborious process for extracting sexual favors from girls, so why then do some egregiously betas do it? Well, because for these kinds of weak men the pain of the subversive orbiter strategy is less painful than the pain of outright rejection from busting a move that would destroy all their hopes and the delicious uncertainty that acts as mental lube for their masturbatory daydreaming.

However, if approaching and hitting on girls with sexual intention is simply out of your realm of possibility, then there are ways to conduct your undercover orbiter strategy that will maximize your odds of a bang with the torment of your dreams. I lay them out here.

- Always talk about the girls you are dating, fucking, or seeking same from to your girl “friend”. Do so in a way that does not seem try-hard; that is, offer it up like an afterthought to some other topic that triggers the segue.

- Limit your friendzone time to drinking, shows, art exhibits, and house parties. Try to avoid shopping or other quintessentially girlie or best gay boyfriend activities. The object is to do friendly things with her that mimic real dates, while avoiding doing those things with her that strengthen her impression of you as “one of the girls” (who happens to have a penis, if the rumors are true).

- Immediately and without qualification change the subject when your girl “friend” begins talking about a guy she likes, or the dudes she’s fucking or wants to fuck. Once you go down that road, there’s no turning back from eternal LJBF hell. She will never see you as a sexual creature if you are willing to listen to her sob stories about other men plowing her clean.

- Don’t make a production of her wistful musings about other guys, though. Don’t change the subject by exclaiming your refusal to listen to her dating life; doing that opens her to suspicions that you really like her, and if your Undercover Orbiter strategy is to work, you can’t put yourself in a position of needy weakness. Better to change subjects by simply changing them, as if you didn’t even hear her comment about the serial killer she really wants to boff who offed her twin sister.

- You’re going to want to invoke feelings of latent jealousy as much as possible. A girl “friend” that you are orbiting may not consciously perceive you as a potential lover, but when she sees you holding court with other girls, or flirting with one of her friends, her instincts will kick in and she won’t be able to control a growing desire for your preselected malehood.

- Use her as a target for practicing your teasing skills. A platonic girl friend (but you know better, don’t you, tiger) presents an excellent opportunity for honing your cocky teasing skills. And a welcome bonus is that she may start to want you after all your gentle insulting.

- Once in a while, she’s going to unload that “I fucked a hot dude last night” conversation bomb. Do not react negatively, even though you will feel intense burning jealousy mixed with disgust. In fact, do not react at all. Raise an eyebrow, and say something along the lines of, “Tell me more when the wedding date is set.” The idea is to ridicule her idea of a fulfilling dating life. More good replies: “Your parents would be proud”, “Hey, congratulations, you magnificent slut!” (say this with a shit-eating grin), “This is news?”

- Your one advantage, if you can call it that, is that you are the guy who is “there for her” when times are tough and she needs a shoulder to cry on. Occasionally, like when Jupiter aligns with Uranus and her oxytocin levels are off the charts, a girl will feel strong intimate feelings for the emotionally available and sensitive beta male. That’s when you leap in. You’ve been laying the groundwork for months, perhaps years, and now it’s time to cash in your “terrific guy” chips for a shot at her weepy vulva. Bust your move by gently stroking the back of her hand for hours. Progress to giving her many more hours of cunnilingus when you’ve gotten an unambiguous green light for bedroom intimacy. (Your green light will need to be unambiguous, because pushing hard for sex over her coy protestations will strike her as terribly incongruent with your personality, and she will recoil.) Finally, be prepared for waves of regret to wrack her mind in the morning, or even as soon as when the tip of your penis grazes her labia. Allow that she will need this time to regret her actions, and take the necessary precautions to avoid a feminism-inspired legal imbroglio by wiring your place with audio and video recorders the day before she arrives. You can never be too safe.

