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Archive for the ‘Girls’ Category

Assume The Sale Game

Here’s a conversation I had with a girl on the night we met. Some details have been redacted to protect the devilish.

Little Lord Lucifer: Go over there and do [X] for me.

Girl: And what would I get out of that?

Little Lord Lucifer: My approval.

Girl: (waits a beat, audibly snorts) Your approval! What does that even mean?

Little Lord Lucifer: It means exactly what it sounds like.

Twenty seconds of me warmly smiling and her accusing me of being “full of it” and “a psycho” elapse. Suddenly, she looks at me with widened eyes, her mouth opens a little, she cocks her head, and gets up to do [X]. She returns, mission accomplished.

Girl: (with feigned deference) Did I perform to your expectations, oh great one?

Little Lord Lucifer: Yes. Thanks. I approve.

Girl: (sarcastically) Oh, I am SO relieved to be in your good graces!

***

Now, there’s a couple sociosexual dynamics going on here. There’s the obvious one that she did the thing I asked of her. Sarcastic intent notwithstanding to the contrary, I raised a hoop and she jumped through it. All that her consent required was my rock-solid frame and confidence that she would do it. Overconfidence is the heart of game.

Two, even when humorous or sarcastic intent guides a woman’s compliance — as if she was role-playing for the amusement of both of you — the physical motions of going through with the request will generate real feelings in her of slightly lower value and submission to a higher value man. This phenomenon is like the inverse of power poses, where instead of elevating one’s confidence and self-assurance through behavioral cues, one evokes feelings of submission and deference through “powerlessness poses.”

All of this psychological legerdemain acts on the abacus of subconscious mate evaluation. PUAs call it subcommunication, and it’s a powerful, if mischievous, means of strengthening attraction in women.

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

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

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

i mean the # of inches you can take

autistic? or accustomed to easy lays?

he just has that “x” factor.

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

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

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

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

Addendum

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

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Women expertly wield the “loser” shiv against men they don’t like (or don’t find attractive) because they know — or at least their unconscious knows — that the insult sticks. A man’s SMV (sexual market value) is, in large part, a measure of his social status. Loser men simply don’t compete very well in the mate market.

The equivalent insult against women is “ugly”. Women’s SMV is less a function of their social status than it is of their looks, so being called ugly is the kind of jab that penetrates all the way to the female id. But calling a woman a loser when she is indeed a loser can still wrest a shock of pain, and provide ancillary societal benefits, such as ostracism of the loser woman by other women.

But women are rarely called losers because they are protected by the penumbra emanating from the fundamental premise. In times like these of female regression to a hellcunt mean, this protective bubble of automatic deference helps spread the shamelessness virus of female loserdom until it infects all classes and strata.

Therefore, CH decrees that the time is now to start calling out loser women for the losers they are, using a colloquial definition of the word “loser” that is quite a bit more stringent than the excessively broad definition applied by women tarring men with the label. Who are loser women?

Single moms (excluding widows): LOSERS.
Fatties: LOSERS.
Spinsters: LOSERS.
Cougars: LOSERS.
Childless careerists: LOSERS.
Social media attention whores: LOSERS.
Feminists: LOSERS.
Sluts: LOSERS.
Divorcees (with exceptions): LOSERS.
Mudsharks (with exceptions): LOSERS. (Proof.)
Porn whores who want the world to know what they do for a living and don’t think it will affect their prospects of marrying a high value man: LOSERS.
Women who take selfies of their asses while their infant daughters watch: LOSERS.

Let your shiv flag fly, paladins of the patriarchy.

Shame a loser, save a nation’s soul.

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“Do you want to put it in my ass?”

I’ve heard women speak to me a million permutations of sexy invitations and romantic aches, but none hastened my heart, boiled my blood, and coagulated my cock like these nine words sailing over a smooth, prone shoulder and landing ear-ways with a sparrow’s chirp. I wish I could say otherwise; that it was some other, loftier, exclamation of desirous love that etched a permanent shelter in my neural storage locker. But I must stay true to the Chateau Heartiste mission statement and judge a woman’s sexy interlude not by the parched abstraction the superego demands, but by the ignited viscera that livens the id.

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When yer lurvable CH manor lord was a wee lad sprinkled with fresh down, many illusory obstacles set themselves in his path to mastering the hearts of newly teenaged girls in the plum ripeness of supercuteness. He would carefully listen to them dictate to friends in squealing cadence the qualities they loved about the boys they loved. Words like “cute”, “hottie”, “great body”, “muscular”, “flat stomach”, “bedroom eyes”, “so sweet” and related would zip around from ear to ear, never reaching a depth of analysis beyond the barest superficiality.

