Archive for the ‘Maxims’ Category

Maxim #101: For most women, five minutes of alpha is worth five years of beta.

The importance of the above maxim can’t be overstated. The way to a woman’s heart is through her id.

There’s a male analogue as well.

Maxim #102: For most men, five minutes of a younger, hotter woman beats five years of older, uglier women.

Younger women are, barring a few conspicuous exceptions, better looking, better smelling and better feeling than older women. Career goals not achieved to the contrary notwithstanding, younger women are alpha females. The man who has tasted the succulent flesh of an 18 year old cutie will never again look at, or feel toward, older women with the same excitement, urgency or romanticism. He has been corrupted. His memories, lucid, almost palpable, of intimacies with younger women, will dominate. Five minutes in bed with a young babe will linger longer in his cortical penis extension than five years with an assortment of older women.

James Hooker has doomed himself. But it’s a doom that most men would welcome with open arms, if they could. His relationship — loving, tender, sexual — with an 18 year old babe means, should he find himself single again, that few women his age will satisfy him the way his current younger lover does. An older woman Hooker’s age who wants to extract commitment from him, or even a simulacra of lovingkindness, is going to have her work cut out for her. A man’s memory of an 18-year-old is a more powerful competitor to her than the attentions of real live women her own age.

Men like Hooker, men who have experience bedding younger women, and whose libidos are rocket fueled by powerful memories of young woman love, if they are single, go blankly into that dating field of cougars and cynical spinsters, depressed over the substandard offerings, forever seeking to recapture the intensely pleasurable magic of their time with their lithe lolitas. Their sheer disgust at the socially approved alternatives, and their unbreakable confidence at having inspired the love of much younger women, will help propel them back into the arms of charming coeds. They are men on a mission, and they won’t be stopped, not even by marriage.

Men like this live by one rule: if the cunnilingus feels like a chore, she’s too old.

As a one night stand with an alpha male can skew a woman’s expectations for life, so can a fling with an 18-year-old hottie skew a man’s expectations for life. But there is a critical difference in the sexes regarding expectation levels. It requires little effort for an average-looking woman to spread her legs and permit an alpha male to dump a fuck in her; for men are, on the whole, the less discriminating sex, and will rarely pass up easy lays with normal-sized women when they are offered. A woman’s ego, inflated from birth, will mistakenly regard the alpha’s fly-by-night attentions as validation of her relationship worthiness to men of his caliber. She will, in time, learn a bitter lesson.

In contrast, it requires yeoman effort, whether through the accumulation of wealth and status or through charm and dominance, for an average-looking older man to persuade an 18-year-old babe to relinquish her sex to him. This effort and resulting success is evidence that he has what it takes to consistently attract younger women and have relationships with them. When in the company of younger women, his mate value is self-evident. Thus, such a man’s expectations are more in line with reality than are the slutty woman’s expectations whose value is rightly measured not by how much cock she can hoover, but by how many high value men she can convince to stick around and fall in love with her.

Nevertheless, a continent full of average-looking, non-obese women riding the alpha cock carousel for stretches of their lives, and older men openly ignoring women their age to pursue their desire for the company of younger women, means an end to mutually nourishing beta male-slender female relationships and societally stabler older male-older female pairings. This is probably not going to turn out well for a monogamy-based modern civilization like ours, but it seems the rule that civilizations in the final spasms of decay revert to more primal norms of self-actualizing sexual and romantic fulfillment.

As always, I’ll be poolside.

Corollary to Maxim #102: A beautiful, slender older woman will be a better lay than a plain, fatter younger woman.

This corollary has more relevance today than it would have in the past, because enormous numbers of what would normally be very fuckable young babes have put themselves out of contention by getting fat and gross. Thanks to the Western obesity epidemic, there is a glimmer of hope for the yoga-toned 35-year-old who retains the feminine charms of her younger self. Chin up, ladies, and keep praying that your younger rivals gorge themselves on artisanal cupcakes and 150gram sugar-infused coffee drinks!

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There’s nothing funnier than lonely, unloved feminists stewing in their angostura bitters. They bring out the sadist in me.

Down with couple-talism!

A reader forwarded a link to a website called Occupy Valentine’s Day, created by an ur-feminist who is the executive editor of Feministing.

[V Day] puts pressure on couples to be a certain way, it privileges one type of love (think heteronormativity!) and it makes single people feel incomplete.

Like most outcasts nursing grudges, she has a thing against normal people behaving in normal ways.

we can use Valentine’s Day to raise awareness about the limited ways we think about romance.

In the past, petulant sophists like this would be ignored and allowed to fade into obscurity. Today, they get a platform and a sympathetic media treatment.
When the degenerate is elevated to a voice of wisdom
and the customary and ordinary subverted
confusion arrests the strongest hearts
until weakness is to excellence inverted.

