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Archive for the ‘Self-aggrandizement’ Category

Reframing

Here’s an example of the utility of reframing to domains outside the sphere of pickup. Reader PA asks,

What is a good, short, SFW [safe for work] response to the 77% [pay gap] lie?

Other than “it’s not true if type of profession, years of experience, and overtime are factored in.”

PA is right to tacitly assert that an effective reframe to a ridiculous but widely-believed PC lie should be short and sweet and digestible. References to arid data or statistical qualifications won’t win over the common plebe or plebette.

One reason why anti-Cathedral dissidents rarely get traction in these sorts of arguments they should be winning handily is that they don’t know how to package their pushback in a way that makes it more receptive to the part of the listening audience who aren’t brain-dead true believers. What is true for seduction is true for persuasion. Terse charm >>> loquacious insistence.

So in that vein, some persuasive, office-friendly reframes to the 77% pay gap lie would be:

“You say that like it’s men’s fault.”

“And secretaries only make 10% of CEOs. We should narrow that gap too.”

“Motherhood really competes with work.”

“Handouts would fix the problem.”

I welcome the readers to add their own pay gap myth reframes.

***

PS On a related subject, change is a-blowin’ in the wind, my friends. It’s small change, but something is definitely happening. I’ve noticed of late a certain reticence by the boyfriends of SWPL girls to robotically agree with their girlfriends’ feminist boilerplate. Instead of the usual head nodding and “yes, yes”s whenever their girls babble feminist cant, these once-sackless wonders have begun to look off into the distance impatiently, and their blank expressions betray conversation thread-killing neutrality. It’s not the CH-style shiv, but it’s better than total supplication.

I’d like to think that the Chateau message is finally influencing the zeitgeist; if so, we may be cresting the horizon to revolution, and moving into a brighter, sunnier, more unapologetically erect day.

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A series of riveting studies, referenced in this video from 7:15-11:05, examined the effects of reward, punishment, or a mix of the two on behavioral attachment. The reader who forwarded the video summarizes the studies’ results,

Experiment where baby animals are rewarded, punished, or a mix of both, for following researchers, their “mothers”.  The researchers measured attachment this way, and while punishment leads to more attachment from baby animals to the researchers, a mix of both, uncertainty leads to the most attachment.

Applied to game, this shows that while being an asshole is better than being nice, a mix of both, keeping a girl on her toes, will lead to the most attachment/attraction.

The pertinence of these studies to game should be obvious to the proto-illuminated. In turn:

- Young monkeys who were scared avoided the wire-constructed feeding mother in favor of the non-feeding, comforting cloth mother. Warmth and comfort were more important than food to fostering attachment (aka LOVE).

Game relevance: Beta males who think they can buy women’s love are sorely mistaken. Corollary: The comfort stage of game should not be neglected.

- A fake “rejecting” mother (a blast of air pushed the young monkeys away) increased the monkeys’ attachment. Frustration actually amplified the monkeys’ desire to attach.

Game relevance: The optimal game strategy is neither All Push nor All Pull, but Push and Pull working in concert to create delightful, tingle-generating uncertainty.

- Puppies who received random, intermittent love became the most attached to the researchers.

Game relevance: Relationship dread increases emotional attachment. This is a ❤️direct vindication❤️ of a core CH principle of intersexual relations.

A brutally truthful quote glares at you from the linked video:

…stress, including the mental stress of uncertainty, is an ingredient in attachment or love and that perhaps even manifestations of hatred (its polar opposite) somehow enhance love.

Where have you heard this before?

Indifference, not hate, is the opposite of love.

Of course, you don’t need the science to convince yourself of the merits of game. You could do the more personally rewarding thing and exit into the real world, try it out on women, and discover the power of applied charisma in the charts and graphs of women’s wet, yearning eyes and venturesome fingertips.

There’s a tangential point to be made regarding this slew of studies. The carrot and the stick together work best to alter people’s behavior. Those weepy liberals who decry “shaming” tactics take note. All access/all the time kumbaya self-esteem feels boosts make puppies and monkeys and ducklings… and humans… selfish little ingrates. If you want women to try and please you, they need to ride the exquisite see-saw of your acceptance and repudiation. Women may not *want* this, but they *need* it to feel the release of passions they escape to pulp romance to obtain vicariously.

ps For those claiming this “works on men too”, do note an important implied qualification: It works on beta men. Desirable men with options are rarely hornswoggled by women playing the same game they play.