Schoolboy CH would then examine himself for this or that girl-approved quality and decide he had come up short compared to the handful of boys who best exemplified what the girls claimed they loved. Momentarily discouraged, CH grit his teeth and put into motion plans of passionate adolescence that would vault him to the ranks of the beloved.

But a funny thing happened on the way to molding himself into the male blueprint drafted by girltongue: CH stayed alert long enough to notice the kinds of boyfriends all that supple teenflesh eventually began to gravitationally orbit. These boyfriends were, in the unsparing judgment only a teenage boy can summon, neither cute nor hot nor muscular nor temperamentally sweet. They were quite often funny-looking, soft, pudgy, awkwardly bony, and clearly unsweet. They did not have bedroom eyes; they had mole eyes.

But one thing they DID have, and a lot of, was preternatural confidence. They walked and talked with bravado. They stood athwart their girlfriends with impassive stubbornness. They nodded with a glaze of coerced recognition in the general direction of the girls who were showering them with admiration and affection. They moped with a practiced air of perpetual dissatisfaction. They were heartlessly cruel and emotionally blank. They crushed romantic hopes like a bulldozer smashing grub life to mush.

And beautiful babes loved them.

From those earliest beginnings, a truism about the soul of woman would guide CH to the heights of romantic bliss. He had learned, and not a moment too soon, to watch what women do and ignore what they say about their romantic needs. For all the men who knew nothing about what women wanted, even fewer women knew themselves.

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Read this OkCupid profile and try to guess the sex of the person who wrote it.

Don’t read further until you’ve made your guess.

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Still guessing?

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These are your American women. Delightfully feminine bunch, ain’t they? This profile, minus a few giveaways, could easily pass for the braggadocio of a fraternity brother.

And brow-furrowed femcunts wonder why men won’t “man up” and marry these drunk slatterns.

The blocked out part was a brag about her blowjob technique. Translation: She’s a fat sow who has to advertise her sexual depravity to get any attention from the losers she likely hooks up with once in a fat moon.

Grotesqueries like this beast exist. The revelation for a lot of people would be the kind of “lovers” she manages to score. I bet a lot of proud feminists claiming satisfying love lives would abandon the opinionator sphere if pictures of their “””boyfriends”””” and unbiased third-party accounts of the charming personalities of the men who lap the smegma of their moldy feminist snappers were to become public knowledge.

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It’s been a long time since we’ve had a female beauty ranking post. It’s good to remind women why they were put here on Zod’s green earth. But this time, instead of featuring a series of photos of exceptionally pretty women and arguing vociferously over the small details in character… personality… chest size that separate a 9 from a 10, this round of female beauty rankings will ask you, the readers, to judge the looks of the kinds of strong, empowered, independent “real women” you might meet at the office or strolling around your neighborhood walking their cats.

So there won’t be any Victoria’s Secret models or celebrities in this post; today is a celebration of the everyday women who walk among us. These are your women, American Son, and this is your life. Time to put away childish fantasy and rank the beauty of the women you are most likely to meet in real life.

You can vote however you like for each photo; this is a random sampling of women, not necessarily a comprehensive selection meant to encompass all ten points on the classic 1 to 10 female looks scale. There are fourteen photos altogether and a poll under each one. Your most accurate vote will be the vote you make with your gut, so don’t dawdle too much over each picture. God forbid this turns into a contest.

The women are nameless, and in no particular order. Each poll has a neutral description to help readers identify who’s who in the final tally that will be an average of everyone’s rankings. CH will analyze these results in a future post.

Programming notes: Some persnickety nerds have argued that there’s no such thing as a “10″. CH disagrees. Catherine Zeta-Jones and Michelle Pfeiffer were both 10s in their primes. Going back further, Audrey Hepburn and Grace Kelly were 10s. Megan Fox is a legit 10 today, as is at least one member of whomever Disney is grooming to be the next F YOU DAD slut du jour. Just because 10s are rare doesn’t mean they aren’t real.