The goal of the OVD website, near as a sane person can tell, is a hodgepodge advocacy of the usual rainbow coalition and femcunt agenda crap, plus a general lashing out at love and anything that smacks of romantic gestures shared between a man and a woman (romantic gestures between man and man, woman and woman, and spinster and cat are perfectly fine, though).

Blog about how traditional ideas of romance perpetuate gender inequalities and hurt people of all genders

If taking my girl out to a romantic nighttime spot for heavy petting under the silver moon manages to perpetuate gender inequalities and make life miserable for the rejects who post on Occupy Valentine’s Day, I consider that a successful two-fer.

Have a sexy conversation by candlelight with your partner about structural inequity

You think this is a parody, but then you remember that feminists have no sense of humor. All real, all retarded.

Commit to never settling for anyone who is not good enough for you just because you are afraid to spend another Valentine’s Day alone

Ever notice how women with the fewest reasons to feel entitled are often the ones who most loudly proclaim their refusal to settle?

These are just a few ways we can use Valentine’s Day to raise awareness about the limited ways we think about romance.

Maxim #210: If you are using a romantic holiday as a pretext to raise awareness instead of raise erections, you are probably a fat loser.

Celebrating love is wonderful and romance can be great too. But we don’t need corporations to dictate how we should do it, a mainstream media chastising us for not doing it right or traditional ideas touted over and over by our friends and family.

Hey, I’ve got not problem with skipping out on the corporatized aspect of V-Day. I’ll be the first guy to tell men they don’t need cards and chocolate to inspire girls to feel love. Nothing kills romance faster than dreary obligation. The difference between me and this feminist loser is that I don’t make a capital case out of traditional romantic gestures as being somehow symbolic of hatred for weirdos, dweebs, fatties and fuglies who can’t get a date.

That shit is oppressive and hurts us more than helps.

You can pinpoint the exact moment in history when the West began its decline as the moment when we started caring what spiteful losers think. A little oppression and hurtfulness is a healthy society’s cleansing mechanism. Time to reoccupy the icy wastelands with society’s waste product.

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Maxim #1(a)(2): Men want to be turned on by their women. Women want to be proud of their men.

What do I mean by proud? It doesn’t necessarily mean she’s proud of your career success. It could mean something as simple and endearing as installing a mantle over her fireplace, so that when her girl friends come over for a party and ask about the fantastic looking mantle, she can tell them, with no uncertain amount of swelling pride, that her boyfriend did it. For her.

As for you women… well, men want you to look good. Period. That means:

Be hot.
Be thin.
Be young.

Now you can’t do anything about your age or your genetically endowed looks, but you can do something about staying slim and keeping yourself looking as good as possible by adopting beneficial lifestyle habits and, if necessary, “getting some work done”.

If you ask me, I think women actually have it tougher keeping their partner attracted to them over the long run.

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A crooked-faced atheist chick has set the net aflame with a tragic tale of threatening elevator courtship that could rival Caylee Anthony’s death by single mom. According to her, an inept atheist nerd propositioned her in a hotel elevator, which caused her to nearly faint with an attack of the vapors, like any equalist gender-normed feminist would do. In brief, a man entered the elevator with her at 4AM after a “skeptics” conference had ended, and proceeded to awkwardly and nervously ask her out to coffee, which she declined.

Yep, that’s the whole story. Riveting stuff, ain’t it?

But the important thing to understand is how Indignant Atheist Chick FELT. To use her words, she felt


Poor dear. And then right on cue a chorus of feminist commenters chimed in with accusations that the awkward elevator man was a potential rapist.

For a replay of the characters involved, here’s a withering rundown of the sordid affair, including links to limp-wristed nancyboys who couldn’t wait to jump like little doggies begging for table scraps from approving feminists.

Potential Rapist Syndrome is a mind virus infecting the brains of put-upon feminists all over America and Sweden. The slightest effrontery by a man not immediately deemed a charismatic alpha male by the woman victim causes the virus to multiply rapidly, resulting in flawed reasoning that imputes the worst possible motives to innocuous, if unattractively nerdy, male behavior. Using the illogic of this mind virus, any action that a man takes in attempt to pick up a woman is potential rape as long as she feels it is.

Did he make her feel uncomfortable asking her out in the park? Potential rapist.

Did he make her feel uncomfortable asking her out in a bar? Potential rapist.

Did he make her feel uncomfortable asking her out here or there? Potential rapist.

Did he make her feel uncomfortable asking her out in a house? With a mouse? Potential rapist.

Did he make her feel uncomfortable asking her out in a box? With a fox? Potential rapist.

Richard Dawkins was right. This is female hamster-fueled solipsism to the nth degree. The growth industry of Entitled American Bitches is feeding this female martyrdom indulgence in believing the Western world is out to get them. Only a foul bitch so full of herself, so enamored of her precious biological cargo, could wilt at the imaginary prospect that any man who awkwardly asks her out is itching to rape her before the elevator stops at the next floor. Hey Indignant Atheist Chick, Hogwarts called; they want their magical thinking back.