- Finally, preemptively dump her after the first time you bang her. Yes, that’s right, unceremoniously dump the girl of your dreams, your White Womb. As her confirmed beta orbiter, there is little chance she will want more sex with you after her moment of weakness (that’s what she will think it is), let alone a relationship, if you do not take steps to push her in that direction. And pushing her in that direction means pushing her away from you. There’s nothing more infuriating, and hence, more alluring, to a woman than a man who has inexplicably made himself less available to her after sex. Especially when that man has spent so much time prior being the guy she could count on. This is script-flipping on steroids. You must make her stop seeing you as her reliable, sensitive, asexual friend, and that means you need to start becoming less reliable, less sensitive, and more sexual. A preemptive dumping is just the strong medicine a girl “friend” needs to being the healing of her “regretiness”. Don’t do it the very next morning, but don’t wait too long either. You have to get the jump on her before she hits you with the “I don’t want to ruin our friendship” sermon. Timing is critical. You want to be the bearer of that message before she is.

- If you are slow to act, and she manages to “dump” you first, you have a counter maneuver. Agree with her. “Yes, this was a mistake. We need to stop so we can remain friends.” (Never mind the bizarre logic of this statement; with women, emotions are what matter.) Then, in the days immediately following, see her once, and then cut off all contact for a few weeks (or months, as the circumstances require). Cutting off contact means taking a full day or two to reply to her texts or vmails or IMs, and not making a big deal about it when she inquires why you are being distant. Act as if she is the one imagining things are wrong between you two.

- This is hamster manipulation of the highest order. You are the one instigating the Distancing Protocol, while blaming her for perceiving something that’s “all in her head”. This contradictory tactic spares you from leaving an impression of butthurtness, and keeps her in a constant state of self-doubt. From such fertile psychological ground sprouts the chaser-chasee inversion algorithm, a seduction ploy that is the special sauce which underlies every womanizer’s exotic power over their prey.

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Dissolve the Republicans. They are worse than useless; their “me-too”ism knee-jerk quickness to dance to the Left’s funeral dirge composed on their behalf is leading them right into a hole in the ground. A future party of the right is going to have to fight a different fight — one that cuts out the beating heart of leftoidism itself and squeezes it to a mash: the propagandizers.

Commenter Porter at Mangans’s explains how to defund (and defang) the Left’s army of indoctrinators:

Dissolve their barbell on both ends. Both the very rich and their client-class eaters skew heavily democrat. A cunning Republican (I mean this, of course, hypothetically) would very publicly offer a grand bargain that bargains only him: Punitive, confiscatory, outrageous taxation on incomes over whatever figure, combined with meaningful cuts across the welfare spectrum, including elimination of the earned income tax credit. I’ll offer cuts to your constituents in exchange for higher taxes on your sponsors. It’s simply fiscal prudence with a little extra help from the wealthiest Americans.

Free the Cable Guy. Push legislation that unbundles cable packages and offers choice to the public in what channels they wish to pay for and receive. This would end the involuntary subsidies from cable customers to the left’s fringe media projects. Let each channel be subject to market demand…and let MSNBC drown.

And this isn’t as much a rep/dem issue as it is one of stanching the bloodflow to a tick…401k retirement accounts represent a torrent of tribute to Wall Street. End it. The left loves the Community Reinvestment Act. Give them more community reinvestment. Require 401 monies to be managed by institutions local to the business or employee. Much of this would flow into CDs at smaller regional banks where subsequent lending activity would occur. Wealth remains local and decentralized while Goldman bonuses are slashed to seven figures. There are no losers.

This is the way to seriously harm, if not kill, the mind virus that is the modern Left. Forget following the oh-so-sincerely-helpful advice from Democrat quarters that fielding minority candidates and assuaging women with feelgood pablum about free birth control and dropping opposition to electorate-altering amnesty is the way to success for Republicans. Would you take advice from the executioner on how tightly to knot the rope fitted around your neck?

Yes, Republicans could be more successful if they became more like Democrats (and even that is debatable, for what good is gimmedat lite compared to the real redistribution?). But then where is the Right except existing as a dangly, vestigial Kuato providing comic relief for the behemoth Left? What is the point of having an opposing party if its success rides upon how well it can mimic its ostensible ideological enemies?