Out on the opposite, far left tail of the female looks belle curve, there are arguments about the existence of zeroes: Women with sexual worths approaching absolute zero (in degrees Pelvis). Anti-freeze advocates argue that as long as there is at least one man, however much of a Quasimodo loser he may be, who is willing to dump his gnarled seed in an extremely ugly woman, that woman cannot be said to have zero sexual worth. However, there are some monstrous pump and dumps so disheartening to an ugly woman, and so indicative of her bargain basement price on the open sexual market, that sex with a subterranean creature will actually lower her SMV (sexual market value) beyond that SMV which would generously accrue to her in the absence of evidentiary relinquishment to the contrary.

To put it differently, the sex skew in innate sexual discriminatory disposition (men being on the whole less discriminatory, especially as pertains extremely short term conquests) renders inadmissible in the court of public opinion the ability of very ugly women to occasionally get laid with abject losers (think homeless piss-stained bums) as proof of the non-zero SMV of those women.

The reason 0 is not usually included on most 1 to 10 female looks rankings has to do with the practical and valid assumption that for the vast majority of men, 0s aren’t recognizable as female humans. Their inclusion on a female looks scale would then be irrelevant, sort of like including toddlers, grandmas and the morbidly obese. However, 0s, like 10s, do exist, and in the realm of photo-based beauty rankings where the goal is measurement rather than practical filtering of live women to streamline target acquisition, the 0 option is a useful corrective to a traditional 1-10 scale that ignores women who are not worth porking with Manboobz’s thimbledick.

Given the above programming notes, any commenters clogging the board with complaints about the metaphysical improbability of 0s and 10s will be summarily banned. Stay focused, people.

***

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It’s hardly a secret, even among the SWPL hypocrati, that IQ is important to individual life outcomes, (and, on a grander scale, to a nation’s civilizational supremacy), that it correlates to a host of happy behavioral traits, and that dysgenic mating trends threaten to “decivilize” the West if nothing is done to reverse them. Given these accepted premises, many well-meaning but marginally spergalicious bloggers argue for the glories of assortative mating, (though in point of fact many assortatively sorted couples are meeting based less on shared IQ or unspoken eugenic hopes than on simple segregated convenience). This post may then come as a surprise, advocating as it does for a marital boycott of overeducated women.

IQ (and a woman’s educational level, insofar as the latter is an IQ proxy) is undoubtedly relevant if you’re interested in improving your future kids’ economic prospects, and likely getting more so thanks to increasing occupational cognitive demands, but it isn’t the alpha and omega of the good life. Myopic IQ fetishism notwithstanding, CH has spilled a fair amount of ASCII ink ridiculing equalists who despise the idea of an immutable general factor of intelligence and the consequent futility of public policy that fails to account for its reality. This is because the equalists are today those in power, and thus the most scrumptious targets for the Shiv Wielders.

Implicit or explicit support for assortative mating to boost a country’s “smart fraction” is arid frank & beans counting. Breeding Sorters say we are doomed if we don’t pair off high IQ partners in marriage to make high IQ babies. But there are more things in love and marriage, than are dreamt of in their social science laboratories. And there are more negatives to assortative mating than eugenicist whisperers are willing to admit.

There really is no point to marriage unless one wants children. Absent children, all the good things about marriage can be had in cohabiting relationships. This is even true of raising children if your blood is of Northern European stock, for whom the people of your motherlands demonstrate a facility at successful childrearing in non-marital cohabiting households. (Not to be confused with craptastic American-style single mom households, of which there are blessedly few in Scandinavian countries.)

So a major justification for marriage (and a reminder of the silliness of gay marriage) is that having children within a healthy functioning nuclear family environment benefits their development.

Right there is Problem Number One you’ll encounter if you marry an overeducated woman: She is likely to be far less fecund than less credentialed women. If you want at least the 2.1 kids necessary to replace you and your wife in the next generation, don’t marry a woman with a 4-year college degree and especially not a woman with a doctoral degree. You may as well line the spare bedroom with kitty litter.

Problem Number Two with overeducated women: Over the last 30 years, the happiness of women with graduate degrees has dropped faster than that of women with less than a high school education. (See Table 3, Panel E) The secular trend in happiness is down for women across all educational levels (which is not the case for men), but having more than a four year college degree accelerates the female unhappiness trends to rates above that for high school dropouts. Men are happier when their wives are happier, which means you should avoid marrying a credentialist status whore. And since there is scant evidence that children make you happier, it pays to find a woman who won’t exacerbate an already unhappy prognostication.

Keep in mind, too, that women get a lot unhappier with age than do men. So if you marry a spry 35-year-old post-doc she’s gonna be a real barrel of fun when she’s pushing 50.