PRS is very similar to PMS in its symptoms. Women lose all logic and reason to a flood of hormones and emotional hysteria, rendering them unsuitable conversational partners until the episode has passed. Do not under any circumstance try to comfort a woman in the throes of PRS, or otherwise try to redeem your “inappropriate” behavior to make her feel better. She will simply lash out with increased rage, incoherent to everyone but herself, other sufferers of PRS and thimble-chubbed beta wankers hoping to sneak in their pants under cover of empathy. A woman experiencing PRS hates the mass of bumbling men for not knowing how to properly satisfy her desires for interaction with an aloof and charming alpha male. Like the PMS victim, any attempt to assuage her irrational torment will be met with an icy stare at best, and thrown objects at worst. Pointing out the flaws in the PRS sufferer’s anti-logic will be perceived by her as an act of psychological war, an imposition of your rigid male sexuality upon her enlightened female vulnerability and purity. Proceed with indifference.

Maxim #48: The feminist loathing of male desire is at the root of all their complaining about men and the dating scene. Feminists, in their hearts, despise the freedom and longevity of male sexuality. And they particularly despise that freedom when lowly beta males attempt to exercise it.

Thus ends the cultural dissolution portion of today’s lecture, and begins the game portion. Given the above, it will surprise some of the readers that this blog holds little sympathy for Inept Elevator Nerd. Asking a woman out for coffee before you’ve won her interest is bad game. Asking her out in an elevator at 4AM when she has nowhere to escape is bad game. Doing all of it with the nervousness of a beta herb who hasn’t had any for years is ZERO GAME.

Direct game of the sort that elevator dude “ran” is best used in open spaces where the woman won’t feel cornered. It’s good pickup strategy to give a woman the feeling of being able to freely excuse herself if she finds your hard sell lacking. A woman is more likely to allow her intrigue to flower if the man who approaches her with directness knows that she values an easy out should she need it. It’s an implied understanding that only men who have experience bedding women will know, and women know this.

Indirect game is better for enclosed spaces like elevators where the first goal is to make the woman feel comfortable in your presence. (Some pickup artists have successfully run direct game in elevators, but it requires a healthy dose of charisma and cocky humor, as well as the social savvy to defuse the inherent tension of small spaces. For example: “Oh, wow, an awkward elevator ride, just like in the movies. I’m getting off in three floors, so I’d better make my flirting count!”)

A man who directly approaches a woman in a context that offers her an unmessy exit is, in the woman’s hindbrain, a confident man unafraid of potential rejection. This is a tacit demonstration of higher value that will immediately set the tone of the pickup in the man’s favor. In contrast, a man who directly approaches a woman in a context that affords her no quick, polite escape is, in the woman’s mind and likely in reality as well, a desperate beta who needs to corner a woman to win an audience with her. She will easily and seamlessly rationalize this awkward behavior on his part as the machinations of a rapist’s mind.

Whenever you worry that the principles of game will become too well-known and overused by men, just remember Inept Elevator Nerd. The world is teeming with men like him who have zero clue how women work. Your worries that game will increase the competition above and beyond what female obesity is creating for the few remaining slender chicks in existence are unfounded. Inept Elevator Nerds continue to roam the plains in vast, undifferentiated numbers.

When in doubt about the goodness and righteousness of game, remember the fundamental rule of female magical thinking, gentlemen:

Beta = Potential rapist.

Alpha = It just happened!

No further explanation needed.

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If your girlfriend is complaining about your selfishness, you’re doing it right.

Your gift to her is that you don’t go around sleeping with other women.

Meaningless acts of romance are far more meaningful to girls than meaningful acts of romance.

Similarly, spontaneous expressions of romance will linger in a girl’s memory far longer than elaborately planned romantic gestures.

‘Romantic gestures’ is redundant. *Any* gesture done for a girl who already likes you is romantic.

Role-playing is worth ten diamond tennis bracelets in a girl’s captured imagination.

A girl’s urge to pressure you to marry is inversely correlated to her depth of love for you.

Corollary: a marriage ultimatum means she is on the cusp of falling out of love with you.

Love is as corrupted as any other barter in the mating market, but its great advantage is that it never feels that way.

Marriage counselors could save more marriages simply by uttering these two words: tease her.

The alpha male way to apologize for a minor offense is a shoulder rub. The alpha male way to apologize for a grave offense is cunnilingus.

All regrets and apologies should be expressed long enough after the offense was committed that a direct connection between offense and contrition is plausibly deniable. This is known as the Betafication Avoidance Buffer.

A strong relationship is defined as one in which your girlfriend’s friends all want to sleep with you.

