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A proud Chateau acolyte writes,

After reading the Toddler game article I decided to try some little kid game.

One of my plates [ed: "plates" = concurrent lovers or would-be lovers] was going to Africa for a month doing non-ebola humanitarian work so I decided to give her a gift before she left. Using crayons I drew two crude stick figures and wrote “u R cool hAV fuN iN AfriKA” accompanied by “I stayed up past my bed time making this for you.

She started beaming and even teared up a little. She told me that she would nail it to the door of her hut so that she could always see it when she was home.

Total cost to me was less than $1.

If you must mate guard, this is the cool alpha male way to do it. Low investment, high humor, and a physical anchor that will remind her of you every day she’s in that grass hut. If Toddler Game can defeat mandingo-hunting EatPraySlut “””humanitarian work”””, it is powerful game indeed. Its power rests in the attitude it conveys to women: Charming aloofness and happy recklessness. However, reader, I would caution you to consider the worst possibility, and to have an escape route ready should you sense on her return that your woman did what comes naturally to women who spend months overseas with noble savages.

NB: Alpha males rarely spend more than a few bucks on gifts for their girls. If you spend $$$ on jewelry, etc for a girl, you are beta and you fail.

******

Update: A comment from Count Rockula who applied a dollop of CH game to his text convo with a coy girl.

Here’s a classic Heartiste reply that saved me… little background here. I had been banging this 23 year old who I met one night at a party. She took me to another party one night, where I met one of her friends, a hot blonde 8, who I shared eyes with on several occasions. Chatted her up, found out she was moving in a month to another state, but never got her number. Few weeks later, I see her out at a bar. Got her number (“Oh man, I was hoping you would ask me for it!”) and texted her a few days later…
She knew I was banging her friend, and I knew I would at some point in the interaction have to deal with a shit test regarding that. Thanks to the words from an older blog posted here, I passed with flying colors…

After some prelim banter…

Me: So What night we meeting for a drink? Wednesday or Thursday?

Her: Is that allowed ? Aren’t you like dating Sara?

Me: Yeah, Sara and I hang out sometimes, but no, I’m not dating anyone

Me: But hey, if you have a hang up about that it’s cool, I get it

Her: Haha no, I don’t wanna hang out

Me: lol

…..15 minutes later…

Her: I’m out of work at 8 Wednesday. Planned on seeing Kayla

Her: Time is getting slim because my flights Saturday

Her: Meet at (X Venue) Friday night?

This blog and its community are life changers…keep it up everyone.

That was beautiful, man. A master class of text game from beginning to end. There is a time for “lol”, and that was it. Poetry.

Go-Topless Day

There was a “Go-Topless Day” in NY this past Sunday. Two hundred (mostly) women and four hundred boobs marched in protest of those wrong kinds of white people in those horribly backward flyover states who force women to wear burqas over their nipples when out in public.

Hey I am all for women — but only cute women — having the freedom to display their naked bodies in public, as long as those women accept that men have the freedom to leer at their naked bodies and Instagram photos of their titties for Dad back home. But I’m thinking these weirdo cult feminists wouldn’t be down with that part of the individual freedom deal. Equal rights, yo.

Always with these slut parades there are mixed in with the occasional cuties an insane asylum of grotesqueries and/or subversives who provide fodder for normal people to point and jeer. This time it was a couple of men with huge, pendulous manboobs demanding the right to swing their milktits in little Johnny’s face. At least, I think they’re men, but who can tell for sure. Freaks have a knack for looking like they’re stuck in the pupal stage morphing from one species to another.

There’s one manboob, all the way to the right.

Here he is with his buddy, in a clearer shot.

Let your manboobs out, freedom fighter! Why weren’t their nips pixelated? Two dirigibles sporting flapjack mammaries is less offensive to the taste than female boobs? If the goal here is to uphold norms of journalistic conduct, these two gelatinous blobs should’ve been blurred head to toe.

“Slut pride” is synonymous with “civilization perishing”. By the time your culture gets to the point where women are proud for doing something that their grandmothers were proud of NOT doing, you should have your post-collapse plans squared away.