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The recently outed Duke porn whore Belle Knox (real name MIRIAM WEEKS) was interviewed by an intrepid CH reporter.

You can watch the interview here.

Ok, so she’s not much for words. Her mouth is busy doing other stuff. And yes, she really is a women’s studies major. Like millions of other women with useless degrees and six digit student loan debt, she had no choice but to turn to facial abuse porn to survive.

At least one member of her immediate family will self-deliver before the year is out, count on it.

ps MIRIAM WEEKS. She wants the publicity, she and her family will get the publicity, good and hard. I’m sure she can accommodate.

pps This story is less about MIRIAM WEEKS than it is about our leftoid, pozzed media who love to jam stories like these down everyone’s throat. I dunno, but I imagine in halcyon days of American yore a stone bold slut like MIRIAM WEEKS would be shunned by everyone, including the media, to live out her diseased days alone and isolated from normal human contact. She might not be a changed person, but the culture that enveloped her would be different. And what worse fate for the BPD attention whoring sociopathic slut than being utterly ignored?

pps I love that porn whores and obese monstrosities are the only real allies feminists have left.

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A rich man traded in his old wife for a less old pole dancer. Burned by the $7 million bonanza payout to his ex-wife, the man drew up a pre-nuptial agreement with his stripper girlfriend before marrying her.

He married [the stripper] Ms Stelzer in October 2005, but not before a pre-nuptial agreement was signed, stating that Ms Stelzer would receive $3.25 million if the marriage broke down in the first four years.

I bet you can’t guess what happened.

They separated after two.

I used to be amazed how unbelievably stupid smart men could be when dealing with women who make their dicks hard. Obviously this guy was smart enough to amass a small fortune. Also as obvious, he was stupid enough to sign over $3.25 million to a glorified slut with a pre-nup loophole so big she was practically preordained to waltz through it.

Mr Wallace fought to have the pre-nup deemed invalid, claiming that Ms Stelzer behaved fraudulently by making “false promises of love and desire for children”.

“HOW COULD SHE DO THIS TO ME?!?”

Money is not necessarily a marker for alphaness. Many rich men are complete betas. These are the kind of head in the sand romanticists who’ve been spit-shining women’s pedestals since birth, and who really REALLY believe a pole dancer when she tells them she loves them, as the ink is drying on the deal that amounts to a lottery win for her if she bails within four years, with eager assistance, of course, from the anti-male divorce industrial complex.

There are two — just two — safeguards against the insidious predations of women: celibacy, and love. No, not phony declarations of love paid in full with baubles and trinkets. I mean real love, the kind of uncontrollable love women lavish on charming jerkboys. If you have game… if you can play a woman’s heart like a harp… she won’t need to be bought off. She won’t WANT to be bought off. The only scheming she’ll do is convincing her friends and family that you’re really a great guy underneath the rough exterior.

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If you hang out with a mixed group of friends on regular occasions and at venues that encourage the taking of group photos, you can’t help but notice patterns in how the women organize themselves for the camera lens. This snapshot (heh) of female behavior illuminates so much more than lighting and focal preferences.

There’s always the Lens Hog, of course. She’s usually the hottest and most sociable girl. Her spot is right up front, center, and smiling like she has a huge secret about a rival she can barely contain. She stands with her hip jutting outward for maximum femininity. She is a leader partly as a function of her looks and partly because her looks have facilitated her fearless socialization, which often cows other girls to fall in line behind her.

Where it gets interesting is in how the women below the Lens Hog on the female hierarchy self-arrange for “spontaneous” group photos. The jockeying for snapshot status is nasty, brutish and short; a years’ worth of repressed emotions often gets played out in the few seconds it takes for a bunch of women to line up for a group shot.

First up is the Court Concubine. This just-short-of-pretty girl has flirted with every man in her social group, and has probably slept with at least two of them who have high fived each other over it. She’s fun, but she’s no alpha’s first choice. She will scoot right away for a position wedged in between the men standing in the back line of the photo, with her arms draped languidly over the adjacent dudes. She’s the one whose boob “accidentally” presses into some guy’s chest. (Or belly, if she’s short.) And in every photo her headlights are on, for some reason.

Next is the Queen’s Consort. She’s the second in command girl who’s almost as pretty as the Lens Hog but not as extroverted. She shadows the Lens Hog and will quickly assume a position at her side for a photo. Her smile hints at resentment. She looks like she sticks pins in a voodoo doll of her hotter friend. She screws like she’s getting back at all the Lens Hogs who robbed her of the throne, and that’s a good thing.