No, ignore the plaintive wails for reforming the “right”. Hit the enemy where it’ll hurt them the most, even hurt them lethally. Suck dry the money spigot that breathes dark life into the Propagandizers and Indoctrinators. Do this, “””Republicans”””, and sit back in joy as the wails of the Left echo like a cacophony of squealing pigs being buried alive in your ears.

Of course, the reps of the mainstream right won’t do this. Many of them don’t really want to win; it would interfere with their cocktail glass clinking time. And, oh god!, don’t raise taxes one iota on those über rich Democrat non-patrons! But if by some miracle the right found its balls, if the spirit of Khan suddenly moved them to action, the above recipe to regain some serious power will work… at least enough to staunch the enveloping, suffocating demographic tide for a decade or two.


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A reader passes along this personal anecdote:

I wrote you about a year ago with a tale about a birthday dinner with a girlfriend where I showed up late, had no present, and subsequently violated her in wonderfully new ways that night as a result.  The main reason I wrote at the time was because I owe a great deal of how my life has changed, both at work and with women, to your blog.

Today I have another entertaining story that proves yet again how right your posts are.  I’ve been talking to a married woman for about a month now.  Her husband is well off, but about 15 years older and has made no effort to take care of himself.  He also has very little sex drive.  She does modeling and acting.  I’ve included a picture so you can make your own assessment of how attractive she is (please don’t post that if you do comment on the blog about this.  I’m really not looking to affect her career with this). [ed: she's sexy.]

I’ve been working her pretty hard the last month.  She gets approached by men EVERYWHERE.  She even has pro athletes trying to hook up with her.  So I  had to go a different route and ride that line of being somewhat supportive when she complained about her husband, but frequently make sure she knew I found her sexy as hell, and wanted to violate the hell out of her.  Halloween, that tension build-up all paid off.  We were both at a party at a bar, friends of hers all over, and after just one drink, she didn’t care who was watching.  We didn’t even make it to midnight before I was violating her in the parking garage.  The thing that was most striking to me after that, was how hard she was working to try to get some indication of commitment from me to assuage any doubts she had about what had happened.  She clearly wants out of her marriage, but that old hypergamy makes her want to know she can jump straight from one secure place to another.

The saddest thing is that her husband effectively all but told her to go fuck me.  She’s spent years trying to get him to go to the gym, go do things with her instead of sitting on his ass, and be affectionate to her.  He basically gave no alpha, and didn’t even give any supportive beta either.  As she’d describe her marriage, he honestly sounded more like your typical housewife (let himself go, believes she should just love him for who he is, etc.) than a man.

I wonder if this kind of thing happened with any regularity in Medieval Europe?

Women simply cannot be trusted to act virtuously. Their sexuality must be constrained to some degree by the operating patriarchy if civilization is to flourish. In times past, the threat of lethal cuckold revenge struck fear into the hearts of whorish wives and alpha male interlopers. Today, the State ensures the cuckold foots the bill for any bastard spawn the whore may have with her itinerant lovers.

How far we’ve fallen.

But I digress. The photo the reader included of the cheating wife was quite telling. Some girls just have the “eye of the trollop”; their intense, smoky glare broadcasts far and wide “I act before I think.” I’m not surprised a rich man married her; rich men tend to be both ignorant of female nature (they can’t be bothered to learn) and hooked on the thrill of possessing a dangerously sexy trophy wife. Rich men are under the mistaken assumption that their wealth is enough to keep a wife fulfilled and satisfied. We here who study the crimson arts know better. Perhaps they deserve the cuckolding they get.

The “love me for who I am” platitude has got to be one of the most self-destructive pretty lies a person can sincerely hold. If you believe that, and act in accordance with that belief, I can practically guarantee you will suffer in love. Even the most naturally natural alpha males who strut with conviction that they are Satan’s gift to the world know that women require certain emotional stimulations to respond sexually and to fall in love.