Problem Number Three with overeducated women: Pairing them off with smart, accomplished men exacerbates social inequality. And not just because it amplifies white stratification by zip code; it also increases white stratification by IQ (and its attendant cultural fracturing). Society is best served when men with high IQs are free to inject their gifts into the wider world of women, instead of having all that gold-plated DNA locked up in the semi-barren wombs of Ivy Leaguers pushing social constructivism and infinity-wave feminist theory as a day job.

Problem Number Four with overeducated women: They’re sexually frigid. While sex surveys are more prone than any other type of survey to tempt respondents to lie, the results do offer a clue as to which way the tingles vibrate, and according to the data the tingles are practically buried dead underneath a mound of post-grad student loan debt.

For further confirmation of this nonsexular trend among superfluously credentialed women, see this screen capture of poll results on a message board for upper middle class married white women, most of whom probably have college degrees or better. The question asked is how many blowjobs do they give per month (presumably to their husbands). Since it is a private message board among women and not a publicly announced survey with social expectation bias built in, you can expect these responses to better reflect the reality of their marriages.

If you’re a man with a set of functioning gonads and not a sufferer of cerebral scalzi, you will want to avoid hitching yourself to an overeducated woman whose dusty muff and schoolmarmish mouth will open for business once every lunar cycle.

As CH is a cuntoisseur of the overeducated SWPL chick, some may wonder why the Lord of Lasciviousness would deign to game sexually frozen prey? Easily explained. First, a gentlemanly selectiveness honed by years of experience and psychological nimbleness has proved adequate at filtering out women likely to lay like dead fish in my roiling sea of sperm. Second, pre-marriage, pre-kids SWPL chicks are ravenous in a way they never will be within the confines of the marital home, copulating with an alacrity that belies their furtive fear that their future husbands will be unable to arouse in them the same fervor. Third, one must accept that many overeducated women are sexless termagants because they are married to beta males; they’ve lost that lovin’ feeling, and only a suave rico will summon it back.

But, if you don’t have the skill to reintroduce overeducated women to their bygone libidos, it makes sense to find yourself a less educated woman with a naturally higher sex drive and/or less benumbing experience in the desiccating company of anhedonic beta males.

Problem Number Five with overeducated women: They’re uglier. Now I know what you’re thinking. IQ and beauty, according to the evidence compiled, correlate to a nontrivial degree. All else equal, if you date only women with above-average IQs, you are probably dating women with above-average looks as well. But the formula, at least anecdotally, appears to break down once you move into the ranks of women with much higher than average IQs or years of accumulated education. Trawl any lofty Ivy campus and you can’t help but notice how poorly the super smart women compare aesthetically to their earthier competition. State U girls have it in spades over H Bomb girls. If you are a man, this matters for your marital happiness and stability.

***

All together, CH has laid out a fairly convincing case against marrying overeducated women. Yes, intelligent women will get your stupidly ironic SWPL jokes, but that’s not what makes you hard, is it? No, what makes you hard is a cute face perched atop a slender hourglass figure, guided by an electric ham that’s willing to put all those delicious assets to good use. So why are you contemplating marrying an overeducated woman? To have extra money to purchase pixellated distractions? To brag to your buddies that your homely wife has a PeeAcheDee, only to notice how none of them are remotely impressed by that? Sounds like the winning life of a true warrior of the West. Not.

Nothing in this post should impress upon the reader that dumpster diving in the ghetto for sub-80 IQ battering hams is the wise course of action. An aversion to overeducated women is not the same as a desire for the love of blank-eyed obese monstrosities. The undereducated woman has her own laundry list of problems, many of them equal to or worse than the vices of her smarter sistren. To wit, here is a representative of the pro-educated woman, pro-assortative mating crowd, a real “lion” of the commentariat, reader “SC”, who lays out his side’s argument for sacrificing passion at the altar of social status whoring:

And what is it with you and high IQ/high education women?

I know them better than they know themselves.

Just because you have had bad personal experiences with them…

I’ve had very few bad experiences with SMRT overeducated women. In fact, the bulk of my romantic life has been nestled in the boobies of college+ grads (along with some very exciting exceptions I won’t ever regret). But I also have a bad habit of calling it like I see it, and overeducated women come with their own peculiar set of psychological baggage and magical thinking. And I’m a guy who likes to take a big picture view. Individually, these women have been great fun in my life; societally, they are the cuntary in the coal mine.

…doesn’t mean that they are worse than low IQ/low education women in aggregate.