Once a girl falls in love with you, she will stop taking the counsel of her friends’ opinions regarding your compatibility with her.

Corollary: You are then free to piss off her friends as much as you want.

Love is margin for error.

Love like an idealist, think like a cynic.

Relationships are more erector set than blank white canvas.

But when the time comes to paint, paint with the entire palette.

If she wants to see you one more day per week than you want to see her, you’re doing it right.

Texting is a great way to get out of hour-long nightly phone conversations, while at the same time keeping the embers of infatuation burning.

If she plans three dates for every two of yours, you’re doing it right.

A girl in love is one who withers as much from withheld compliments as from supplied criticism.

Give her an email address that you rarely access. There are many ways to stoke the female yearning for an elusive man.

Her infidelity is an automatic relationship or marriage terminator, except under one circumstance: she was cheating with your other girlfriend.

If she sneaks away to reapply her lipstick after every make-out, she is afraid she’ll stop pleasing you. Or she’s a street walker.

A bay window, a cool summer’s night breeze, and ambient light backgrounding fettuccine alfredo and pinot noir is the female equivalent of receiving the perfect hummer.

The neg never dies. It just fades away.

If she assumes the doggie position unprompted, you’re doing it right.

If she gives you mouth love without you having to ask for it, you’re doing it more right than you can fathom.

“You make me feel happy” is the pre-cum of a girl’s oxytocin-greased mental ejaculation. Her orgasmic “I love you” is less than one month away.

A good relationship is one in which you joke that you are her king, and there is an undercurrent of wishful seriousness in her playful response.

If you tell her you feel a little under the weather, and she comes over to your place with OJ, herbal tea, soup, and cough medicine, you’re doing it right.

Don’t rush the naturally emerging stages of the relationship. Men who rush things are insecure about their staying power. Men who have options are comfortable taking their time getting entangled with a girl. Most hot young girls prefer the latter; cougars, fatties, and single moms prefer the former.

If you are significantly higher value than the girl you are dating, don’t underestimate the degree to which she can become obsessed with you. An available alpha male giving signals of commitment is like finding a giant diamond lying on the ground in a state park; it just doesn’t happen for most girls.

When she starts inviting you on her vacations and business trips, she loves being with you. When she pays your way, she hates being without you.

Better she is an infatuated lover than a loving dilettante.

If you haven’t had an argument within the first two months, you’ve passed an important test. If you haven’t had an argument within the first year, you’ve failed an important test.

Girls take seriously their pets’ opinions of you. One purring cat can shave off seven hours of courtship.

Beware girls who always want to go to “events” or “do interesting things” with you. They fear the connection will break without the scaffolding of a contrived shared experience. If she’s happy sitting on a park bench with you people watching she’s a keeper.

Joyfully fornicate with girls who are always drunk when they’re with you. But don’t date them.

If a girl loves you, all problematic matters that would have presented an obstacle to the initial seduction become irrelevant or are actually turned in your favor.

After one month together, you will be astonished at how often and how vigorously a girl in love will qualify herself to you without you even trying to instigate it. Don’t interrupt her when she’s doing this.

It is a girl’s natural state of mind to question your worth when she is not in love. In contrast, it is her natural state of mind to question her own worth when she is in love.

When a girl is down on herself, do not try to lift her up. It is enough that you are there listening to her.

Saying less is always preferable to saying more. She will be inclined to imbue your silence with positive connotations, and your loquacity with suspicion.

Girls will sometimes preemptively break up with you if they suspect you are too much alpha for them. In these cases, the impending breakup is best averted by nuzzling your head in her boobage for ten minutes. Your body language should mimic a cat’s.

Occasional displays of testosterone (ODTs) are more effective, require less effort, and are more fun than “talking it out” when the relationship is rocky. Curse profligately, punch a wall, slam a door, grab a wrist, break a lamp, menacingly wield a heavy object, and disappear for days at a time — then sit back as she swoons and resubmits to your authority.

Preternaturally serene mindfucking is the ultimate ODT, but should not be attempted by men low in intelligence or feeble of will. Do not mindfuck girls who are less than an 8; you could destroy them for any future beta desperate to settle down with a has-been and populate the country with future generations of danegeld-paying cogs.

You know that song “Love is Like Oxygen”? There’s no such thing as too high.

You could spend $100,000 on a lavish wedding, but the thing she’ll most fondly remember is that erotic note you hastily scrawled on a cocktail napkin and passed to her under the table. Think about it.

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The One Truth Of Game

Reader “St” asks:

What is the One Truth of Game?

Here is the answer to that question –

Impress me.

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Maxim #98: Marriage is no escape from the sexual market and the possibility that you may be outbid by a competitor with higher value.

Corollary to Maxim #98: Singleness is no guarantee of full sexual market participation.