What can we learn from this reader’s story? Well, if you like the idea of fucking sexy, bored housewives in nightclub parking garages, you should be aware of the following:

1. Does she give off that wonderful whore vibe? Watch for the eyes and the walk. Women who love da cockas have a certain way of walking. And if she glances even for a split second at your package, she’s pre-lubed.

2. Has she been drinking? Really, it helps.

3. Does she complain about her husband or boyfriend within the first five minutes of meeting her? Now you may think this is a recipe for being her emotional tampon so she can bitch about the asshole she loves, but the benefit to you depends greatly on how you handle her whining. Too much concern, you’re beta toast. Too little, you give her no excuse to find salvation in your crotch. Also be cognizant of the style of her complaints; if she’s down to fuck around, she’ll sound more coldly dismissive of her husband or boyfriend rather than earnestly despairing.

4. Do her friends all seem like sluts? Slutty female friends are rarely cockblocks. Do you know why? Because sluts love it when their friends are sluts, too. It means no chance of being judged.

5. Is it Halloween? If it is, double your odds of closing the deal on the same night.

Whatever you do, never give your real name, address or phone number to a married woman. The last thing you need is a shotgun in your face when you open the front door.

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Le Chateau has highlighted great and gruesome stories of alphas and betas, but what about those beta males who transcend, through sheer force of will, the prison of their supplicating souls? More than a learning tool or a life lesson, these enlightened post-betas are inspirations. The 80% or so of men who qualify as beta males need a role model like them; someone who can show them the way. There is a better life if they would just take it, and the reformed beta is proof that you don’t have to be born an alpha to have the good things in life and experience the flush of power that the alpha male takes for granted.

My prudish husband has left me because I lied about my sex life

When I met my husband 40 years ago I knew he was ‘the one.’ He had firm opinions on sex before marriage (outdated even then) and was a virgin.

As I got to know him, it became clear that he’d never consider marrying somebody with ‘history.’ He thought sex special and wouldn’t want to imagine his wife having it with others.

But, by 22, I’d been having sex for four years. Madly in love and wanting him to marry me, I lied.

He was bound to realise I wasn’t a virgin, so I made up a story that I’d been in a long engagement, giving up my virginity under pressure only a month before my wedding day, then reluctantly had sex twice with my fiancé, who then dumped me, leaving me devastated and ashamed.

He was very understanding and proposed soon after. We married and moved to his home town — a relief, as I’d worried we might bump into a friend who might speak out of turn.

We had two children and a very happy and successful marriage. But a few weeks ago, an old friend contacted me over the internet, and I invited her round.

My husband left us to talk and went off to the garden. Inevitably we talked of the past.

After she left, I found my husband looking devastated. He said he’d gone into the conservatory to read and heard everything.

He said he felt utterly betrayed, as he had a right to expect honesty, but our entire marriage had been based on a fundamental lie.

I said we’d had a wonderful 40 years, so what could it matter what I did before I met him?

He moved in to the spare room and avoided me. A week later he moved to a bedsit and told me he wanted a divorce.

Nothing would change his mind. Our adult children have tried, but he is absolutely fixed.

Men who want to find a woman for a long-term relationship or marriage (a codified LTR) are put off by histories of a slutty past. The woman who has given herself freely to men before him proves that old GBFM aphorism that it makes no sense for a man to pay for the pussy that was handed over no strings attached to other men when it was younger, hotter, tighter. You don’t seriously invest in a rode hard and tossed away wet pussy; instead, you ride it harder and wear it out a little more, then look for fresher pussy that doesn’t need its 60,000 cockas maintenance as soon as you sign the dotted line.

My method may be glib, intended to inflict maximum emotional pain for make benefit of my personal amusement, but the foundation upon which the glibness rests is true. Men have evolved intricate mental algorithms that subconsciously push them to devalue women with extensive sexual histories as long-term partners. The reason for this is obivous: the slut is a bigger infidelity risk, and thus a bigger cuckolding risk, than the chaste woman. Science has proven this, in yet another example of the lab coat crowd catching up with conventional wisdom and common sense observation.