Spot The Beta Male

The four fine gentlemen in this photo are North Carolina State University undergrads who have invented a prototype nail polish that, when dipped in a drink, will change color if it detects the presence of “date rape” drugs.

“Date rape”, of course, is a feminist bogeyman that has no basis in reality. Actual rape is currently riding a 40-year decline. “””Date rape””” is more precisely described as regret rape — the female emotional desire to retroactively reclassify a consensual one night stand with a cool alpha jerk (or a one month stand with a boring beta male) as rape. The female hysteria over it shows no signs of letting up, and hints at a culture of hookups and male escape from the marriage market that is beginning to eat away at women’s sanity.

If anything is close to the truth, it’s the idea that there’s a rape fantasy culture gripping the overheated psyches of American women.

Naturally, given these inarguable realities debunking the myth of a rape culture, in ride the four white knights above on their Prius steeds to save women from stealth armies of caucasian frat bros slipping mickies in their appletinis.

But poz never did give nothing to the manboob
that he didn’t, didn’t already have
and facts never swayed the reason of the white knight
Or the blue balls of Sir Beta Male

The really interesting story, though, is the photo itself. Can you spot the beta male of the bunch?

Trick question. All four qualify.

Whether intentional or subconscious, these four M’lady’s have outed themselves as self-abnegating beta males. That standing posture — with hands clasped in front of their crotches — is the international symbol of beta maleness. It bespeaks a deep shame of their vestigial masculinity. They cover their junk and hide it from the world, in case some ugly State U cunt is triggered by a micro microaggression. Shocked by the impudence of their twitching members, they beat them down and shroud them in hand-woven burqas. Perhaps one or two of these anti-men walk with their butts out a little so any hint of groinal protuberance is pruned, like an unwelcome sapling that has dared to reach for sunlight over an expanse of lawn sod with feminist armpit hair.

It’s a self-emasculating inversion of the alpha male directive to command space as if at the behest of one’s conquering penis king. A repudiation of the sexy and masculine posture wherein one stands with arms and hands at one’s side, vital life-giving fulcrum bawdily pushed forward in supreme dominion, tempting coy minxes with illicit pleasures.

The shame exhibited is so blatant, one wonders if this is a new kind of beta male game — Prostration Game — where the goal is complete submission to the feminist imperative in hopes of eliciting a contemptuous pity fuck. If so, this is a game with a very short shelf life, as even avowed feminists cannot help but be repulsed by sniveling supplicants.

The masculinization of Western women and the de-masculinization of Western men is both initially the impetus, and eventually the destruction, of proud and prosperous white European civilizations. Guess which arc of the cycle America lumply squats on now.

Max from Australia, come on down! This COTW trophy isn’t gonna polish itself.

When women in the west had “dread” back in the 1950s they all had bodies like Jen Selter (without the Darkness). Now with 3 levels of Cradle to Grave Beta Bux from:
1) The Welfare state
2) Divorce rape
3) AFC’s [ed: average frustrated chumps]
They all look like Oprah.

Think about this as a measure of the collapse !!! Your Grandpa was banging a 20 year old virgin with a smoking body (as hot as Jen Selter by today’s standards) and they both spent the best years of their lives devoted to one another. (instead of their IPhones and our “Tinder” lifestyles)

Although this comment has a high glibness rating, it contains more than a kernel of truth. Dread game on a societal scale keeps women in line, always working hard to please men lest they be cast to the icy wastelands with the rest of the anti-feminine rejects. The opposite of Dread Game — Coddle Game — relaxes selective pressures on women to stay feminine and thin and agreeable. And so what you see now in the decadent, coddling West is what we get: Ballbusting fat feminist cunts and careerist androgynes.

The Power Of Dread Game

Reco writes,

OT but just had to share. There is this series on Cable called 90 Day Fiance and basically it is typical “reality” series about guys who go overseas to find a woman to bring back to the US and they have 90 days on their fiance visa to marry them. So its ostensibly about the culture shock of these women marrying these men and moving to another country.

