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Reformed Blue Piller painfully recounts,

Betas live in hope; partly because they are unaware and naive as to women’s true nature and motivations.
It’s the same sort of thinking where a guy might believe that a stripper likes him because they had a conversation in a strip club and she was nice to him.
I know because I once was so Blue Pill it was painful.
Also; as far as socialising, in many cases there aren’t really that many alternatives other than going to bars/clubs.

Hope is the feeling that really nails the naive beta male belief system about women’s nature. Hope is the true mindkiller, surpassing fear in enervating power. Hope is 500 Days of Beta, languishing in daydreams and comforting superstition while the real world spins on by.

You will never hear a natural say “I talked to a stripper. I hope that means she likes me.”

Hope is the last refuge of the inert. Save hope for divine vocations and train your cynic’s eye on earthly concerns.

Equalist leftoids are feeling the heat from rebel samizdat. You can sense it in the op-eds littering Hivemind propaganda outlets. Headlines are increasingly defensive, sounding more like rallying cries for one last stand in the name of the Narrative.

Examples abound. Here’s one from the front page of CNN.

Spanking is bad – especially for blacks.

It’s largely an opinion piece against parental corporal punishment — especially for blacks — with a link to two associational studies that don’t really tell us if spanking — especially for blacks — is itself a cause, rather than a symptomatic property, of the vibrant black behavioral profile.

The smarter equalists, like the writer of the above op-ed, can feel which way the subversive winds are blowing (does the Chateau infect hearts and minds? the thought titillates!), and will attempt to co-opt Narrative destroyers with preemptive blanket assertions to the contrary before white electorate opinion hardens into thoughtcrime. The insidious Hiveminders will even armor their defensive bunkers with the trappings of anti-Narrative themes.

So, for instance, in the above article, the field operative Hiveminder, who fears that the wrong sort of people will draw the wrong sorts of ugly conclusions about possible racial differences in effective child rearing, couches his contrary assertion in language that is more congenial to anti-Narrative foes, and in so doing rob his rebellious antagonists of spirited resolve. What you get, then, is “spanking is bad for black kids because {proof by assertion} black kids are no different than white or asian kids who are spanked less, and {soothing but substance-free pabulum for good-hearted but naive whites} the black communitaaah needs to be the one to condemn their own culture of spanking.”

It’s all very enlightening from a sociological perspective, and heartening for agents of change too, because what’s happening now is that the first cracks in the Hivemind honeycomb are appearing, and scaring the buzzfeeding bees into a frenzy. Soul-deformed leftoids are using every psychological tool they have at their wicked disposal to protect the Equalist Anti-White* Narrative from guerrilla attack by no-fucks-given Realstinger wasps. They are denying, lying, and disingenuously mollifying, and when they aren’t doing those things they are smearing, slandering, and nuking comment sections.

The walls are closing in around the Hive. The Chateau marquises prefer the iron maiden for maximum pain amplification.

Well, Clarice… have the bees stopped buzzing?

I predict in the coming years we’ll see more and more transparently desperate and laughable attempts by the media, entertainment, bureaucratic and tenured academic complexes to assert the dominance and relevancy of their dog-eared Anti-White Male Testament in the face of mounting countervailing evidence and a growing army of shiv wielders all too happy to draw blood from the Myth King Xerxes.

*It may seem that Equalism and Anti-White Spite are contradictory, but in fact the former is just cover for the latter, which is the true animating philosophy of the Lords of Lies. Adherents to Equalism exploit the cheat code of religious faith in universal equality to proselytize against White heathens, the only enemy capable of ending their reign of madness.

I’m not sure if the subject of women complimenting men has been covered before at CH, but it’s worth revisiting even so. Reader NorthWestBest asks,

I was wondering how you would accept compliments from a woman? When a woman says, “you’re cute” or “nice shorts, are those new?” or some other bullshit like that, what should I say back in order for her to have the most desirable image for myself. Ill let you know I have no lack of confidence, I will say what ever comes to my mind, but I was hoping you had something clutch to say (you usually do). Also this is just for casual at school interactions where I’m not trying to pick here up (at this specific time) but I’m definitely trying to form a desirable image for future interactions. Also if convenient you should post some more articles on things to say/do with little amounts of time, because I’m in high school and as you probably know already, you don’t have very much one on one time with the women, or a lot of time at all. So thanks in advance if you respond to this.

