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This was the advice of an Italian female author of a bestseller book titled Cásate y sé sumisa – “Get Married and Be Submissive”. The book is now a hit in Spain, where the fertility rate of the native Spaniards is very low as one prime fertility generation of women after another squeezes into the crowded and expensive cities to pursue the accumulation of alphas and gadgets instead of betas and cherubs.

Naturally, Spain’s feminists (is there no Western nation safe from the shrieking of the clams?) are outraged, OUTRAGED I tells ya, by the book’s premise, and are, as is the wont of this subspecies of open-minded and tolerant leftoids, calling for it to be banned.

The book, which was a bestseller in Italy, preaches a message of “loyal obedience, generosity and submission” on the part of the new wife and offers nuggets of advice for the newly-wed on how to please one’s husband.

The book currently appears at number 15 on the Amazon bestseller list in Spain but has raised the hackles of modern-minded Senoras who even staged a public demonstration against the tome, where they tore up copies.

Women’s groups are considering legal action to get it banned arguing that it promotes gender violence.

Here is a photo of the Italian authoress, Costanza Miriano, advocating a wife’s submission to her husband:

Here is a photo of a group of Spanish feminists tearing apart copies of the book:

I could drop the mic right here and walk off stage, confident that the argument against the feminist position, such as it is, remains incontestable. But tragically there are still people in the world who believe raw ugliness exerts no influence upon one’s warped beliefs or bizarro worldview, so the shivvings will continue until morale improves.

One passage suggests: “We [women] like humiliation because it is for a greater good.”

The Story of Oaths. Women in traditional marriages are happier than women participating under more “egalitarian” marital auspices. Lovely Costanza is correct; the nature of women… unchangeable, sculpted in the crucible of a millions-year old mating environment that has bred in them an instinctual adoration for the powerful man who by force of will extracts from his lovers a damegeld, i.e., submission to his prerogatives… is a wild beast that needs a dose of loving humiliation to remind it for whom it ploughs and pleases.

Miriano has touched on something important here, something very dark and naturally suited for examination by the learned scribes of Chateau Heartiste. A woman seeks her submission to a better man, belying her own socially greased words to the contrary, and will take the measure of a man in part by his willingness to indulge in humiliations, usually small, sometimes great, as proof of his worthiness.

What does Miriano mean by “for the greater good”? I believe she alludes to an idea articulated at CH in the past: the idea that women’s unbridled sexual nature is wilder and more dangerous than man’s sexual nature, and that leaving women’s ravenous desire to its own devices — that is, giving women the freedom as demanded by feminists to hunt in an endless chase for perfect romantic fulfillment, no matter the consequences — will in the end breed deep discontentment, and the restless queefly quest that can never be quenched will transform the ancient courtship rituals into an acid bath disintegrating the last fibers of social connectedness.

Women, slave to limbic compulsions far beyond the mere abilities of prefrontal willpower to contain, need a man who will stop them embarking on this quest, whether embarking in reality or fantasy (both are caustic to social and familial bonds in their own ways), and the only assurance that a woman will be satisfied leaving the quest behind is if a man wrests her from pursuing it.

The author claims the book is based on the teachings of St Paul and that a perfect wife should be submissive.

Paging Matt King…

“It’s true, you’re not yet an experienced cook or a perfect housewife,” she writes. “What’s the problem if he tells you so? Tell him that he is right, that it’s true, that you will learn. On seeing your sweetness and your humility, your effort to change, this will also change him.

Smart women understand that men won’t move heaven and earth for unfeminine shrikes. Even an ur-leftoid like Maureen Dowd, by way of a fortuitous brush with brotherly reality that would have made her a wiser woman had she heeded the unmissable lesson instead of lied to herself her whole life for status whoring points at her New York Beta Times cocktail circuit, comprehends that feminine niceness, and nothing but feminine niceness, is a balm of which men will never tire.

The sassy, snarky, arch bitch inspires the competitive instinct in men, and weakens their protective instinct. Men won’t feel motivated to change for a woman who isn’t capable of evoking vulnerability and, yes, submission. Men will fuck the invincible modern woman, and then leave her unloved, untroubled that such a woman softly weeps herself to sleep at night.