But what they are unknowingly illustrating all of the many concepts of the Red Pill on that are discussed on this site. Obviously you can see what kind of men are doing this. Very beta but nice guys who have no real options in the US. On the other side three of the four girls are very cute. Once looks like a lot like Sophia Vergara and she is from Columbia. And she acts like her also. Another looks a lot like Adriana Lima, and another from Russia is very cute. The last one is rough.

Anyway the Russian chick is dating this nice guy totally beta. And she is basically treating him like shit. Not mean but they have known each other for over a year he has visited her several times she is in the US for a few weeks and she has not fucked him yet. Poor bastard does not know what to do. He asks instead of taking what he wants. She just casually blows him off and gives him more orders on what to do. So one night she is supposed to meet the beta boy out after work. He is outside smoking a cigarette and two chicks come up and bum a cigarette and they see the camera and he starts talking to them. Then his frigid Russian cutie comes up and is instantly in a state of dread. She is shooting daggers at the other two chicks. And beta boy is all “worried” that frigid girl is going to be jealous. Ha, then he says “funny thing it had the opposite effect”. lol She started talking about he is her man etc.

That night she fucks his nauseating needy ass. lol Do you know what the first thing she says as she is initiating sex with him? “Your cute!!!!” This dude is most certainly not cute in any way. Amazing to sit there and watch game principles at work. This series has many potential future Heartiste posts ready to inspire the manosphere.

Dread game is powerful stuff. Use it wisely. It’s easy to overdo.

Mystery’s infamous “jealousy plotlines” are a subclass of dread game, and that’s what was happening to this frigid Russian chick. A woman’s jealousy will supercharge her emotions more than her horniness. Jealousy plotlines can be deliberately invoked, unlike this particular case where it looks like the beta stumbled into a fortuitous ensemble cast of female preselection. The trick is to frame the plotline as if the “other women” — i.e. the pawns — approached you or were accidental afterthoughts in your DHV story.  You don’t want to “force” a jealousy plotline by, say, talking about your “hottie ex who couldn’t get enough of me”, or by approaching a girl you know while leaving your date in the lurch for twenty minutes.

Jealousy plotlines are very dangerous because they can easily backfire, but when they work they work like fuckin hamster TNT.

PS: Girls will often describe a physically unattractive but charismatic man who arouses them as “cute” because they don’t have the verbal tools to describe his mysterious allure in anything but herd-like universal terms of attraction. This is why you shouldn’t bother taking a girl’s words describing what turns her on at face value. “Cute” literally can mean a thousand different things to a girl if she likes a man enough.

A Test Of Your Game

This edition of ‘A Test of Your Game’ comes courtesy of a reader in need of a quickie… game tip. Just the game tip.

I could use your advice on a fading opportunity. I need to act quickly because I’m moving across town.

I have a smoking hot neighbor living next door to me. She has a gorgeous face, the kind where her smile lights up a room. Slim, fit, great posture, perfect skin. We rarely meet. She knows I am divorced and have two daughters. She also knows I have a steady girlfriend (a solid 9, but enough about her). She must have heard me by now making my gf squeal because my bedroom borders her living room.

She lives alone, but she’s rarely at home, and I’m not home that much either. From time to time I see her clothes drying on her balcony.

I’m 44, average height, fit, above average looks and I can pass for being in my early 30s. She’s in her late 20s, educated, humble but not shy. I saw her with a dorky guy getting out of an expensive car once. That’s as much as I know.

So what’s the play?

Ok, honored Chateau guests… what’s the play? Winner (as deemed by yer preening narrator or by the reader’s successful F close) will receive a tender, Palmolive softened tug job from John Scalzi, the sci fi writer and male feminist whose pre-teen daughter can lift more weight than him.

My advice: You need to get sexual fast, but in a plausibly deniable way. Think situational opener. You see her clothes drying on her balcony. Any panties? Next time you’re able to chat with her, remark that she should be more careful about what kinds of clothes she dries outside for the whole world to see. Tell her it sends a message. This should get the ball rolling, and rolling fast if she already harbored some interest in you.

Now it’s the commenters’ turn. Hopefully our resident game experts will chime in. I didn’t hand out those VIP passes for my health!