The CH lesson is always, ALWAYS, supremacy of attitude over execution. If you possess the alpha attitude, the sexy words will fall into place.

Given that axiom, the right attitude to have when a girl compliments you is: yeah, I get this a lot. Act like you’ve heard it before. If you act instead like an excited boy who can’t believe his ears, then the girl will retroactively wonder if you were worth her compliment.

In my experience, the best way to accept compliments from women is

“Thanks”

I’m not being glib. That is often the best response to a girl complimenting you. Say it calmly without effusive gratitude. A flash of smile is the perfect accessory.

That’s how a confident man would respond to being complimented by a woman. He wouldn’t self-efface or doubt the girl’s sincerity or argue with her opinion. A simple ‘thanks’ goes a long way to avoiding any impression that you’re parched for female flattery.

If the context is one in which gaming her is possible, and you want to enrich the conversation beyond ‘thanks’, then you could tease her.

SWEET TEEN GIRL: “nice shorts, are those new?”

HIGH SCHOOL HO MAGNET: “sure. don’t forget to check them out from the back.” [turn around like you're modeling your butt for her]

Teasing is fun and girls just wanna have fun. Good teasing, like the above, has an element of ‘assuming the sale’. Chicks dig pre-sold men.

UPDATE

As a commenter mentioned, don’t lob a return compliment after a girl compliments you. Girls love men who can accept their compliments without feeling an obligation to answer in kind. Betas tend to do this a lot, because they aren’t comfortably narcissistic enough to accept flattery without feeling unworthy of it.

Homeless Gay Game

A million readers have sent CH links to this video and accompanying story of a purportedly homeless dude picking up girls for sex and flophouse stays.

I haven’t bothered to write about it because, well, watch the video and you’ll see why.

Strong gay vibe. This video is either a production house put-on or a confused gay man’s misdirection. If he’s a rump raider, then you should believe exactly 0% of his words. If, despite loudly pinging gaydar, he’s straight, AND telling something close to the truth, then godspeed exiled git of the vertical slit. Faux gay game has its place in pickup history; many a fine dandy wooed women with their aloof, refined charms.

True open relationships are different in kind from “I don’t give a fuck what you do on your own time” relationships. The former are verbally confirmed agreements to strange and psychologically toxic sexual and romantic arrangements that defy biosocial realities and are often designed to the benefit of weird lesser beta females and their ovulation cycles, and to the detriment of lesser beta males with scarcity mentalities and low T; the latter are emergent conditions of the player lifestyle where quantity of experience is valued higher than quality of experience, and short term trysts are valued higher than long term commitments.

I’ve known more than a few dyed in the wool cads who genuinely did not give two fucks (or pretended very convincingly not to give two fucks) about what their flings were doing out of sight. But these cads weren’t getting on bended knee for their lovers either. If that sort of commitment expectation was on the table, and they were considering it, then you can bet they’d drop their pretense of giving no fucks about the sexual fidelity of their girlfriends, (even if they themselves continued giving no fucks about their own caddish infidelity).

Overcoming A Bad First Impression

You meet a girl. She’s pretty, so you feel yourself tightening up, and your brain revving hot. You speak, trying hard to say something witty. Big mistake. You say something awkwardly tone deaf that pulls everyone nearby out of the conversational flow. You cringe inwardly and are sure it’s noticeable outwardly. This makes it worse. Anything you say now will be even stupider and more charmless, pinched through the contracting voicebox of your amygdala.

You’ve made a bad first impression. For most men (read: beta males), this would mean the hopeful romance was deep-sixed. It’s hard to change a woman’s first impression, and just as hard to change your reflexive withdrawal when you become aware you’ve messed up.

But, it’s not impossible. Bad first impressions can be overcome. The technique itself is easy, even if the mental hurdle to accept the technique into your life is high.

A reader pleads,

Love your posts. In the near future, can you please address how to overcome the initial first impression which was bad? Most of what you says makes sense but stigma of previous reputation of nerd/geek/loser,etc. can negate any learned experience. This post can be of tremendous value because it’s not always convenient to change venues.
Thanks.
Mr.B

Recovering from a bad first impression is a two-step process:

1. Ignore it
2. Plow

To give an example of what I mean, think of a natural you know from your life. The “What Would A Natural Do?” rule applies here.