Expert level commenter Whiskey left a comment about the Tiger Woods affair on a blog I read (at the moment I can’t recall the blog) in which he stated plainly that each woman with whom Woods had a tryst was one less woman available on the dating market to other men. His point was that twelve (in reality, triple that number) Tiger mistresses (or whores, or skanks, or courtesans, whatever you want to call them the concept is clear) means twelve beta men go without a woman at all. Some of the commenters took Whiskey to task, noting, perhaps not illogically, that a woman living as the sex toy of a billionaire golfer is not necessarily off the market. There are six other days in the week, after all. The typical fuckhole might see Woods once a month, which leaves her plenty of time to date other men.

Comforting thoughts, but I’ll throw my experiences with and observations of these kinds of women in the ring and lend support to Whiskey’s point of view. On a ledger sheet, sure, these provisional paramours have lots of downtime to date other men. But a woman’s emotional contours are hardly amenable to the ledger. Unlike men, most women are averse to boffing multiple concurrent partners. It is simply not in the nature of women to be psychologically equipped to handle with grace and steadiness the crass rutting with Cock A one day and Cock B the very next day. Women don’t operate like that. They see a cock they like, they want to be with that cock, and if they succeed all other cocks recede to invisibility, at least until either their preferred cock leaves for good or they grow weary of that cock.

What I am describing is not a slut apologia. The infamous cock carousel that spins like a possessed Stephen King-ian carnival ride in our major urban centers is open for business. But it’s a turgid carousel of consecutive rides, one women normally jump off of before clambering back on to sit on a new, fresh horsey. They aren’t attempting to straddle all the horsies at once.

Now some women of the craving simultaneous schlong variety do exist. But they are extremely rare. Aside from prostitutes (who medicate their perforating souls with the salve of money, drugs, and complete submission to the pimp), only the foulest sluts and most rapacious sociopaths are constitutionally capable of concurrent cock hopping for pleasure and personal gain. Some of these stone cold sluts were likely positioning themselves in Tiger’s target acquisition periphery, and he clumsily obliged like the stiffly off-putting former beta droid he is. But it is also likely that some of his mistresses genuinely fell for the tingly feelings his power and fame gave them, and they forsook all other men to focus solely on Tiger, even if it meant seeing him just once a month.

So Whiskey’s observation has merit. If a man is alpha and unburdened by moral considerations, he will have mistresses and flings and hotel bar hookups. And in turn, those mistresses and flings will drift off the dating market, de facto if not maritally de jure. When an alpha captures a woman’s heart, even if for only a few times a year, her yearning focuses like a laser beam onto him to the exclusion of more available betas in her midst. She will be happier daydreaming of her unavailable lover than talking in real life with second rate suitors.

Maxim #101: For most women, five minutes of alpha is worth five years of beta.

The Tiger Woods bimbo eruption has clarified the seedy underbelly of the sexual market within which we all operate, no matter how many Hallmark platitudes we recite to the contrary to assuage our pestering fears. People get wrapped up in the salacious gossip and revel in the downfall of a celebrity, but behind the jokes and snark of the gawking masses percolates a silent unease. Women spare fleeting thoughts that the men who love them might trade up to a younger hotter model if offers suddenly emerged. Men hide a slow moving but deep river of envy for any alpha male who makes the news by monopolizing enough women to sexually nourish the IT department of a large corporation.

Yes, in 2009 America, there are men who rule over harems. And there are many more men who are eunuchized by this dirty little reality.

Some of the quotes from Tiger’s flings are a case study in female rationalization.

Jamie Jungers (fling #??):

Jamie, 26, who bears a striking resemblance to Elin, recalled: “Tiger and I went back to the room and just started making out.

“It just went from one thing to the next. We ended up having crazy sex for two hours. I remember him picking me up and putting me against the wall. And that’s when it turned into wild sex. It was really good.

“Later I said to him, ‘I don’t know a whole lot about your marriage situation. I know it is very fresh. I know you just got married. I mean, is it going OK?’ He said, ‘Yes, it’s fine, she’s in Sweden with her family’.”

She’s banging a dude who just got married and she asks if his marriage is going OK. No one is that stupid. She asked because by asking she absolves herself of any guilt or accountability for what she is doing. This is how women think. They are submissive, empty vessels to their core.

Jaimee Grubbs (fling #???):

TIGER Woods was rated as “horrible in bed” by one of his lovers, it was revealed yesterday.

The damning verdict came from cocktail waitress Jaimee Grubbs, who says she had a 31-month fling with the married golf superstar.

One would think 31 months is a long time to fuck a man who is “horrible in bed”, but alphas get a lot of leeway. Or she’s just pissed she was turned in for a flashier upgrade.

The 24-year-old mistress told fellow contestants on US TV reality show Tool Academy she had also “hooked up” with George Clooney.

But while she was full of praise for the movie heartthrob, she mauled Tiger.