Then there’s the Chubby Jester. She’s sorta cute, sorta chubby, and lots o’ fun. She has the personality of a hot girl trapped in a mediocre girl’s body. She will beeline for a spot in no-woman’s-land, tucked between the front and back lines, so that her body is obscured but her face shines for the camera, looking like it sits, disembodied, atop the shoulders of the girls situated just in front of her. It’s all smoke and mirrors with this girl, but at least her smile is genuine.

The interchangeable Pawns are next. These girls are filler for the cheap seats. Neither pretty nor ugly, sociable nor shy, they dutifully attend to their posts in the wings of the photo, adding heft and preselective gravitas to the stars at the center. Many of these girls are off the market, and have grown weary of the group photo circus. They no longer care about maneuvering for status or pleasing the men or the Lens Hog; they’re just there out of a sense of obligation and to drink and say to themselves that at least they’re not like those couples who sit at home all the time schnoococoonoocuddling. They take their sweet time finding a spot in the photo line-up, which ironically makes them seem more photogenic.

In the mix you may toss the Facebook Whore. A subspecies of the classic attention whore, the Facebook Whore angles for a position that will produce a photo she can upload to Facebook that will best reveal her carefree, sexually wild social life to the asshole ex-boyfriend she still loves. She is the one with her tongue out, like Miley Cyrus having an epileptic fit. She’s not particularly well-liked by anyone, so she often winds up at the edge of the photo leaning way in, out in front of the other girls, grabbing some of the Lens Hog’s limelight. She’s a clueless photobomb. A photoboob.

The Pained Plain Jane cuts a sad figure. She hates these stressful social tests, because she knows she’s not pretty enough to compete with most of the girls but there’s no opt-out clause that would save her dignity. If she tries to ignore the group photo, her friends will think she’s being anti-social and draw attention to her pitiful solitude with cloyingly earnest solicitations. If she joins, she looks out of place, her bland features thrown into saturated relief, her smile so fake and try-hard and now permanently recorded for history. So she loiters around the periphery of the assembling and rapidly congealing group, takes a shot at a position well within the bowels of the group in hopes she’ll get lost in the jumble of faces, gets pushed aside by another girl gunning for the same spot, and eventually settles like a gimp sea turtle shuffling into a hole in the beach sand at the far reaches of the group to lay her forgotten eggs, where ironically everyone who views the photo will notice her because she’s the only girl not being embraced by anyone.

Finally, there’s the Photogeneric Fug. Ugly, knows it, has stopped pretending she’s not. She doesn’t need the excuse of a group photo opt-out clause. She just heads for the bar to munch on beer nuts and mentally formulate her next Tumblr post about cisgender privilege.

The group photo sociosexual dynamic provides plenty of opportunity for the player to exploit. For instance, take a firm hold of the shoulder of the Pained Plain Jane as she’s wandering in utter confusion and panic around the gathering crowd, and hustle her into your orbit at the center of the group. You’re now her white knight rescuer. Except little does she know you’re using her as a pawn to tease the hottie you really want. “Hey stop hogging the camera. Your big head is blocking out your friend here.” You get points for the chivalry and the neg. Caress your wallet condom, because it’s about to taste freedom tonight.

PS: There’s one other type of girl you sometimes see at group photos. She’s a rare bird, but getting less rare. Her sleazy beauty is juxtaposed against her abominable character. She’s the “group selfie” girl who will stretch out her arm and take a selfie — like Barack Kenyatta Obama recently did at Mandela’s funeral — of herself surrounded by her group of sycophants. It’s one thing to take a selfie in the privacy of your bathroom and tweet it because THIRSTY ATTENTION WHORE, or to take a selfie in public while on vacation because you’re too shy to ask for assistance; but it’s a whole other level of narcissistic indulgence to force all your friends to squat like a human halo around your awesomeness as you point that camera straight up your nostrils.

You, Group Selfie Girl, deserve exactly one pump — like Obama’s first term — and one dump — like Obama’s second term.

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Friendships across the sexes appeal to different kinds of men, and among those men who pursue them only a paucity are any good at it. Most men are bros; they don’t have close friendships with women they aren’t banging. They have, at best, acquaintances of the opposite sex, beyond their girlfriends or wives.

What kind of man has lots of real female friends? Usually, the kind of man who has trouble making real male friends, or who has little desire to hang out with men. A select group of men do have real friendships with women, but these men, by virtue (or vice) of their talents with the ladies have difficulty building solid friendships with other men.