I didn’t say they were worse. Think of this blog as bringing balance to the force.

I am willing to bet any amount of money that high IQ/high education women are: less violent,

…more emotionally manipulative. Or at least better at it.

less likely to have an illegitimate kid,

…more likely to fuck two men concurrently. Overeducated women are less beholden to sexual norms.

less likely to get divorced,

…less likely to get married before they’re haggard. IQ and credential fetishists love to write about the low rate of divorce among the overeducated, but what they always fail to grasp is that a big reason for this is the decrease in sexual market options among the high IQ that accompanies their later in life marriages. So yeah, you get a more faithful wife with crows’ feet and a saggy butt. Lack of options = stability. Worth the trade-off?

If anything, it looks as if the best bet, if you want to avoid divorce, is to 1. skip marriage altogether or 2. marry a woman who will be a stay at home mom and won’t make more money than you. That means, in practice, avoiding women with masters or doctoral degrees, since it is likely they will have upper quintile incomes.

less likely to have a criminal record,

…more likely to snort coke. How many readers have real experience dating and fucking blue city SWPL chicks? I mean, on the order of 30 or more lovers? If you do, then you know how much coke overeducated girls hoover up their dainty noses.

less likely to be on welfare,

…more likely to max out daddy’s credit card. But yeah, if you date an overeducated SWPL chick, she won’t feel much of a need to lean on you for financial support, which is a good thing… if you’re a player. If you’re a beta offering nothing but free dinners, eh, not so good.

and less likely to be overweight than their low IQ counterparts.

That’s true, and that’s the biggest advantage that overeducated women enjoy.
Fatness is the boner-killer.
Fatness is the heavy weight that brings erection annihilation.
I will scorn that fatness.
I will permit it to wobble past me and far away from me.
And when it has stampeded past I will turn the serrated shiv to see its path.
Where the fat chick has gone there will be belly fold fungus.
Only sexy chicks remain.

Just walk through the campus of Harvard or MIT sometime. Hardly any fatties with bastard kids. Every trailer park/ghetto/barrio has TONS of tattooed fatties with bastard babies.

There’s a world of women between Harvard yenta and trailer park methhead. What is the total percentage of 18-year-old American women who attend Ivies? 1%? I gotta laugh at some of these HBD hermits. To them, the world of dateable lovelies is either toothless COPS extras or 140 IQ Harvard students. I thought they were supposed to be numerate? Fellas, step outside. There are a lot of pretty girls with normal lives who aren’t welfare queens or PhD overachievers.

Here’s valuable CH advice you HBDingalings won’t regret following: Learn game. Use your knowledge of the seduction arts to find a cute girl with an associates or bachelors degree, 105-115 IQ, under 27-years-old, with no children and no stated feminist beliefs, whose greatest career aspiration is nursing or teaching and sucking the life force out of your two standard deviation schlong on the daily. If you can do that, all worries about an impending dysgenic disaster will fade to irrelevance.

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The datanauts at OKCupid ran the back channel numbers for New York City to find out who among the city’s 400,000 users on the dating site were the “most desired”, an appellation that relied on the simple metric of which users received the most messages from lovelorn horndogs. (More on that later.)

CH has taken issue before with OKCupid’s liberal-leaning data crunching team for sampling bias and misinterpretation of their findings. Analytical flaws aside, this very rough measure of “most desirable OKCupid user” does offer us a glimpse into the radioactive, hyperventilated, full metal jacketed sexual market of New York City, the American city with, arguably, the greatest concentration of 9s and 10s after LA and Miami. What does the crude sampling of OKCupid messages received say about New Yorkers’ sexual tastes?

I’m afraid, not anything flattering. However, there’s nary a fatty in sight, so at least NYC cleared that low hurdle.

First up, the NYC woman “voted” most desirable by OKCupid message ballot count is a heavily tattooed courtesan with a FUCK MY STARFISH cumdumpster gaze:

Cutting to the lace, this chick, as seen here, is a 7.5. CH deems her in her present state totally bang-worthy. But what does she look like underneath her three layers of industrial grade make-up and complimentary lighting? Drawing on my vast reservoir of expertise, I bet she drops to a 6 in the sunshine-y morning sans artificial face. The tats, of course, are a major slut giveaway. Not that sluttiness is necessarily a bad thing; it depends on a man’s perspective. Does he want a faithful girlfriend, or a bedroom adventure?