Naturals aren’t always on; sometimes they too say stupid or incongruous things. We can’t all be Chateau lords. If you know or have known some naturals, and spent a decent amount of time in their company, you’ll recall a few missteps they made. And you’ll recall how they responded. Often, from what I see, the natural recovers from a self-inflicted social miscue with a potent dose of nonchalance.

Basically, act like nothing you said or did went afoul of social etiquette. Remember: OVERCONFIDENCE IS KING in the realm of quivering vaginas. What does an entitled, narcissistic, self-regarding, overconfident, jerkboy natural beloved by women everywhere do when he bumbles? I’m sorry, do you think he notices or cares when he bumbles? He doesn’t. Or, if he notices his faux pas, he acts like he doesn’t notice it. He registers no perceptible shame, no clumsy self-acknowledgement, no reddening cheeks, no stiff retreat from the social matrix. He just plows ahead to bless the world with his next gilded thought.

And girls respond universally to that kind of quasi-sociopathic practiced unconcern with one’s perceived impression: Curiosity greased by their mental Bartholin’s glands.

This isn’t the only way to overcome a bad first impression, but it is the preferred method of 4 out of 5 naturals. Mild self-referential humor is another effective tactic. Making light of one’s own social mistake, if pulled off with a competent mien of amused detachment, will release the awkward tension and allow those present to laugh along with you, which is a powerful “social leader” DHV.

“Yup, I just said something nerdy. If you can’t handle it, the cooler guys are over there.” [point to a nerd herd]

Disqualification plus savvy acknowledgement of social realities is chicknip.

I’m going to tell you something about so-called “open relationships” that you probably already suspected. I’m using the term of art “open relationship” to mean any longish-term relationship in which both partners have agreed in principle to the freedom to pursue trysts or concurrent relationships without punishment, and are fully aware in the abstract if not of the sordid details of each other’s extracurricular lovers.

Without giving away TMI and triangulated coordinates of secretive Chateau vaults, I have peripherally known a couple of honest-to-goodness swingers. They had a club and a meeting place where bacchanalia would attend under the tacit permission of local authorities. Spouse swapping was on the menu, along with sundry sexually experimental arrangements. The two men of my brief acquaintance were proud participants in the open relationship lifestyle.

Weirdly proud.

One was a giant goony ambassador for the pleasures of polyamory. “It’s not for everyone,” he would snobbishly intone in a preface to a twenty minute discussion about free love I had chanced into one evening. Decked in a soul patch, a three piece suit, and fondling a cane topped with a dragon’s head (“from Bangkok”, naturally), his “primary” — the woman with whom he lived — was a dumpy, squat, mid-30s Janeane Garofalo mimic. She was one of those bountiful fertility goddesses with steatopygia in the front and back, a strange trick on a white girl. She was with him, so I got to see up close the goth eye shadow and ghost rouge concealing her moonscape pores. After the dapper gargantugoon felt sufficiently pleased with my and my company’s feigned curiosity and he had regally delivered a layman’s guide to his sex at dawn, I was presented photos of his third wheel — strangely not referred to as his secondary — dressed in a slutty vampiress costume and biting his neck, and not to put too fine a point on it, she was butt ugly. Younger — maybe mid 20s — but ugly like Chinese crested dog ugly.

He crowed about sending her off on her own in seedy nightclubs to gather concubines into his whoreticultural goonhouse.

Months later, I met, through unusual coincidence, the second of the two self-professed polyamorists. Omega to the max. Besides his gangly physical asymmetry and receding chin, he had no discernible personality. Weathertalk filler would’ve added charm to his crashingly dull conversational skillset. Which surprised me, because one figures a man embracing a radically alternative sex life would have to be interesting along other dimensions.

This second meeting was far more disturbing than the first. I learned, diffusely through him and later more pointedly through his female companion, that he was his girl’s main man, meaning he lived with her, helped her keep up the home and hearth, and shared her pussy with another man (of whom he was aware) and possibly with innumerable men beyond his ken and his care. My morbid interest piqued, I tried my best to extract the juicy raunch from the moldy rind of their polyamorous polygon. Best I could piece together was that this outstanding specimen of malehood had three jobs: Paying the rent, attending auctions with his girlfriend, and eating her out.