Men who are good at befriending women and bad at (or otherwise uninterested in) befriending other men fall into three identifiable categories.

1. The Latent Lover

The classic sneaky fucker, minus the malevolence. This guy is charming, challenging, and a pro at making women feel sexually alive. His MO is to flirt with every woman who passes the threshold of bangability. He loves the company of women because he genuinely loves the peculiar qualities of femaleness. Married, single, feminist, feminine… he seduces them all, though he may not necessarily have sex as a goal in mind. He loves the lip-licking, hair-tossing, heel-dangling, cheek-blushing, pupil-dilating, mannerism-mirroring reactions of women who delight in his dispensations.

As you can guess, the Latent Lover engenders envy and defensiveness in other men, particularly men whose women happily partake of the LL’s deftness at handling their hamsters. He may mean no harm, (although he sometimes does), but women’s submission to his graces threatens their watchmen. This dislike between mate guarders and smooth charmers is a two-way street; the Latent Lover is indifferent and often bored by the company of men, especially after 5pm. He prefers a life of adventure, and what’s more adventurous than navigating the alien terrain of women’s minds?

2. The Fun Chum

This guy is funny, upbeat and expert at syncing with women’s predilection for unseriousness. When things get tense, he’s the man that blows it open with a well-timed quip. What the fun chum lacks in a sexy vibe, he makes up with a commitment to social levity. He won’t generate any tingles, but women love to be around him because he takes their minds off of the constant intrasex backbiting that characterizes most female friendship rings.

The flaw in the Fun Chum is how quickly he annoys the shit out of other men. They think he acts like a fool. Or, worse, like a dancing monkey. He’s not romantically threatening, but he is unmanly in his quickness to resort to histrionics. He’s a man who takes more pleasure is making women laugh than in making other men comfortable with his presence. In small doses, he’s liked by everyone and a welcome spice to any party. In doses large enough to vault him to the center of attention, his accumulation of male enemies rapidly multiplies.

3. The Beta Supplicator

We all know this archetype. He’s got a lot of female friends for one reason only: he has trained their egos to be dependent on his incessant flattery and awesome ability to sympathize, sometimes to the point of tears. Some women — really cool bitches, usually — see through his act, but most enjoy their own little lickspittle to lavish them with the “you go grrl!” nostrums that they need to survive the endless judgment of a ruthless sexual market. And the Beta Supplicator is happy to indulge, because without his facility at vomiting a steady stream of nauseating unctuousness he would get no female attention at all, asexual or otherwise.

Naturally, the BS man is despised by other men, including BSers. His worst sin is not that he sucks up to women, as bad as that is, but that his suck-uppery is so blatantly ineffective and his motivations so transparent to men, if not to women. He’s a eunuch in practice, an anhedonic lump of indeterminate doughiness. A worm. A lapdog. A nasally herbschling. He has few real male friends who can stand his schtick. So why is his kind so numerous? Why do other men tolerate him? One, he’s no romantic threat, so most men find the effort to dislodge him from their women’s lives a bother not worth tackling. Two, the Beta Supplicator can occasionally serve a useful purpose as an emotional sponge who absorbs all the boring relationship talk that those women would otherwise dump on their jerky boyfriends. The BS boy is like the harem guard, except instead of guarding them from sexual predators they guard the harem king from dealing with the bitching and moaning of his concubines.

***

As archetypes, it should go without saying that plenty of exceptions exist. For instance, the company of socially savvy, “leader of men” alpha males is sought and enjoyed in nearly equal measure by other men and by women. And plenty of Latent Lovers and Fun Chums are socially adept enough to know where the romantic line is drawn and to know how to speak the language of men. The above archetypes are simply examples of men who are unusually good at befriending women while being noticeably less good at befriending men.

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The Anti-Gnostic writes a very good post about Obamacare, and the unsustainable folly of the welfare state in general.

There are many layers of confusion [about the medical insurance business], so let’s take a look at some facts.

1) Most people lose money on insurance, because most of the time insurance doesn’t pay out more than it takes in.

2) Thus, a “good” policy is a catastrophic-coverage-only, high-deductible policy, where most payments are out of pocket. This is a policy that protects you against the downside risk, but where you lose a lot less on average.

3) This is because the purpose of insurance is to protect yourself from *catastrophe*, not to make routine purchases.