The impression this girl wants to leave on potential suitors is 1. I’m a fucktoy, 2. I will keep you at a distance and never let you know the real me, and 3. I’m an attention whore with a burdensome and unnecessary high female IQ and a low self-esteem nurtured by doubts about my ability to get a real alpha male player to commit, and so I will pretend I’m the one choosing my inglorious cad-chasing, pump and dumping lifestyle.

If you don’t believe my astute psychological diagnosis, here’s some choice quotes from her:

It doesn’t hurt that Lauren, after getting out of a four-year relationship with a “pathological liar” [ed: chicks dig... ah fuck it, you know the drill] who had a drug problem, isn’t necessarily looking for anything serious. So, in OKCupid’s searchable “I’m looking for …” section, she, like most women, selected “long-term dating,” “short-term dating,” and “new friends.” Unlike most women, she also selected “casual sex,” figuring she might as well tell the truth.

“At first, I thought if you listed ‘casual sex,’ guys would realize that even though I don’t want to be in a relationship with you, we can still go out, get drinks,” she says, but it triggered a vulgar explosion of come-ons. “It’s like, I’m not a prostitute. But they don’t get that.”

The attention, she admits, has been flattering—an ego boost after a rough breakup. She also confesses that she was “never the pretty girl” growing up and appreciates being in the position to approve or ignore other people.

Online dating: Inflating the egos of subclinical headcases since… I dunno, when did this clitshow start?

The finding of Lauren as most desirable NYC OKCupid girl also tells us a lot about what men value in women they meet online: namely, quick sex. Undoubtedly, there are hotter girls than Lauren peep toe-ing along the city’s sidewalks, but they’re not on OkCupid. Or if they are, they’re not as likely to create an image of themselves as around-the-way gothgirls. Lauren’s incomprehensibly vaunted position in the OKCupid universe is symptomatic of the problems with online dating, for both men and women: One, users (especially female users) are a self-selected bunch of marginal SMV participants. The really ugly and the really pretty are, respectively, too dispirited or too romantically successful in the real world to bother with the hassle. Two, women who dress like they spread faster than melted butter will naturally attract the eyeballs of a lot of men looking for a good time. Try to explain this common sensical functioning of the dating market to an SMRT, HIGH IQ city sister and you’ll get an earful of feminist boilerplate in return.

And don’t forget the probable demographic of OKCupid’s male users. Whom do gothgirls with NASA links attract? Nerds. What’s a nerd’s dating life like? The vast empty cosmos. Put the two together and you get a Lauren-sized ego relishing the desperation of 8,000 loveless nerds. 8,000 smart, economically productive nerds who don’t stand a chance against pathologically lying, badboy drug addicts.

I’d fuckin laugh if it weren’t so banal. No wait, I am laughing. Shitting on nerds’ hopes still puts a smile on my face.

Next up, the lesbian found to be most desirable dyke in NYC:

Justin Fuckin Bieber! Lesbians may all be grossly obese and tolerant of their scissor partners’ fatness, but judging by the photo above of most desirable lesbian in NYC, lesbians would prefer to be with very skinny women. Obligate lesbians (as opposed to cute chicks who experiment sometimes) are ugly and go out of their way to look like men, but they retain particulars of the heterosexual female mind, such as a preternatural ability to overlook physical flaws in a lover. Now I wonder if perhaps lesbians secretly desire the love of thin women, just like straight men do, but don’t give enough of a shit to bother with the effort since they know that gardening and softball sublimate nicely for bed death.

Anyhow, enough of this lesbian. I can’t stand looking anymore at those two bones passing for an ass on her.

For prolapsed giggles, here’s the photo of New York’s most desirable gay man on OkCupid:

Can we stop prancing around the subject and just admit that gay men are borderline Peter Panny pedophiles who love dat schoolboy charm? Not that I’d give them too much shit for it. If straight men had the option and the social sanction, we’d all be banging barely legal girleens.

One of the “winners’ was a straight man, but I see no reason to include his pic here. Not much to say, except he’s decent-looking and appears to have a sense of humor and knows how to demonstrate higher value, (of which the latter two traits are likely the greater attributing factors to his OKCupid popularity).

At a dark, candlelit West Village bar, James Hawver, a 29-year-old real-estate agent and New York’s most popular straight guy, is the living embodiment of his OKCupid handle, MyTiesAreSkinny. Preppily handsome, he’s dressed in a well-fitting H&M blazer with, yes, a skinny black tie and matching pocket square. James’s profile is peppered with references to his travels in Nepal and China and self-deprecatingly confident jokes like: “Ryan Gosling could play my stunt double. That is, if I didn’t already do my own stunts.” The whole profile is self-aware, right down to his height, which he lists as five-foot-nine, though he’s an inch shorter. “They say most guys add two inches,” he says, quoting OKCupid’s statistics blog, OKTrends. “I’m already behind!”