Granada’s Archbishop Francisco Javier Martinez, who chose to publish the book has defended its content and insists that the furore surrounding it is “ridiculous and hypocritical” in a society that allows abortion, which he argues is a much clearer example of violence against women.

The Fifth Wave Feminist: Keep hacking at those fetal limbs but zero tolerance for awkward nerds committing microaggressions by telling dongle jokes.

The present condition of Western elite thought is unsustainable. Something will give, soon. And then those who always felt the Western world was amiss but were too cowardly to say so without twelve layers of sniveling PC ass-covering will embrace the wrought iron door to the Chateau and enter, imbibing its teachings without apology, without reluctance, and with only regret at having not arrived sooner.

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There’s a growing consensus in the social sciences that women swoon uncontrollably for men who possess the suite of psychological traits known colloquially as the Dark Triad. But now a new study has come out which throws an additional psychological trait into the mix of (mostly) male pathologies that cause women to cream their pretty pantaloons:

Sadism.

Behavioral confirmation of everyday sadism.

Past research on socially aversive personalities has focused on subclinical psychopathy, subclinical narcissism, and Machiavellianism-the “Dark Triad” of personality. In the research reported here, we evaluated whether an everyday form of sadism should be added to that list. Acts of apparent cruelty were captured using two laboratory procedures, and we showed that such behavior could be predicted with two measures of sadistic personality. Study 1 featured a bug-killing paradigm. As expected, sadists volunteered to kill bugs at greater rates than did nonsadists. Study 2 examined willingness to harm an innocent victim. When aggression was easy, sadism and Dark Triad measures predicted unprovoked aggression. However, only sadists were willing to work for the opportunity to hurt an innocent person. In both studies, sadism emerged as an independent predictor of behavior reflecting an appetite for cruelty. Together, these findings support the construct validity of everyday sadism and its incorporation into a new “Dark Tetrad” of personality.

“However, only sadists were willing to work for the opportunity to hurt an innocent person.”

Not sure why, but that line makes me :lol:

“Yeah, tough day at the office. Didn’t get to backstab as many cheerful coworkers as I wanted to. May have to work overtime this weekend to make up for the knife twisting deficit.”

Naturally, the question that arises is if a man with an appetite for cruelty (why you lookin’ at me funny?) has the same effect on a woman’s desire as does a man with the traditional Dark Triad traits. Narcissism, Machiavellianism, psychopathy… chicks dig men with them. How about we throw wanton cruelty into the demonic stew. Does the full flowering of the Dark Tetrad turn a skilled ladyslayer into a God of Gash? My anecdotal impression is that it does. Oh sure, no woman will actually admit to being turned on by a sadistic man, but just watch how they act after the bastard has uncorked some wholly unnecessary joke at some innocent naif’s expense.

Offhand, a few of history’s great womanizers had a streak of sadism, a thrill for the soulkill. Maybe, like the Dark Triad, sadism signals alpha male mating value. A cocky disregard for retribution or rules, an indifference to the feelings of others, a concern only for one’s own pleasure… this is the stuff of alluring men.

Or perhaps sadism is like charm: easily overdone. Too much charm is icky and provokes distrust in women. Too much sadism, or misdirected sadism, might do the same. But just a little bit, once in a while, is the spice that stirs a woman’s sexuality.

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Think about the ecumenical change in society that, intuitively, must be happening with the widespread use of various hindbrain altering drugs, like the Pill and antidepressants. This is a change in biochemistry unparalleled in human evolutionary history. It’d be a miracle of serendipity if there weren’t blowback.

A reader surmises,

Great site. Good advice. But …

There is something to be said for all the anti-depressants/mood stabilizers/whatevers that women are taking these days. And I mean, a LOT of women on are on these psych drugs. You’re asking me so what, right? Well …

A lot of a man’s behavior toward women rests on the presumption (truth) that women are insecure and may get depressed at times, and when they do, they choose a man that has been solid for them. They either choose one, confide in the one they “love” or return to one. BUT, with these drugs, I think a lot of their negative feelings are prevented, making them less vulnerable.