Therefore, when a long-loyal husband finds out his wife rode the cock carousel, even if discovered to have occurred in a prior life of hers, his respect for her drops a notch. His love for her shrinks three sizes. His honed beta ability and predilection to put her on a pedestal and adore her suffers a grievous diminishment. She has, in a word, become a less worthy woman in his eyes. And, likewise, in the eyes of all men, because men, like women, share universal preferences for certain types of mates.

So good for this reformed beta for walking away from his once-whore wife. In the big picture, the sin she committed may be small, but sometimes it takes horrible and swift retribution by a man to violently shake a woman, and women in her sphere of influence, from comfortable delusions and easy expectations regarding the self-imposition of controls on their behavior. All it takes is a relatively few betas to toss a stone cold rock in the world of women and the ripples will eddy and swirl through the masses. The beta male has suddenly become uncontrollable, unpredictable, untamable! This is the stuff of revolution, and it will set women on the path to happiness more powerfully than a million grrlpower tomes, feminist blogs or fat acceptance hugboxes.

The haters are apoplectic. Their splutter is the stuff of delicious slo-mo videos. “But but but,” they will protest, “I can be slutty and still land a man! Any man who leaves me because I’m a slut doesn’t deserve me!”

Deservin’s got nothin’ to do with it, honey. It’s biomechanical turtles all the way down.

But I’ll throw the haters a bone, here. Yes, it’s true that a slut, assuming she is sufficiently physically attractive, can cajole a man into a relationship. Men are, before all else, born slaves to a pretty female face, and it takes effort to break those chains forged of unalloyed pulchritude. Many men do indeed slavishly pursue sluts simply because those sluts are hot with perfect apple bottoms.

But “sufficiently attractive” is the key word. The higher value the man, the more beautiful the slut has to be to ensnare him in a relationship. High value men, aka alphas, have options in the mating market that beta males don’t; these men, when they aren’t just plowing through sluts for fun and penile profit, will generally balk at dating sluts in favor of settling down with more modest, and less sexually experienced, women.

There is, then, a tacit assumption that the sorts of men the feminist sluts are pulling aren’t exactly the top of the alpha male heap. They are likely beta males, maybe some of them greater omegas with cute undulating manboobs and receding chins, who are so desperate for sex and female love that they can readily suppress their distaste for sluts if it means having a girl on their arms.

Maxim #56: The more limited a person’s options in the sexual market, the laxer his or her mate standards.

(For those interested in the science behind this, I believe there is a study floating around internetland which purports to show that very beautiful women with extensive sexual histories don’t suffer too much of a hit to their marriage marketability, because the betas who marry them are quick to forgive their slutty ways. In short, very hot women are so intoxicating that many men will assume the higher risk of getting cuckolded by them for the chance to enjoy a few years of glorious, incomparably pleasurable sex.)

In stark contrast, have you ever seen what an alpha male does to plain-looking sluts? It isn’t pretty. To call it pump and dump would be a euphemism. Think more along the lines of “facelessly screw and scatter to the wind”.

These realities of the sexual market aren’t often instantly apprehensible. You can go a few years only subconsciously picking up cues that your behavior is hurting your mate value. But in the aggregate of many lifetimes, and over each lifetime, the god of biomechanics imposes his relentless, merciless, unavoidable will. And you will bend the knee to him, sooner or later. You have no choice.

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Are happiness and sex antagonistic? A new study reports that couples who waited to have sex were happier in the long run. (Usual caveats about the accuracy of Daily Mail reporting apply.)

A study of hundreds of couples found those who waited to have sex were happier in the long-run.

Women particularly benefited from not leaping into bed at the first opportunity. Marriage also seemed to make them happier than co-habiting.

The researchers said delaying sex gave couples time to get to know each other and work out just how compatible they were.