Beta bait. It’s a trap!

Beta bait and shit tests are similar concepts with some notable distinctions. Shit tests occur with the most regularity and intensity during early game, and at times when the relationship is on the skids. They are normally loaded up front to help the girl quickly take the measure of your alphaness. Beta bait happens at any time while dating a girl, and are spread out evenly in a relationship as a sort of low level boyfriend diagnosis script.

Beta bait is basically a type of leading question or leading suggestion employed by women as part of their subconscious female algorithm to elicit evidence of low value beta male psychology. It often takes the form of “poor me!” solipsistic martyrdom, a kind of damsel in distress ploy that thirsty beta males and white knights find hard to resist.

Chomping down on stinky beta bait lowers male SMV by a fraction of a point. The more chomps, the more SMV deductions, until enough demerits have been ignominiously earned that the girl can no longer stand to be in the beta’s company. The only way to decrease the frequency and intensity of beta bait is to demonstrate, through various verbal sleights of tongue, an unwillingness to tolerate them.

And that means learning how to respond to validation-thirsty girls playing gotcha! head games.

Commenter Mr. Meaner writes,

One piece of beta-bait I still occasionally fall for is when a girl, who has a great body, utters empty complaints about her body. “I’ll never be as thin as her/I wish my ass looked like hers/She has really nice boobs…” etc

If you try and reassure her it always backfires. Every. Single. Time.

It shits me that I still fall for this one. This is such a hard trap to avoid for the logical male brain, probably one of the most dangerous shit tests of all.

Beta Bait Rule #1: Don’t reassure a girl playing the ‘poor me!’ act.

There will be vanishingly few times in a man’s life when reassurance is the charismatic response and won’t backfire on him. If a cute girl is whining about her looks, and suggestively leading the witness with statements like “I wish I had her boobs”, refrain at all costs from putting her doubts to rest.

DO NOT…

Disagree with her.

“No, you are totally the thinnest girl here!”

Soothe her.

“You’re being way too hard on yourself.”

Badmouth her competition.

“Her? No way. Her boobs are way worse than yours.”

Everyone has heard betaboys say this kind of stuff. It is the coin of the realm for inexperienced men who were raised on presumptions that supplication or therapeutic pep talks are the ways to win a girl’s heart.

Beta Bait Rule #2: Think two steps ahead of self-effacing women.

As Mr. Meaner noted, the male brain is logical and linear, and thus easily exploited by the more socially intuitive and serpentine female brain. A woman asking what sounds like a logical question, or making a statement that implies a logical assessment, is not actually interested in a logical reply. The details of womantalk are secondary to the emotional subtext. Call it… girlsplaining. (Even better, call it “girlspleening”.)

A woman’s beta bait is like the Bene Gesserit Pain Box: Crisis and observation is the objective. The man is presented with a crisis — the woman’s needy exclamations of phony self-doubt — and then he is observed by her hindbrain for evidence of his appeasing beta maleness or, if he passes, of his alluring alpha aloofness.

This is why a man must train himself in the art of thinking circuitously, like a woman. To seduce a woman, you must first embody her instincts. Then, informed by the power of her wiles, you “flip the script” and hack into her arousal center with the password she unwittingly gave you.

Thinking two steps ahead means avoiding the logical response for the funny or witty or condescending response that is more precisely directed at the subtext of her words. Her subtext is her true animating force, the hamster behind the curtain.

Beta Bait Rule #3: The two best responses to “poor me!” ploys are 1. Agree & Amplify and 2. Dismissive Provocation.

Agree & Amplify:

GIRL: “I’ll never be as thin as her.”
DESPICABLE YOU: “Nope. You are one HYOOGE beach ball. Do you walk or roll?”

Dismissive Provocation:

GIRL: “I wish my ass looked like hers.”
DESPICABLE YOU: “Try to be more subtle when you’re fishing for compliments.”