He also has a practical grasp of “law of large numbers” game.

But James has a few simple hacks to further improve his odds. He uses both ­OKCupid­ and Tinder, an app that is almost solely photo-based. Both are owned by IAC, the company that also owns Match.com. In the three and a half hours we spend talking, the phone will ping 47 times: On Tinder, 35 women will match with him; 12 women on ­OKCupid­ will either ­message or favorite him. The week before, he took a screenshot of a Tinder notification: 890 new matches, a personal record. And he has a basic strategy. Like a lot of guys, he was wasting time studying the profiles and photos of women who would never respond. Then a friend shared a deviously simple online-dating trick.

“You ready for the secret?” James asks me. “Not to blow your mind, but it’s disgusting …” He picks up his phone. “So, every couple days, I will do this,” he says. He opens the Tinder app, but before
I can see the first woman’s face, he swipes right: interested. If the woman he likes also swipes right, he has an official match. In short: He never swipes left (not interested).

“I will say yes to every single person,” James says. And he never follows up with someone who hasn’t already confirmed her interest. On ­OKCupid,­ he does the same thing: He gives everyone five stars (and if someone gives him four or fives stars in return, the site will notify him of a match). By doing so, he exposes himself to less risk, an appealing upside to James, who’s had two difficult breakups. He’s since had thousands of matches—so many that he’s had to refine his strategy.

By the way, you’ll note that James receives FAR fewer messages from women than Lauren receives from men. A handsome man simply can’t expect the same kind of lustful stampede from hordes of women than a pretty woman signaling sexual availability can expect from men.

“The last person I matched with was Allison,” he says. If he were to send a message to Allison on a Sunday, Monday, or Tuesday, it would read: Hey there Miss Allison. What kind of trouble did you get into this weekend? :) “That’s exactly what I do, every fucking time,” he says, laughing. For Wednesday: Hey there Miss Allison. What sort of trouble are you getting into this week? :) Thursday or Friday: What kind of trouble are you getting into this weekend? :) And if it’s Saturday: What kind of trouble have you been getting into? :)

Kind of a cheesy line, but if you drop it on fifty girls a week you’re bound to hit pay dirt on a couple.

The overall vibe one gets from the current online dating scene is one of self-protectiveness and exploitation. Not that it hasn’t always been like that, but these two trends have accelerated since I entered the plunderdome as a pre-teened, continuously turgid stripling. Some men are wising up to the mechanical nature of female sexuality, and women, in response (or as causal agents) are building emotional, snarl-fueled barriers around themselves, and sometimes even physical barriers like tattoos, which intimidate the beta saps and signal the alpha players to swoop in for the thrill. Women bitch about this state of affairs, but, like always, watch what they do. The vagina speaks louder than a million words.

It’s helpful to keep in mind when trawling online dating site data (you listening Rudder?) that “desirability” and “hotness” are not necessarily the same. A slutty 7 will get a lot more messages than a modest 10 for the simple reason that most men, average by definition, consider attainability in deciding which women to hit up for a romantic evening of ass eating.

And the same is true in real life. It may seem paradoxical, but the hottest girls actually get hit on less often than ordinarily cute 6s and 7s. If you want an explanation why 7s seem to have bigger egos than 9s, or why that fantastic 9 tossed you a lascivious look while that chubby 5 steamrolled right past you, there you go. This doesn’t mean really hot girls don’t know their own sexual value. 8s, 9s and 10s may not get directly hit on, but they experience plenty of indirect attention from men in the form of shell-shocked stares, furtive glances, craning necks and nervous fidgeting. Hotties subconsciously pick up these cues, but consciously may remain unaware just how awestruck men are in their company, which contributes to their frustration with not being approached as often as those subtle attraction clues from men would indicate.

It’s been said on other pickup sites, and it bears repeating: As a student of applied charisma, you’ll be surprised to find yourself having more success with hotter girls than you’re used to rather than with the plainer girls which have been your self-limiting expectation.