Without this period of courtship, judgment can be clouded, leading to couples falling into unfulfilling long-term relationships. [...]

Analysis of the data clearly showed the women who had waited to have sex to be happier. And those who waited at least six months scored more highly in every category measured than those who got intimate within the first month. Even their sex lives were better.

The link was weaker for men. However, those who waited to get physically involved had fewer rows.

Abstinence makes the heart grow fonder? Would seem like it. But not so fast.

First, I’m not surprised women who waited — or, more precisely, made their beta boyfriends wait — were more satisfied with their relationships. Women are psychologically, and ultimately biologically, predisposed to prefer holding out for sex, because it allows them more time to judge men’s mate quality and investment potential without risking a pregnancy by a man who might flee the next morning. There are very good evolutionary reasons why a woman would make a suitor wait as a test of his commitment to her. A man who is willing to suffer 182 days of this:

…is a man who is likely to stick around after she pops out a newt.

Second, selection bias. Does waiting to have sex really make couples happier, or are couples who are more likely to wait for sex also more likely to be content and fight less within long-term monogamous relationships? I suspect the latter. The kind of people who empathize easily and go along to get along are also the kind of people who have the patience of a saint. I bet people like this also have lower sex drives. It’s doubtful that sex itself, or refraining from having sex, is the causative factor in their happiness.

Third, some recent studies have shown that men derive their happiness within relationships from their lovers’ happiness. That is, when their women are happy, men are happy. The reverse is not necessarily true. So a woman who has held out for sex to make an “unclouded” judgment — and isn’t it funny that women think more clearly when abstaining from sex, while men think more clearly when sexually fulfilled? — is more likely to be happy with her choice of man, and consequently her happiness will infuse her man’s happiness level. But a man would be just as happy with a sexpot who put out early and often as long as she was happy with him (and faithful).

The biggest problem with this study is definitional. Happiness is not love, and it’s not sexual attraction. Love is passion. Happiness is contentment. Love is volatility. Happiness is calm acceptance, even noble resignation. Love is dizzying crescendos. Happiness is rhythmic tempo. Love is hope. Happiness is the relinquishment of hope. Similar contrasts can be made between happiness and lust. Conflating all these as if they were of equal merit, or equally valued, is misleading.

Most couples do not wait 182 days to have sex with the goal of maximizing their mutual happiness, and so we can conclude that most couples are willing to forego long-term happiness for short-term ecstasy. Our revealed preferences indicate that happiness is not high on our mental checklist of values or emotional states.

It’s an intriguing hypothesis, though, that the happiness women gain from lengthy periods of enforced abstinence they sacrifice in sexual and romantic satisfaction. The committed beta provider that female-compelled (and it’s rarely male-compelled) abstinence selects for comes at the cost of losing the sexy alpha cad that female-compelled abstinence selects against.

Maybe some massively underacknowledged subculture of preternaturally abnegating abstinent Evangelicals exists of which I’m only dimly aware that skews the average time couples spend in sexless purgatory well into the double and triple digit days, but in the world I live in — the one that’s pretty much a given in any community that isn’t orthodox religious — a 60 day wait for sex is nearly unheard of, let alone a 182 day wait. In fact, a wait beyond three weeks is pretty much folly for any man dating your typical SWPL chick; by that time, she will have moved on to fucking some dude who actually turns her on. Even the women who say they want to wait longer than convention would react with disbelief if a man told them he would be willing to wait six months before having sex. It’s that weird.

What good is long-term happiness if you can’t even score the short-term thrill? There’s the rub. As a man, you are really rolling low odds by pursuing, or, more precisely, by abiding the woman’s pursuing, the “wait to elate” strategy. The far-future happiness and relationship stability that a long sexless courtship might offer is greatly outweighed by the high risk that you de facto castrate yourself to the woman you are chastely wooing. You’d be a fool to avoid the bedroom for very long, when there is a good chance some other man will distract your girl’s attention during her prolonged bout of purity. And an even better chance you’ll accidentally say or do something during the dry months of your courtship that extinguishes the spark of her attraction for you.