Telly pal Krista Grubb, 27, told The Sun: “She was showing all these texts saying they were from Tiger and George.

One she said was from George said, ‘When can I get in there again?’ He signed it G.

“She said she met him while working as a cocktail waitress in Los Angeles and they would meet up in Vegas and he was a lot of fun.

“Jaimee said George was amazing but wasn’t so nice about Tiger. She just kept saying he was horrible in bed.”

Let this be a lesson, men. If you want rave reviews from pump and dumps, live your cad lifestyle without apology. Women not only respect that in a man, they love it.

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Discount bin answer: Never.

Gamers’ Edition Bonus Pak answer: It depends.

I was at a small-ish film fest party for a guy who directed a couple of short documentaries. Crowd size: ~80-100 peeps, skewed toward women, most of whom were cute artsy scenesters who liked to wear woolen caps and scarves indoors. Because, you know, it might snow.

Three girls, all 7s, approached me and my friend to ask if we were “part of the creative scene”.

Clearly, a significant subculture of the residents are starving for the company of unconventional people who aren’t yuppie whores. And so, I give them that. I aim to please.

After a few minutes of light chit chat about my latest blockbuster mega-grossing film, I felt the energy of the set wane. They were slipping away. Girls are born with a self-entitlement region of the brain that causes them to assume all men were put on the earth to continually entertain them. This region is connected to the pussy through a single major nerve called the tingleginaceptor. When the pussy deteriorates through age, so does the entitlement region of the female brain. This is why many older women are so engaging in conversation; they have to be.

A player adept at seducing women knows to flip this entitlement script and demand entertainment from the women in his company. Game is the tool that helps with the script-flipping. But this time I ran no game. Instead, I let the chit chat dissipate, smiled warmly, and told them to enjoy the show.

I could’ve made fun of one of the girl’s scarves (“That scarf is all wrong on you”). I could’ve negged the hottest girl (“You look like the girl in the movie who got dumped by the guy. Are you her? Well, chin up”). I could’ve kinoed, isolated, made out. But I did none of these things. Why?

Because in certain specific contexts, I believe game can backfire. This was one of those times. A small, insular indie scene such as at a film screening, filled with people who likely are friends, or at least acquaintances, with everyone else in the room, and who have certain social codes that they follow and are only understood by themselves (e.g. don’t be a douchebag) are more apt to react suspiciously to game run on them by a relative outsider. (I do hang in the indie scene, but not this particular one.)

My spidey sense was telling me that had I negged one of the girls in the three set, it would have confused her. And not in a good way. Tightknit groups of people tend to want to feel newcomers out, to see if they’re cool, i.e. socially savvy. A neg right out of the gate might have tingled ginas, but it also ran the risk of emphasizing my outsider status. It’s best to demonstrate your in-group cred first before hitting them up with the thermonuclear love bomb of game. With very provincial groups, this getting-to-know-you process can sometimes require attendance at three or more events where you’ll see the same girls and they’ll have an opportunity to become comfortable with you. Blogger happy hours used to work this way.

There is a trade-off to every decision. The girl who interested me may not ever again go to one of these events. Or she may have been sufficiently bored by the non-game “normal” conversation between us to write me off as a future contender. If I had properly gamed her, I had a chance to initiate the short road to intimacy. But gaming her also posed the risk of stamping me persona non grata within the scene, possibly polluting my chances with other girls who knew my primary target peripherally.

Pickup is about experience. After enough time and practice, you’ll get a feel for these kinds of social riddles. But all in all, I prefer this rule of thumb –

Maxim #13: When in doubt, game.

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Getting Rusty

Whether because of laziness, preoccupation with job and hobbies, or falling into a steady, comfortable pattern with a girlfriend, time away from the game will kill your game faster than cumulative rejections, self-limiting beliefs, or hanging with a beta crowd. It’s like high blood pressure, the silent killer. You don’t even realize your game is suffering until it’s too late and a beta embolism seizes you in a death grip.

I used to think that once you learned game it would stay with you for life no matter how much time you spent away from it, like riding a bicycle. Now, I know this isn’t true. Within a month of departure from the field, your game will begin to degrade. First your outer game will deteriorate, then your rock solid inner game — your confidence — will start to show cracks. Finally, if you don’t take active steps to counter the slide to betatude, you will completely revert to your old self. You see this a lot with freshly minted divorced men. They’ve been out of the game so long they have the mannerisms, attitude, and courtship skills of a socially retarded high school A/V club freshman, adrift in a sea of bitch sharks.

The Descent of Alpha follows this trajectory:

—> Master Seducer commits to a girlfriend or, heaven forfend, gets married. He spends most of his free time with her.

One month passes without hitting on fresh meat.