It’s something I’ve noticed among professional women. Sure, maybe my game isn’t what it was, but I think it’s worth addressing. Women’s drugs are changing the game a little bit.

An interesting hypothesis we have here, and one that may go a ways to explaining why there is a growing impression among American men that their women are becoming manlier, sluttier, present-time oriented, and all-around less provocatively charming.

Here’s a lovefact sure to torque a feminist’s fat hamster into a tailspin:

Maxim #27: Beyond beauty, a woman’s attractiveness to men is partly a function of her feminine vulnerability, or her ability to mimic feminine vulnerability.

Corollary to Maxim #27: Men are turned off by overconfident, assertive, proudly self-sufficient women.

Yep, despite the delusional claptrap that feminists want the world to believe, men don’t swoon for women who act like men. Non-manboobed men with hanging testicles don’t, at any rate. Invulnerability is not sexy on women.

Men, at least K-selected men from the frigid Northlands where the cold winds blow and nothing grows for six months, are hard-wired with a protection instinct. We want to guard the carriers of our kingly posterity.

Evolution, therefore, has ensured that men respond viscerally to beautiful, weak women needing protection. A woman in need rallies a man’s ready seed.

Enter antidepressants. Suddenly women all over the sub-veneer tribal landscape are feeling invincible, unstoppable, and perfectly capable on their own. “No means no, creeper!” The manly protective (beta) instinct which warms the hearts of biochemically natural women leaves SSRI drugged-up simulacra of women feeling indifferent, even antagonistic, to the same signals of stoically masculine benefaction.

Multiply this effect a hundredfold in the homeland of the SWPL: The big blue whitening cities of the coasts, where every vibrantly atomized lawyercunt and her bovine cockblock are hopped up on happy happy happy pills. No joke, I’d bet 80% of Obama Country college-grad white chicks are dazed and confused with the help of Big Father Pharma. That percentage jumps to 99% when you expand the age range to include spinsters with two or more cats aka alpha male substitutes.

All successful game requires, in lesser or greater dose, the deployment, consciously or otherwise, of psychological tactics which raise the man’s relative status, lower the woman’s relative status, or both. This is a fact of the nature of the sexes, and it exists because the lifeblood of lust is fed to men and women by different veins. What excites a woman — the challenging company of a higher value, dominant man — is different than what excites a man — the company of a coy, vulnerable, pretty woman. You can rail to the ends of the earth about this fallen state of humanity, but you will never change it, not as long as there are two sexes evolved with differing reproductive goals.

It makes sense, then, that drugs which create a disturbance in the sexual polarity force would also have a downstream effect on courtship, both the traditional and the modern game styles of mate acquisition. A less vulnerable-feeling woman is a woman less receptive to beta provider game, and — this is getting deep into CH theory of modern dating dynamics territory — more receptive to sexy alpha bounder game.

An artificially happy and confident woman is, in short, a no-game-having beta male’s worst nightmare.

(A few of you wags might say that SSRIs are helping turn the US from a Euro mating market to an African mating market, where sky high self-esteem absent any supporting evidence is the norm.)

As a visionary acolyte of Le Chateau, you want to know how to make this new social reality work for you. (Some of you want to change it back to where it was before it turned wicked, but that is a concern for wise old men with rerouted energies.) A good start is dread game, which is the seducer’s answer to invulnerable women.

Some other proto-men, like the scalzied followers of male feminists, take the opposite tack, and submit themselves completely to the whim of Tsarina Bombas, in hopes, apparently, that their utter prostration would excite in women the pity fuck compulsion before it triggers their active repulsion reflex.

A specific skill of modern seduction, as channeled through game, will therefore need to be (sadly from a certain perspective) the ability to evoke, in pinprick psychological jabs, sadness, fear, worry and self-doubt in the Happy Harlots of Late Hour America. If you lack this skill, you’ll find more cynical men stealing your lamb meat off your white linened table.