4) For example, if you went to Best Buy and whipped out your home insurance card to get a new flat screen TV, everyone would look at you as a crazy man. “Don’t you know that home insurance is only for fires and floods, and not for routine purchases?”

5) And so it should be with health insurance, because you’ll actually — *provably* — pay less with a high deductible plan for all but catastrophic conditions.

6) Indeed, the most innovative and technologically advanced areas of medicine are ambulatory areas in which people feel that markets are “ok”. These are paradoxically the most trivial areas: lasik, plastic surgery, dermatology, dentistry, even veterinary medicine.

7) Why are these areas so advanced? Because people pay cash money, because they choose based on quality, and because they are *able* to choose — i.e. they aren’t being wheeled up to the hospital in a gurney in a no choice scenario.

8) Moreover, with every technology ever, from cars to cell phones to air travel to computers, things that start out expensive become cheaper when enough people demand them. With medicine it seems to bite more that money means differences in care. But at the end of the day doctors, patients, nurses, drugs, ambulances…all that stuff means real resources, and a refusal to do explicit computations just results in massive waste as costs are shunted to a place where no one looks at them.

9) How insane is it, for example, that in this age of internet shopping that you can’t do comparison shopping on a hip replacement or a physical on the internet? It has to do with the irrationality that surrounds the concept of paying for the most valuable service of all: for someone saving your life.

10) Now let’s consider the elderly. The big problem here is that there IS going to be a catastrophe that hits them with probability 1. It’s called dying from being old.

11) If you know anything about medicine, you know that futile care is a ridiculous proportion of healthcare expenditure.

12) Now, in the abstract everyone is all about taking care of the elderly. Witness [another commenter's] bleeding heart:

“Were they to offer profitable policies to old people, the premiums would be unaffordable.”

The whole point is that *old people are going to die* with probability 1. So let’s take those evil capitalists out of the question, and assume for now that no innovative entrepreneur could figure out something win/win for his own grandpa. …
Now we are in the realm of social justice. Which sounds so nice in the comments section. Until [the commenter] answers the question: how much of his children’s money does he want to spend on futile care for 83 year old Emma in Ohio? For 74 year old Bill in Texas? For countless, endless, unnamed others?

Because you can spend ALL of your money on futile care. Literally every last penny.

So now he says, “well, of course there have to be limits”.

And here we come to the nub of the matter.

This is h-bd land. We are adults. We understand hard facts.

One of those hard facts is that until Aubrey de Grey really gets on the hop, people *are* going to die.

The question is whether they die when THEY and their family run out of money — localizing the catastrophe — or whether every single one of them is connected to a public purse that they can draw down without consequence.

Because draw it down they will.

You see, for most of us, if our own mother was on a deathbed, if we had the ability to tax and steal from Joe and John and James to keep her alive we wouldn’t think twice about it. Because even if it took a million dollars in stolen tax money a day to keep her alive, well, hell, then I guess they’ll just have to work harder.

The problem, of course, is when everyone thinks this way.

Because what quickly happens is that once you’ve given the government access to that giant pool of money, they make damned sure that no one ANYWHERE is spending that money other than them…and then too only for the express purpose of the vote-buying schemes that our esteemed host has bought hook, line, and sinker.

That money is not spent for saving any more mothers.

Not for actual care.

Not for innovative treatments.

Not for anything other than the necessary minimum to keep up the facade, to buy people’s votes.

But hell, what does it matter, right? At least now we’re all equal. Equally poor in health. We’ve defeated the Magic of the Market. We can now allocate scarce resources not through merit or money, but through queues and connections and politics.

Like this.

Biogen Idec is running an early-stage trial of the drug in multiple myeloma, but Baron doesn’t meet the criteria to participate.

Baron’s a prominent donor to the Democratic party, and many of his powerful friends, including Lance Armstrong and Bill Clinton, made appeals on his behalf. And the family agreed not to sue if anything goes wrong.

Ultimately, his doctors at the Mayo Clinic worked directly with the FDA to find a “legal basis” for giving Baron Tysabri. The deal was announced on Baron’s son’s blog late yesterday. The details remain unclear.

Fantastic work, all of you. We’ve now taken the profit out of health care. No more profit motive to encourage ambitious young geniuses to develop miracle drugs rather than program social networks.

Instead it’s just pure politics.

This is what we need to get back to: a basic understanding that health insurance is meant for catastrophes, not routine check-ups or money spigot end-of-life care on old people waiting for death’s imminent and unstoppable escort.