—> Master Seducer is out with his boys and sees a hot chick. Preparing to approach, he hesitates for just a second. Guilt over his GF? Or something much, much more ominous? For a brief instant he struggles to find an opening gambit. This is an odd feeling for him. The opening line used to come second nature. He can’t remember the last time he had to scan his brain for an acceptable conversation starter. Is his GF’s pussy fogging his mind?

Two months pass without hitting on fresh meat.

—> Master Seducer is walking down the sidewalk and notices a chick who is just his type walking toward him. He is sexually satiated from his GF’s loving daily ministrations, but a dying ember within compels him to summon the old swaggering dick-swinging demon. And this girl is just the one to inspire him. He makes his move, but to his astonishment he says something about the tourist season. Their friendly, sexually neutered conversation soon falls apart, as he knew it would. Curses! Casual game! His normally charming asshole game has betrayed him. He wonders why he said what he did.

Three months pass without hitting on fresh meat.

—> Master Seducer, who has by now been demoted to Master Beta Boyfriend, has not hit on a new girl since he met his girlfriend. He wakes in the middle of the night in a cold sweat wondering if he’s still “got it”. Determined to put his growing fears behind him, he takes advantage of a weekend his girlfriend will be out of town to hang with his crew and recapture the old glory. He figures he’s already got regular pussy, so he’ll be free to experiment and be as bold as he wants. In the field surrounded by all the glittering new beauties, a flicker of doubt briefly rattles him, but he forces it aside and strides purposefully into set after set like the King Dong he used to be. Unfortunately, his game is sloppy, scattershot, and misses the mark more than it hits. As set after set fizzles, he grows more timid in his conversations. He forgets fundamentals like hitting on the fat chick first and negging the hot babe early. He forgets to qualify. He even catches himself standing in a defensive posture. He goes home numberless, but consoled that at least he has pussy waiting for him.

Four months pass without hitting on fresh meat.

—> Our Master of Nothing has decided to throw in the towel. He’s got a great GF and maybe his new game-free outlook on life is the natural progression of becoming a well-rounded man. Like yin and yang, the alpha and beta must coexist. Too bad for our anti-hero his girlfriend has myteriously stopped giving him unsolicited blowjobs. She snaps at him for inconsequential infractions. He has stopped flirting with other women when they go out together. His egregious flirting at parties used to piss the hell out of his girlfriend, but the night always ended in floorboard shaking sex. Now, the night ends with a movie and soft, tender lovemaking — at least from him — that leaves her unsatisfied.

Six months pass without hitting on fresh meat.

—> Master of Herbs has done all the right things: He’s stopped catting around, he’s paid more attention to his girlfriend, he’s been a dutiful boyfriend with eyes only for her. So why did she leave him? All he knows is that he’s been thrust into the field, cold and unarmed, and his glorious past BG (Before Girlfriend) where he hardly ever went a week without new pussy is just a distant memory. He flails wildly in set. His confidence is shattered. He spends $5K for a workshop with Lance Mason. We can rebuild him. We have the technology…


The first thing to go when you have stopped gaming girls is your asshole game. Asshole game is like the dick in the coalmine. When it goes flaccid, you’ve got big problems on the horizon. Asshole game is probably the surest marker of healthy testosterone levels. It’s also the leading edge of tight game and the most sensitive to any beta backsliding. If you’re concerned about losing your mojo, pay close attention to your inner asshole. Have you stopped referring to girls as “bitches” and “dirty whores”? Have you stopped making fun of them and risking getting blown out? WARNING! You have taken your first steps betawards.

Ask your friends to observe you in set and grade you on your assholery. Third party feedback is invaluable for avoiding the dreaded fates of the Complacent Herb in a Relationship or the Lazy Beta Too Self-Satisfied to Bother. If you can keep your asshole game sharp, the rest of your game will be safe from the predations of the Beta Side.

Maxim #59: The longer you are away from seducing new women, the harder it will be to seduce one when you want.

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I gently coaxed her head down toward my boner. Her hand vigorously pumped. Handjobs are lame. Most girls don’t do them right, chafing and tugging like maniacs, as if they’re pulling a weed out by the roots. I wanted the mouth upgrade. She resisted.

“No, I’m not doing that.”


“I think blowjobs are gross. Eww. I don’t like that in my mouth. It’s not the same as going down on a girl.”

She had experimented with women back in the day. I thought for a second about what she said. More gross going down on cock than pussy? No way. It’s the difference between slurping on a hot dog and smearing your face with pubes and mucousy, unidentifiable juices.

“Wow, that’s the first time I’ve heard that.”

She bristled. “Most women don’t actually like it.”

“That hasn’t been my experience. In fact, I can’t think of a single girl I’ve ever been with who didn’t like giving head.” I was being truthful.

“Well, they aren’t going to tell you that they don’t like it.”

“Hmm. Maybe. But if they weren’t enjoying it, their moans of pleasure sure fooled me.”

“I don’t even like sex that much.”