This severing of happiness from sexual triumph, for both sexes, is one of the great unrecognized repercussions of the past 60 years of our Wild West mating market. And it seems like this is exactly the way most of us want it.

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A reader claims to note a trend in online personals:

[T]his is a trend I’ve noticed online, women who are QUITE comfortable with dating someone a handful of years younger but do NOT want anyone more than a few years older than they. What accounts for this trend? I mean, you could meet a 28 year old fat dude, or a 40 year old paleo-hardened guy who looks young. Why pre-emptively discount age like that? Most women I’ve met prefer someone same age or older.

I don’t know how widespread women’s aping of men’s standards in online ads is, because I don’t do online dating (at least not recently). However, from what I’ve read about the subject, most women’s preferences in online ads is for men older than they are; which makes sense, since age is a status marker for men in a way it isn’t for women. But assuming for the sake of argument that there is a small but growing contingent of cougars explicitly seeking younger men in what amounts to a mirror image of the universal trend for men to seek younger women, I believe I have an explanation.

First, keep in mind that it doesn’t matter what women demand in online ads, because outrageous standards that are far removed from reality are quickly weeded out of contention, leaving such delusional women sad and alone in real life. A lot of loser women who do the online thing subconsciously know they aren’t going to get laid by the man of their dreams, so they throw all reason and sobriety to the wind and just go hog wild laundry listing their fantasy criteria. For these women (admittedly greater in number now than every before in Western history), it’s more about ego catharsis than about actually meeting a man. ASCII therapy with a public audience of like-minded Medusas one-upping each other to the top of the entitlement heap.

Happily punching in a feverish list of ridiculous expectations in an online ad is the emotional equivalent of plopping in front of the TV (all shows cater to women except ‘Mythbusters’ and sports) and wolfing down a tub of ice cream. Feels SOOOOO good, even if it’s SOOOO bad for her health, looks and love life. Kinda makes a tidy little metaphor for civilizational decline.

Second, the few cougars who aren’t ugly, ragged or grossly obese but who left their prime years far behind in a haze of drunken binges and cock hopping, will sometimes recognize, on a primal level, that their odds of getting a good (read: high value, sort of charmingly dickish) man of the type they pined for at age 20 to commit to them in a loving long-term relationship are very low, and that their efforts are best spent putting out for horny younger men who will at least offer a short term thrill in the sack. This phenomenon — of older woman transforming into clitorally turgid quasi-men — is not common, certainly not nearly as common as the media would have you believe. But they do exist, and you can be pretty sure that most of them could cut glass with their jaws and suffocate small dogs with their jungly, frosted pube patches. Do note, as well, that as women age their testosterone levels rise in step with their lowered expectations, making the prospect of loveless one night stands more palatable to their still feminine egos.

Let’s just say that these horncat cougars are not exactly the sorts of women older men with options want at all, and they aren’t the sorts of women younger men with no options want for more than a few no muss no fuss bangs in which to drain their aching teen balls. Because younger men, just like older men, prefer the exquisite intimacies of young women. Cougars probably know this on some deep supraegotistical level, so they respond to their constrained sexual market choices by pretending to prefer the company of younger men when in reality all they’re trying to do is avoid the soul crushing loneliness that would inevitably result if they adhered to the standards of their real desires and had to face the brutal and merciless cruelty of the sexual market head on.

Women never really lose the ability to extrapolate a one night stand into some fantastical dramatic relationship story arc, so a cougar having a couple of perfunctory fucks with an indiscriminately horny college student in a dating slump can sometimes mean the difference for her between having the will to live for another day and resigning herself to gardening and obesity. It’s not an avenue most older single women are willing to take, but for a few desperate specimens with male-like sex drives and bodies that haven’t yet gone completely to shit, it beats suddenly and unceremoniously being dumped into the invisible fringes of forgotten wastelands. At least for a few more years.

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