Harsh, but true.

And isn’t this just the problem with leftoids’ over-sensitivity to harm and fairness? It’s all egogasmic hurty alleviation… until the credit line that funds their moral posturing is maxed. And then it’s time to memetically move on to the next civilization and repeat the process of suicide by feels.

It is an awful dilemma. The State, having assured the taxpayers that their geriatric needs would be met, must now breach its covenant with its citizens. As several commenters noted, there is no way out.

… As a society we are suffering tremendously because we forgot that the best retirement program is to have 6 children and teach them how to be prosperous and then stay on the good side of at least a few of them.

And the Gods of the Copybook Headings with terror and slaughter return.

I have my own fantasy of a nice little country that extracts the minimum taxes necessary to fund its military and maintain the social safety net. I’m sure that has been the selling point trotted out by every welfare state politician since Bismarck. But inevitably it seems, net tax consumption increases, birth rates fall, the culture shifts to high time-preference, and the State inflates the currency and runs deficits–further distorting the productive economy–to keep the Ponzi scheme going.

GBFM lzollzollzol’ed.

Obamacare is a ruling class pet project. It’s labyrinthine opacity is a feature, not a bug, that enriches the corrupt managerialist Top and the blood-sucking parasitical Bottom at the expense of the beta niceguys in the Middle. This formula is bad enough in homogeneous societies, but in racially and ethnically diverse ones like America, where ability and temperament and charitable fellow-feeling are all unequally distributed at both the individual and population group levels, it’s a guaranteed failure.

Strip out the market-distorting and depraved actor-attracting opacity of medical insurance — this means ending employer provided coverage and nationalized healthcare — and return it to the economically and morally sustainable notion that insurance is supposed to protect one against devastating… and relatively rare… calamities.

If this is not possible, well… try separatism. It may be that a precondition of solvent and sustainable medical insurance programs is ethnic kinship.

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In a recent comment thread, I asked a reader a very simple question, which remains, predictably, unanswered.

A very simple question for the Obamanauts who think their savior deserves the presidency: if he had been white, would he have been elected President? Reaction time in your answer will go toward your final score.

There is only one correct answer: no. There ‘s not a chance in hell Obama would have gotten anywhere near the White House had he been a white community organizer, aka shiftless bum. The beauty of asking leftoids this oh so innocent question with such an oh so obvious answer is that I get to enjoy a spectacle of self-debasement no matter how they answer. If they answer, “Yes, he would have been elected as a white man”, they must betray any belief in their personal virtue to lie so blatantly. If they answer, “No”, they betray their professed ideology and the true motives for electing Obama.

Obama doesn’t matter in the grand scheme of America’s future, because Obama was elected as a fighting symbol for the various warring groups that presently comprise the riven nation; groups who are ultimately driving the cultural and economic trajectory. He was always, and remains so, a totemic symbol with zero substance. Nothing more than a herald for malignant tumult already set in motion by the time he was bounced aloft by the vaporous politics of feels.

- SWPL coastal whites (Yankees in hereditary vernacular) voted for Obama so they could experience a full body orgasm from furiously stroking their tumescent egos for their enlightened attitude. Obama symbolized validation of their belief in their innate goodness.
- Hispanics voted for Obama so they could enjoy the blessings of government largesse. Obama symbolized leverage against more productive and smarter people.
- Blacks voted for Obama because he is (half) black. Obama symbolized the ascendancy of their tribe. (Temperamentally, Obama is about as black as Christian Lander.)
- Native Americans voted for Obama because they were drunk. Obama symbolized another round.
- Asians voted for Obama because he isn’t conspicuously Christian. Obama symbolized the opposite of those antediluvian religious whites who built America from scratch.
- Single white women voted for Obama because he’s the soulful sugar daddy who justifies their lifestyle and stifling conformism. Obama symbolized rebuke of boring beta white men.
- Other voted for Obama because, deep in their hearts, they know he is one of them. Obama symbolized the normalization of deviancy.
- The Top voted for Obama because he symbolized suppression of the Middle. The Bottom voted for Obama because he symbolized ingestion of the Middle.

Obama the Symbol. Obama the Shell Entity. Obama the Therapeutic Cipher. As diversity, both of the elite and commoner varieties, within a nation expands, so too does the need for ever more powerful yet increasingly empty symbols of each tribe’s worth.