Or, you could just wait out the coming collapse in your Galtian gulch, and watch the feckless loverboys starve in the streets live-streamed, as the newly vulnerable women rediscover the value of your warm hearth. But by that time, you’ll have stuccoed the entirety of your masturbatorium.

The antidepressant ruination of American women is a theory worth investigating, particularly in light of observational evidence in favor. Perhaps enterprising readers will unearth studies which connect the dots. Or perhaps they’ll just say “what the fuck”, and give the Supergirls a double dose of ego-smashing sexytime.

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Is there a bigger shit test than a woman getting fat and expecting her man to put up with it? In the anals of shit tests, this has to be among the stinkiest.

One year ago, Pamela Doyle was busy preparing for her fairytale big day, which would be held in a stunning Scottish castle.

But with just weeks to go before her wedding, she was dumped by her fiance and lost her £2,000 deposit – all because of her weight.

At size 24, Pamela, 31, tipped the scales at a massive 17 stone. But the Glaswegian call centre worker has had the last laugh.

Not only has she lost seven stone and slimmed to a size 12, her ex has been left ‘stunned’ by her dramatically changed appearance.

‘He ended the relationship because of my weight and the issues surrounding it,’ said Pamela of her former lover – a serving soldier who she does not want to name.  It was making him miserable.’

Fiancee bloats up. What do most beta males do? Swallow that shit sandwich and walk the aisle to a dreary state-enforced future of endless nights of tripping the porn faptastic.

What does an alpha male do? Leave her just short of the blessed wedding event she has been dreaming of since childhood.

And because he was an alpha male about it, she wants him back.

Pamela, who now weighs just under 10 and a half stone, is still in touch with her ex-boyfriend and said she has not ruled out a reconciliation.

There are no ways in which being alpha is not better than being beta.

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Sometimes the most obvious facts of female nature and human social dynamics elude open discussion for an unusually long time. A reader writes to make a point that qualifies as one of those obvious facts:

Number one sign you’ll have a problem with a girl.

I crossed the rubicon a few years back when I felt I could expect some measure of success with eligible women. It felt great, but I always looked back and tried to identify mistakes so I could do better the next time. That said, even when the same thing happens over and over again, you might not see a trend until your sample size gets so big that the obvious hits you in the head with a brick.

I have a great piece of advice for any man, regarding his casual fling, girlfriend, or wife…she must like you as much, if not more, when she’s drunk than she does when she’s sober.

Some of that is obvious (taking her to a bar and then she goes home with another guy) but others are subtle (such as not getting texts or calls answered between 10pm and 1am on the weekend). Drinking loosens inhibitions and our drunk behavior is more consistent with our true feelings than our sober behavior.

As a matter of fact, you might want to meet all of your girls when they’re drunk, since a drunk girl liking you (which is emotional and more likely to be alpha) is a stronger signal than a sober girl liking you (which is logical and more likely to be beta).

When you get your girl drunk, you’re not doing it because it will make sex easier, you’re doing it because it might make sex harder. It’s a shit test. And if getting her drunk makes sex harder, you’re fucked.

Alcohol is truth serum, and a drunk girl will reveal her true desires faster and more boldly than a sober girl who has mental checkpoints, border guards and lockdown procedures in place to dupe provider beta males about the nature of women’s sexuality that is unleashed in limbic lands just beyond his ken.

In my experience, the reader is correct; drunkenness permits the woman’s id full expression. It skips joyously, drinking deep the fresh air, swinging its unchained fists wildly, exuberant and unstoppable. It would be a mistake to think her drunken id is less discriminating than her sober id. It isn’t. The drunken female id is more discriminating — but less deceptive and obfuscating — than her sober id. When she is sober, her forebrain exerts some sensible control over her animal lusts.

And this applies to relationship dynamics as much as pick-up scenarios at bars. Anyone who’s been in a normal (i.e., non-Mormon) relationship with a woman for more than a couple months has seen her drunk or at least tipsy. When she’s in this liquor-lubed confessional state, you can catch a glimpse of her raw sexuality, stripped of game-playing, calculating coyness and psychological feints with her long-term advantage in mind. What do you see? Does she jump into your arms, mashing her appletini-breath into your face, groping feverishly at your crotch and begging for exquisite deliverance on your godhead?