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The infamous lawyercunt is an archetype first identified (and happily ridiculed) by CH artisans of the hairy oyster. But the lawyercunt has gotten a little long in the fang. It isn’t that she’s grown mellower with age, or that her occupation has started attracting a less lizardly class of humans. It’s just that times change, and new opportunities for leeching off productive society attract the attention of master class attention whores with a taste for gratuitous drama and lying through their teeth.

Enter the social media consultant, aka Twittercunt.

If anyone can usurp the lawyercunt in cuntishness, it’s the Twittercunt. I was reminded of the Twittercunt’s foul ascendence up the social status ladder of our declining American empire whilst perusing the musings of the Lead Sadist over at MPC (My Patriarchal Cocksmanship):

real talk all the social media consultants I have met, which is a few, have been amoral opportunistic scumbags

I’ve also seen a few partners of mine stung by them, where they’ll bring in a social media person who will then shmooze the client and steer all the business to him and his friends

really they make used car salesman seem like altruistic do-gooders

It’s funny because around the time of reading that I was retelling a salacious story to a friend about a past lover of extraordinary wantonness who transmogrified into the very thing we both assumed she was fated to become: A social media consultant. I’ve known in the French way five or six Twittercunts (all women), and all but one were sociopathic sluts, capable of lying to their mamas’ faces if it meant an extension of family credit to shack up with a bike messenger. (The one exception, ironically, happened to be one of the sweetest, kindest girls with whom I’ve had the pleasure to share pleasure. I do fondly recall her on occasion.) I wouldn’t be surprised to learn that some of them amassed cock counts in the triple digits.

Not that I’m complaining. If you have game, a challenging demeanor, and an asshole attitude (to which she deeply relates), the social media cuntsultant is a sure thing, and down to submit to just about every degradation under a harvest moon. Just don’t expect her to make even empty gestures toward fidelity. She’ll fuck around on you, but as long as you go in knowing what she is, there’s poon gold to be mined until the bloom wears off the romance (three months, tops).

We now live in the age of high-tech, field tested, focus grouped, multimodal mastery over human perception, and the social media cuntsultant is its most psychopathically committed avatar.  You think I’m exaggerating? Take a look at this list of occupations which attract the most psychopaths. Number 2 is Lawyer, and number 3 is Media (TV/Radio). If you add number 4 (Salesperson) to number 3, you birth the social media whore anti-christ.

Oh well. A declining nation gets the middlewoman, amoral, self-promoting parasites it deserves.

(Good rule of thumb: If your nation has a lot of engineers working to put a man on the moon, you live in a golden era. If your nation has a lot of hucksters spinning gold out of carts of dung, start thinking about early overseas retirement.)

So here’s to you, Twittercunt, ouster of argumentative lawyercunts. You’re just as untrustworthy, slutty and good to go as your sophistic sisters, but at least you don’t make a federal case out of every minor disagreement.

A song for the new kunt in town:

There’s talk in the bars it sounds so familiar,
great expectations everybody’s watching you.
Players you meet they all seem to know you,
even your old friends treat you like the town screw.

Twittercunt maven,
the new ho in town,
everybody bangs you,
so chug your Pill down.

You look in her eyes the crazy is on display,
sex in the bathroom, here we go again.
But after awhile you’re thinkin’ she’s gonna stray,
it’s those restless muffs that always spread.

Twittercunt maven,
the new ho in town.
Will you catch VD
from her sideways frown?

There’s so many cocks she went and holstered,
but night after night you’re willing to bone her,
no rubber,
pray you recover.

There’s jive on Facebook it’s there to inflate her,
doesn’t really matter which client she sucks.
She’s LinkedIn and buzzed, creating nothing of value,
they will never forget her ’til her boobs are hitting the floor.

Where you been lately?
There’s a new ho in town.
Everybody bangs her,
don’t they,
and she’s SEOed
every penis around.
Oh my my
There’s a new ho in town
Just another new slore in town

hooooo, hoooo
Everybody’s banging out
hooooo, hoooo
the new ho in town,
hooooo, hoooo
Everywhere she’s walkin’ like
hooooo, hoooo
the town pound.

There’s a new ho in town,
(and you’re gonna hear it)
There’s a new ho in town,
(you just wanna hit it)
There’s a new ho in town,
a social media clown,
Her life’s a PR campaign.
Everybody’s talking
There’s a new ho in town
Players start to working
There’s a new ho in town…
and she gets passed around…
like her padded CV…
people say she’s easy…

It would be great if the reader who performed The Wreck of the Beta Male Cuckold could do a rendition of There’s a New Kunt in Town. He has a good voice.

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