What about those whites (aka Cavaliers) who didn’t vote for Obama? Romney did, after all, garner a majority of the total white vote, at levels unseen since the Reagan presidencies. (But, unlike the Reagan years when whites were still a ways from electoral diminishment, Romney couldn’t win with those substantial white tallies against the unstoppable force of demographic shift.)

To those whites not with the program, their vote was a blow against a terrible symbol of antagonism. They saw the bloody banner flapping in the wind as enemy tribes crested the horizon and slowly surrounded them. And they reacted with a swiftness, cleaving to their own symbol, even one as ineffectual and emotionally disconnected as Romney. But their numbers were just too few, and getting fewer by the day.

All you will ever need to know about the imprint that the Obama Presidency will leave on the psyche of this segregating nation was shrieked by delirious followers in the streets on election night in 2008:

Hope and Change!

Like the buffoonish, thin-skinned meathead who loudly proclaims his prowess to a doubtful crowd, the chorus of cultists repetitively singing the Hope and Change anthem till tears welled in their eyes betrayed a deep disillusion with the substance of their yearning. The lesson is unmissable: the more insistent the emotional incantations declaring universalistic hope and change, the more likely the chanters have base, tribal motives. Emotionalism is a hallmark of a people that no longer believe in anything but egocentric validation, and rationalizing by whatever sophistry necessary their will to self-endorsement.

In totally unrelated news, a “group of teens” is at it again! The Cathedral has become such a rank parody that the time is right to tactically step aside and let the enemy discredit itself. Why waste energy fighting a foe at full strength when you can just jeer at him as he punches himself in the nads?

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Never let it be said CH shies from bringing to the world the more devious applications of game. This example crops up in the player literature now and again: pretending to be gay to score same night lays.

If you’re the type of man who prefers winning to behaving ethically or manfully, you can’t go wrong with Fake Gay Game. But don’t whip yourself too hard for delving into the darkest of arts. All women are complicit in their seduction. Yes, even when they are seduced by men pretending to be gay. After all, she can leave his den of deceit any time. No one cuffed her to a bed post, or forced her to try and “convert” a gay guy.

Running a multinational corporation? No. Pretending to be gay? Now that’s how you bang out the modern American woman.

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We may be entering an era when the romantic fortunes of the Renegade Alpha reach a zenith. A culmination of culture shocks will magnify the appeal of the nonconformist cad, energizing a state of illicit affairs which could last for twenty years before the pendulum swings back into the camp of traditional alpha males.

Who is the Renegade Alpha? It helps to know the context within which he lives. An elegant description of the male socio-sexual hierarchy exists deep in the CH archives.

Make no mistake, at the most fundamental level the CRUX of a man’s worth is measured by his desirability to women, whether he chooses to play the game or not. Pussy is the holy grail. That is why the obese, socially maladroit nerdboy who manages to unlock the gate to the secret garden and bang a 10 regularly is an alpha male. And that is also why the rich, charming entrepreneur who, because of an emotional deficiency or mental sickness lives mired in parched celibacy, is not an alpha male.

Due to this enduring confusion about what makes an alpha, I submit the following system, in the form of a handy chart, to help clear the air. It hits on the three major factors influencing male rank — how hot are the women he can attract, how strong is that attraction for him, and how many of those women find him attractive.

Some readers unhappy with this reductive (and thus clear-eyed) partition of male sexual worth balked at this definition, claiming it was circular. But great truths often distill as tautologies, which is why the CH definition of the alpha male is so sweeping in its scope and yet unassailable in its detail.

The blogger Vox, an esteemed member of the realtalker shock troops, has his own delineation of male status based off of the original CH socio-sexual classifications, which he has said is a refinement of the original, but which CH guardians of the Good Word of Game say amounts to an aesthetic rewording of the primeval texts. Vox’s male ranks could easily superimpose onto CH’s ranking system, because the CH hierarchy is not, as is commonly assumed by readers who have barely skimmed the ancient writings, a stark dichotomy separating alphas from betas, but rather is a continuous SPECTRUM running the gamut from the lowly omega dregs to the zero-point-one percenter super alphas. Within that spectrum there is room for every male socio-sexual rank, including the mysterious Renegade Alpha, which Vox names the Sigma Male.