I squinted at her, growing less aroused with each word she uttered. “Uh, ok.”

“Yeah, it’s not all that much of a turn-on for me. I get off when a guy goes down on me. That’s the best.”

Even though her hand was wrapped tight around my rod, I deflated like a week-old balloon. She spread her legs a little wider and began touching herself. She smiled at me and looked down at her pussy. “Mmm, I love when a guy goes down there. Like he can’t get enough of me.” Her fingers glistened with the proof of her arousal.

I admired her gall in the face of her abject hypocrisy. But there was no way I was eating her out. I have a rule I follow which has held me in good stead for my entire copulatory career: I don’t go down on a girl until she has gone down on me first, assuming she smells OK. Exception to the rule: She’d have to be extraordinarily hot, a 9 or above, for me to be inspired by my uncontrollable horniness to munch away in advance of her putting me in her mouth. And it’d have to be obvious by her writhing enthusiasm that she was geared up for some bigtime raunchy sex and a blowjob in due course.

The reason for this rule is simple. You have to make a girl earn your tongue. That means hummers and fucking first. It may sound calculating, but this is the way girls think. If you give her everything she wants for free, she will have less incentive to bend over backwards (literally) to please you in every way you want to be pleased. Blowjobs will seem like “special treats” in her mind that she blesses you with when you’ve been especially good to her. This is not how you properly train your girlfriend or fuckbuddy. Instead, hold back on the oral sex until she’s proven her worth by meeting your demands.

You always want her in the frame of mind of seeking your approval, pleasing you first, and working overtime to enjoy the breadcrumbs of attention you sprinkle on her. *That*, readers, is the foundation of hot, frequent sex. She *wants* to feel the struggle of earning your prize member, and your pricey love. Give her what she wants by withholding what she wants. As in all things women, the paradox is primary.

There are four reasons why a girl would balk at giving blowjobs.

  1. She’s sexually repressed. These types aren’t too common in DC, but they do exist. I give sluts a hard time, but her twisted sister, the Frigid Ice Queen, is just as distressing. At the first signs you have a sex-averse girl on your hands, run, do not walk, to the nearest exit. Odds are not good that you will unplug the Freudian sludge that clogs her pussy pipe. You may, but you probably won’t. And the worst decision a man can make in his life is to marry an Ice Queen. Worse even than marrying a slut with cheating whore issues. You will suffer endless blueball torment as her parched snapper slowly drains the masculinity out of you and drives you to the brink of insanity. Red flag: Her father is a preacher.
  2. She really doesn’t like giving blowjobs. If you’re like most men and you love getting head, there’s no point sticking it out with a girl like this, no matter how well she cooks. But don’t worry, this kind is rare. It’s been my experience that any girl who is very attracted to you will love sucking your cock. Most girls won’t need to be asked, or have their head pushed into position.
  3. She’s testing you. Some girls will make you wait it out for the goodies, teasing you with a lick on the shaft or a tip in their asshole, until you’ve satsified their need to know you are really into them. These types have been burned by men they loved, and regard your infinite patience and heavy balls as evidence that you love her for more than her body. Avoid her. You don’t want a girl in your life who uses sex as a weapon. You don’t want a girl who views sex as an all-in-one tool for self-validating ego-prop.
  4. She’s atoning for her past slutty ways. Of the four types listed here, this type is the most loathsome. She’s a brazen bitch. A selfish headcase. Damaged goods. She’s been on a merry-go-round of cock since puberty and woke up one morning feeling bad about it. Now she sees it as her duty to make amends for her whorish history, and you are her experimental beta guinea pig. “I’m not a slut!” pleads her shattered, spooged id. “And I’m going to prove it with this guy!” So she refrains from gobbling your cock, or makes you wait past the 3rd date for sex, thinking she can silence the screaming of the slut as a born-again prude. This is new ground she’s on, so she’s bound to be clumsy about it. You’ll hear her say incongruous things like “Stop pressuring me!” as she’s splayed out naked on your bed, legs spread wide, pussy leaving juice spots on your sheets. Her transparent act II psychodrama will infuriate you. What drives a man nuttier than knowing he’s being deviously denied that which so many other men have boffed freely? But what this deluded girl doesn’t know is that you have game. You have no trouble scoring. She can push you one, maybe two, dates more than your three date rule for sex, but she will inevitably push too far. And the bigger slut she’s been in her previous life, the harder she will attempt to atone for it by crushing your spirit. In a Battle Royale between a Rules Girl and a Player, always bet on player. You will walk, never looking back, your dignity flush with victory and your sack spared her wicked games. She can practice keeping her legs shut on another sucker. You’re not her sacrificial slut redeemer.

Maxim #71: When a girl signals that she doesn’t enjoy blowjobs or sex, do not spend one second more with her. Your libido is too important to gamble on such a girl.

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