There are many ways to evade self-martyrdom beta bait and come out looking like a sexy beast, but based on my experience these are the two best methods. If you go with A&A or DP, you will never be mistaken for a chump beta, and the number of times you have to hear “poor me!” crap from women will markedly decrease. A&A will usually incite the open-mouthed mock indignation, amazed half-smile from girls that is so indicative of their uncontrolled arousal. DP will cause girls to react more like a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar; she’ll pout a little, squint, frown and proclaim her innocence of such nefarious manipulations. Again, like the reaction from A&A, these are the facial cues that betray vaginal inflammation.

Two final thoughts. Beta bait of the “poor me!” variety is usually the province of attractive girls, although older, formerly hot cougars are known to utilize the scam for real reassurance from older men who have more sexual market options than the aging beauties.

Girls who are aware at some mental level of their attractiveness have the ego to spare to parlay obviously false confessions about fears of their subpar looks. Truly hideous girls will rarely beta bait in this manner, (or any manner), because it will be hard for them to express self-doubts without it sounding like real pain. “Poor me!” ploys aren’t ploys when the confessor really is a poor specimen of womanhood. Try to picture a fatty saying “I’ll never be as thin as her.” It is to laugh. Her ballast isn’t some phantasm that even supplicating beta males can reassure out of existence; her ballast is taking up real world space. I have seen sordid spectacles play out where a chubster would pull this stunt on a pudding pop beta male buddy for whom she has long held a torch, only to realize too late her bait would get no traction as the betaboy just stood there blankly staring at her and muttering “oh”.

However, when a fatty or fug does attempt to sling “poor me!” bait, reassurance should still be avoided. Why would you want to reassure a fat girl that she’s perfect just the way she is? That’s adding ugliness to the world. The best response in those rare cases is “Encouragement by Tacit Shiv”:

FATTY: “I’ll never be as thin as her.”
MOTIVATIONAL YOU: “Sure you can. You just gotta stop talking about it and start doing.”

If she isn’t reaching for the bottle of pills after that, consider it a lesson well-learned!

Lastly, there are times when women in long-term relationships will defecate “poor me!” turds on your serenity. A&A and DP are acceptable responses, but once in a while — these rare moments determined at the discretion of your intuitive grasp for relationship harmony — a guileless reassurance is what she desperately needs. If your wife is beginning to worry about her wrinkles, and there’s nothing about her you don’t like, then a calming dissuasion will fit the moment perfectly.

Just don’t overdo it. These “beta male reassurance” moments should be the seasoning to relationships, never the stew. A little goes a long way. Tragicomically, it’s usually incorrigible beta males who lean on the crutch of “reassurance game” to excess, the very last men who would derive any benefit from it, and often the men who experience befuddling negative blowback when their appeasement isn’t met with the gratitude from their girlfriends or wives they mistakenly believe is coming.

Women in LTRs needing expressions of acceptance are usually moved into that position because their lovers are alpha men who are a little short on beta vulnerability game. Such women are sexually bonded to their alphas, but their emotional bonds may fray if, over time, their men — and remember these are men with options — don’t supply them with sufficient sweet talk to allay their gnawing fears of future abandonment.

If your wife or girlfriend really is getting fat or ugly, then “poor me!” ploys are a dangerous game which could blow up the relationship. Unattractive women in relationships — especially those who were formerly attractive when they met their partners — are mentally lubed by a toxic mix of superficial security and comfort coupled with a fearful sensation of impending romantic loss. This emotional turmoil drives them to seek constant reassurance of their prettiness as their men used to know them.

But it’s a catch-22. Reassure these women, and they are never incentivized to improve themselves. Dismiss their concerns, and the same results. Agree with them, and they withdraw spitefully. It’s a minefield and the best way to navigate it is the ol’ “Butter her up before delivering the bad news” tactic.

WIFE WITH POWER OF STATE AT HER BECK AND CALL: “I’ll never be as thin as her.”
DEVIOUS YOU: “You were the prettiest woman I had ever met. And hopefully always will be. I can help make that happen.”

The only other scenario in which it makes any sense to “beta up” and reassure a fat or ugly girl steeped in legitimate self-doubt is one where you want to bang the fug. But then the question has to be asked… WAYB? (Why are you banging?)

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