Sigma: The outsider who doesn’t play the social game and manage to win at it anyhow. The sigma is hated by alphas because sigmas are the only men who don’t accept or at least acknowledge, however grudgingly, their social dominance. (NB: Alphas absolutely hate to be laughed at and a sigma can often enrage an alpha by doing nothing more than smiling at him.) Everyone else is vaguely confused by them. In a social situation, the sigma is the man who stops in briefly to say hello to a few friends accompanied by a Tier 1 girl that no one has ever seen before. Sigmas like women, but tend to be contemptuous of them. They are usually considered to be strange. Gammas often like to think they are sigmas, failing to understand that sigmas are not social rejects, they are at the top of the social hierarchy despite their refusal to play by its rules.

Lifetime sexual partners = 4x average+.

In equivalent CH terms, then, the Sigma Male would fall somewhere between a Greater Beta and a Lesser Alpha. An ample supply of cute girls are attracted to him, and some of those girls want to be with him exclusively. He oozes badboy allure, and he’s been known to make a girl or two cry in despair, and perhaps to have had his heart broken in return. So he is, by most men’s paltry standards, a successful predator of poon. (A noodle-armed emo crooner fronting an indie band is a well-known Renegade Alpha archetype.) But he doesn’t have the broad social leverage that a traditional “leader of men” alpha male has at his disposal, and this somewhat limits the Sigma Male/Renegade Alpha from monopolizing the attentions of a large pool of 9s and 10s, or of enjoying the distaff fruits of a wide and deep social circle of admiring friends and accomplished business partners eager to play matchmaker.

However, that same outsider status and rule-breaking dereliction of the Renegade Alpha also frees him from having to live up to the expectations of an insular social group. This freedom is especially nourishing if that group is a cult of winners with an unforgiving, judgmental distaste for deviance from the norm. Oftentimes, the libidinous and romantic urges of a traditional alpha male are straitjacketed by the conventional demands of his peers, and he looks with envy upon the Renegade Alpha reclining with some starry-eyed scenester who didn’t go to Harvard but who loves to take loads to her pink hair-framed face.

Very loosely, the Renegade Alpha is a seducer of women first, and a leader of men second, if at all. Though in fact the two conditions are not mutually exclusive. A cad bounder who defies the rules can also lead a small contingent of men, although the sweep of his influence may be constrained by his chosen hedonistic lifestyle.

So what does the present American sexual market tell us about the fortunes of the Renegade Alpha? For one, this is his moment. He thrives in formerly stable cultures that are experiencing paradigm shifts which shake up the old rules and create disincentives to social cooperation. Confusion, ennui, distrust, discord, fear and uncertainty — these are the conditions that craft his playground of poon. Where there is emerging chaos, you will find the reign of the Renegade Alpha.

Probably the best historical example of this reality is Casanova, one of European history’s greatest womanizers who pursued his passions during the Age of Enlightenment, a time in the West of tumult and change, leading eventually to the French and American Revolutions.

Will something similar happen in our lifetimes? America today is also experiencing tumult, and a new dark enlightenment is set to crash the scene like an unwelcome guest, upending tribal affiliations and cherished beliefs alike. Something strange and frightening is a-blowin’ in the wind, and the Renegade Alpha is there to take your hand, comfort you in your time of need, lead you to a better place, arouse you with intimations of transcendental escape, seduce you, and evade rebuke under cover of urban anonymity and social atomization.

It’s no coincidence that the Pickup Artist movement, spearheaded in the 1990s by intellectual revolutionaries (yes, really), came to prominence when it did. The eroding culture was primed for it. Frayed social cohesion and rapid advancement in communications have allowed the PUA and his message to flourish. The PUA, a creature of his environment, is a specialized Renegade Alpha.

So the Renegade Alpha, or Sigma Male in Vox’s terminology, excels at exploiting cratering cultures and the tender, psychologically scarred minds that inhabit them. Societal collapse is his serendipity. The cri de coeur of broken souls his symphony.

When the actual collapse comes, delivering real pain to the old order and its pathetic servants, the Renegade Alpha will retreat from the scene, his services no longer needed by sufficient numbers to warrant his active, daily participation in the hunt. Post-collapse, the weepy, suddenly straight-thinking women will crave the firm footing of authorial alpha males and predictable beta males. The female desire for romantic excitement will be quenched by the real excitement of destitution, decay and doom.

Oh, he’ll always have a place at the pussy table. When the Leader of Men alpha males rule, the Renegade Alpha finds niches within which he can profitably work his magic, posing as the “outsider” who provides subversive entertainment in times of mundane prosperity and social comity. But under those conditions his numbers are necessarily inhibited by the checks and balances that are naturally emergent in a strong, high trust culture that believes in itself.

In weak, low trust cultures that have lost the faith… he dines tonight.

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