Or does she act cold and distant through the fog of her inebriation, snipe at you for imaginary infractions, and loudly reminisce about a long-forgotten (you thought) ex-boyfriend? Worse, does she late night text mystery “friends” as she’s pushing your inquisitive hornypaws away from her thigh?

Drunkenness is an emotion-based honesty signal that bypasses logic circuits. Drunkenness reveals women’s desire for alpha males. Sobriety reveals women’s ability to conceal their desire for alpha males. If your drunk girlfriend seems more eager for sex, chances are good your relationship is healthy. She loves you in the way that can’t be faked. If your drunk girlfriend is an insufferable ice queen, chances are good your relationship is heading for the rocks. She subconsciously despises you in the way a bored housewife despises her unsexy husband one week every month.

Why is is better to be viscerally loved than affectionately duped? Because the man who is viscerally desired always has the option to inspire tender long-term focused affection from his lover. The provider beta who is affectionately duped has no option, other than game, to inspire visceral desire in his lover. It’s much easier to guide a woman from alpha male-inspired lust to beta-male inspired serenity than it is to guide her from the opposite direction.

Contra feminist assertions that drunk women are more easily taken advantage of, it’s actually the case that drunk women are easier targets for alpha males, but harder targets for beta males, who, lettuce be cereal, comprise 60% of the male population who aren’t alpha or omega males. As per usual, feminists and their manboob human chastity belts lump in alpha males with beta and omega males and incorrectly assume that the poosy paradise that alpha males enjoy is enjoyed by all men.

So if you can take a drunk girl home and bang her, hold your head proudly high, because you have just been certified a Sexy Alpha Male™ in the only way that matters.

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A reader celebrates the holiday of love:

I won’t bore you with my long story. Ex of 8 years cheated, dumped me, I learned about game and Alpha Males, started being awesome. She came running back, I backslide by banging her for a few months while seeing other women too. Learned she banged two of my friends. Was an idiot and let her end things.

I’m doing ok now, teaching myself to destroy my enemies and relentlessly chase my dreams. Can’t help but be irritated at this callous bitch and the shitty friends who chose her used up vaj over friendship. I’m moving on, [ed: are you sure?] but there is one thing I really wanna do…bang her sister.

Sister is younger than her by 5 years, looked up to me in her teens, isn’t my biggest fan after the breakup, but when in the same room we’re friendly. What angle can I use to try and seal the deal and destroy my ex for good.

Don’t you love a heartwarming Valentine’s Day story?

First of all, you’re not over your ex if you want to “destroy her for good”. That said, I know the feeling of exacted vengeance, and it feels good. Banging her sister would certainly do the trick, although there are easier ways to rain pain upon your ex-flame. (Ya know, just letting her see you in the company of a hotter girl would work, too, and without inviting all that messy familial shit.)

Women are naturally competitive, though they may sweetly claim otherwise, so I’ve no doubt your ex’s sister has at times entertained the thought of stealing you for herself. Now whether she still entertains that thought is open to question. I get the vibe from your email that you didn’t comport yourself in an attractive, aloofly alpha manner during your drawn-out breakup.

How about this angle: Try innuendo. Plant the seed of oblique romance and tell her a variation on these words: “Your sister is a great person, despite flaws we all share. It didn’t work out, but that’s for the best. When I was with her, there was often… someone else on my mind.”

Linger, linger, aaaaaand… walk off. Return another day to escalate the flirtation. Poison the sisterly well by absently remarking on this or that negative comment your ex made about her sister, true or not. Wonder aloud if your ex ever made moves on her sister’s boyfriends, because, ahhh, forget it… ok, ok, there was that one time she mentioned something weird about dancing with Kevin… yeah, yeah, you figured it was her Kevin your ex was talking about.

You get the idea, champ. Whatever you do, DO NOT tip your hand in the slightest that your pursuit is driven by butthurtness. You must remain as cool and calculating as you were, presumably, when you first seduced your ex.

***

Reader #2 asks:

From a transcipt on Obama’s State of the Union speech last night:

“And we’ll work to strengthen families by removing the financial deterrents to marriage for low-income couples and do more to encourage fatherhood, because what makes you a man isn’t the ability to conceive a child, it’s having the courage to raise one. And we want to encourage that. We want to help that.”

Your thoughts?

Nice platitudes. Prepare for wallet raping. Because wallet raping is all this present day crop of pols knows how to do.

***

Reder #3 wonders about girls and horses (horse cock sold separately):

I continue to meet and (sometimes) date females who are into riding horses. Sometimes they own the horses… sometimes they lease them, sometimes they just ‘rent them’. However, as I continue to meet more of the horse girls, the more convinced I am that something just isn’t right.

Unfortunately, I live in an affluent area in the county where sometimes the cost of the horse exceeds the cost of the house people live in, and they cherish the horse more than anything else.

Some help for us guys who continue to run into them? Are there any stable ( ha ha) horse chicks out there? Should I continue to date them and see where it goes? Have you had any experience yourself?

A < snarky fat feminist who thinks she’s clever >metric fuckton< / snarky fat feminist who thinks she’s clever > has been written about the love pretty girls have for horsemeat, ahem, cantoring stallions. Theories abound, and you can search for them at your nearest internet kiosk. My personal favorite theory is that the horse is a surrogate for the exciting badboy: dangerously explosive power tamed precariously under her tender tutelage. The horse evokes her nurturance instinct, her desire to monopolize and channel male (or animal) power, and her thrill for wild, unpredictable beasts with soulful brown eyes.

Remember, folks, we gave this gender the vote!

I’ve been around girls who either had family-owned horses or went horse riding semi-regularly. Very loosely, they tend to favor hard-charging, elitist men, kind of like their horses. Some of the older horse-loving women are closet lesbians, but the younger ones are hetero and usually feminine. Psychologically, they are different than cat lovers with respect to their propensity for drama; the cat ladies have it in spades. Other than that, further stereotyping eludes. Too many crazy SWPLs have clouded my ability to discern extra special craziness in female sub genera.

***

Reader #4 has lost his taste for his womenfolk:

So, I’ve dated lots of girls in life, and I’ve dumped most of them.  Mostly, they’ve been lunatics, liars, and leeches.

In time, I started dating other ethnicities.  Eventually, I married an asian.  I’m caucasian.

I see lots of 7s and 8s these days, and they’re mostly caucasian.  But for some reason–for some strange reason–every time I see a caucasian chick, I’m filled with disgust and I’m repulsed on some levels.  Why?  I’m not a racist.  I’m not a liberal white self-hating kind of a guy.  It’s just that I’m “formed” in this way.  Something compells my subconscious to say “she’s worthy, she’s cool” if she’s from some other exotic locale.  But my own white skin?  I just don’t trust it.

Thoughts?

What’s happened to me?

The troll is strong in this email. But, it’s soon to be Valentine’s Day, and I’m feeling gullible.

Some minority of people in any race probably have a limbic disposition for other-race mates. I dunno the number. Say, 5%. These peeps, of whom you may be one, are particularly aroused by exotic women, and in particular naturally feminine exotic women, such as the asian. It could be nothing more than that.

Or, you may have had a damagingly bad experience with a white woman and the event left you with a repulsing psychological imprint which redounds to all white women.

Whichever it is, I’m not sure why I included your email in this mailbag, except perhaps to throw stinky chum into the commenter water. And this is why National Review won’t annex my talents.

***

Reader #5 would like to know how to deflect attention from a girl he doesn’t care for:

Been running game for a couple of months. Seeing some good results but also interest from the wrong areas. One girl, a high 7, is obsessive. Just for fun, what’s the most beta set of moves I could pull to make her stop feeling attraction?

Get caught fucking a dude in a furry suit.

Well, you asked.

For real, just stop talking to her. If she’s not the psycho sort, she’ll eventually take the hint and cry it out in her dim bedroom alone.

But, if you don’t have the patience to wait it out, and kind of like having her around for pivot reasons, I suggest the following betatization program:

1. Pretend every second of your day you are hiding from alien probes. Sit hunched, look nervously around the room, cross your arms and legs, hold your drink up to your nose, shudder a lot, shuffle, hang your head, spaz out at hearing loud noises, cry for no reason, look at your shoes when you speak, announce that flourescent lighting scares you.

2. Confess that you love her. Make sure to sound as nervous as possible. Apply fake sweat beads to your forehead. Tell her you wrote her a poem, and would like to read it aloud. When she screws up her face, cry. Whine that you just knew she wouldn’t like it.

3. Confide to her that you’ve been having erectile dysfunction problems. Say that you don’t mind telling her because you feel so close to her.

4. Constantly accuse her of seeing other men. “Were you with somebody yesterday?” “Who’s that guy? You know him?” “Did you sleep with him?” “Why do you have so many guy friends?” “Don’t you think it’s weird that you talk to other men besides me?”

5. Ask her if she loves you. Ask her twenty more times until she gives an answer that is acceptably foul to you.

6. Espouse feminism.

There are plenty more ball-shriveling tactics, but these should do the trick. If they don’t, you are probably lying that she is a “high 7″. Fat, desperate loser would be my guess, because no woman with a modicum of sexual value would be able to withstand that beta onslaught for long without retching.

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The female snarl has become a topic of conversation, which is not surprising because American women in general are becoming less feminine and more churlish. When in the past women would gently demur the solicitations of beta and omega males, today they prefer the unrefined art of snarling like a hyena over a fresh kill, the kill being their overworked vaginas. Meanwhile, alpha males witness them snarling ungenerously and think, “Marriage material? Nope. Pump and dump material? Yes!”

don't bother me. i'm pooping a purple saguaro.

don’t bother me. i’m pooping a purple saguaro.

The author of the linked article posits that the frequency with which women snarl correlates to their age and the sexual market threat level of the targets of their disapproval.

A woman arguably snarls between five to twenty times a day. The frequency is directly related to maturity. The more immature, the more the snarl appears. High school, consistently snarling. College, frequently. Twenties, sporadically. Thirties, only when they see a younger woman. There have probably been a couple snarls while reading this.

Ha haa. I’d add that the snarl is increasing among all female age groups, though younger women do use it more profligately, and with good reason: there are more beta males lasciviously eyeing their goods for penile plunder. What’s a hot babe to do? She has to fend them off by the hundreds, and a fat cockblock won’t be there for her every time. So the snarl is unfurled like a banner of bitchiness.

Why do women overuse the snarl to such potent effect? Simple: they don’t get called out on it by their designated targets. Most beta males wilt like flowers in the high noon summer heat when they get blasted with the snarl shockwave. “Oh, sweet fancy moses, excuse me for so presumptuously intruding upon your oxygen supply. I shall slink away now and hope my penis has reemerged from under my pubic bone when I return hope to fap the night away.”

The thing is, the female snarl is exceedingly easy to call out without resorting to butthurt confrontation.

“Nice face.”

“Are you pooping?”

“Sniffing for grubs?”

“You look like my hamster! Wait, don’t stop doing that. It’s great!”

“Finally got a whiff of my sex panther cologne, eh?”

Or, you could answer the female snarl with the male equivalent:

i'm sorry, are you supposed to mean something to me?

i’m sorry, are you supposed to mean something to me?

Ah, the alpha male smirk. As penetrative of women’s self-entitled bitch shields as their snarl is of beta males’ self-confidence. The perfectly timed smirk is the best comeback plus more. It instantly patronizes, condescends and belittles, without so much as revealing an iota of spite or care that might be used by a woman to anchor another bitchy barrage.

A fantastically egregious bitch — let’s say, a chubster wearing too much makeup and muffin top who thinks every man wants her and deserves her worst shit tests — requires a bit more… encouragement… to reform her ill-suited attitude. In such circumstances, the smirk won’t pack the necessary wallop. You’ll need something edgier.

i see you're wearing flip-flops

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