Apparently, penis in vagina sex was off the table. Or uninteresting to him. Because the pride that welled up in them both was evident in their florid descriptions of his oral facility at parting her dandered waves of mange. And, more distressing to yer humble serrator, she clearly evinced delight explaining how this sexual selflessness would turn her boyfriend on so much he would stroke himself during the act to sterile inner calf-splattered completion.

As for her, while not entirely repulsive to the eye, her looks were not the sort of showstopper one would expect capable of enslaving even a wretched omega male into perpetual financial and cunnilingual servitude. Tall, bony, breastless, pockmarked with various tattoos and piercings, she had at least the saving grace of residual youth and thinness and a recognizably human female face. A solid HB5 in good lighting.

The worst of it was the emotionless cadence that infected his voice when he proceeded to explain how a polyamorous agreement meant monogamy didn’t “coerce” either of them to stay in an unfulfilling relationship. Both were free to love on the side, although, “at the moment”, only she had the pleasure of another lover (and the timely dart of her eyes suggested other lovers). He was, he noted, at present “not that excited about meeting more women”.

Of course. I thought at the time, and still do, a man can’t go lower. The incel homeless bum and his penis encrusted with twenty years of smegma has more dignity than the willing cuckold with the tongue glazed by the skankhole deposited sperm of better men.

Two anecdotes, to be sure. But adding my brush with polyamorists to the collected literature, a focused picture of the reality of open relationships emerges.

Open relationships are almost never two-way.

One party to the “creatively ambiguous” polyamory agreement is getting the metaphorical shaft, and the other the actual shaft. The shafted is typically, but not always, the male (no need to sully the word “man”), whose role is as the eminently mockable “beta bux” (or beta hugs) available for service during those three weeks of the month when the female’s libido goes into hibernation. That he may live with his openly open-legged girlfriend doesn’t mean he’s getting the lion’s share of her vagina. But he is getting the lion’s share of her feelings and tantrums and moodiness.

Even males who manage to fulfill their implied rewards from an open relationship are rarely sole owners of the sexual excess. The first polyamorous couple described in this post survived on the male’s willingness to whore out his “primary” to fellow travelers at their favorite swinger spot. And as CH readers should know by now, the sexual profligacy of women is a far more serious infraction in biological (and hence, psychological) terms than is the sexual profligacy of men.

Genuine, egalitarian, open polyamory for all practical purposes doesn’t exist among white Westerners. There’s always one or another party out in the asexual or anhedonic cold, nursing feelings of rejection and traumatic self-doubt. And if that party is a willing participant to his or her sexual/romantic exclusion, it’s a good bet he/she is psychologically broken, mentally unstable, physically repulsive, or suffering from clinically low sex drive. In other words, human trash.

Open relationship participants are almost always hideously ugly.

Polyamory is a mating ground for human rejects. Whatever else it offers, the open relationship ruse assists the comically low value sector of humanity to live amongst each other and experience pleasures of the diseased flesh.

True open relationships are predominantly polyandrous.

The general complexion of contractual open relationships — where all participants are voluntary and aware of proceedings — is one ugly to mediocre-looking woman on the pre-Wall fast track lavishing in the flaccid attention of two or more omega males. Invariably, the more masculine (and it’s all relative, so maybe it’s better to say “the less androgynous”) of the males would be the one who is actually porking her.

For a visual of this reality, see here.

Illicit open relationships are predominantly polygynous.

“Open” relationships that form organically from the unspoken (and initially unacknowledged) impulses and romantic decisions of one or another partner nearly always manifest into polygynous arrangements: That is, illicit open relationships are distinguished by one high value alpha male discreetly juggling multiple concurrent female lovers. Pickup artists call the illicit open relationship the MLTR: Multiple Long-Term Relationship. Genghis Khan called it Tuesday.

The MLTR exists in the gray area of the female mind where she senses a disturbance in the romantic force but can’t summon her courage, or dismiss her love, to disentangle herself from the web of lives. Illicit open relationships — soft harems in popular nomenclature — can have surprising endurance, because women’s love for an alpha male is stronger than their pride. For quite some time, a woman in love with a sexy alpha will sacrifice her pride and prejudice with a swiftness complete. This is true whether the alpha player informs all his lovers of their complicity in his pleasuredome, or if he keeps his dalliances on the down low. In the latter case, I have only ever seen girls promptly eject upon discovery of participation in alpha male soft harems if those girls were very beautiful, or getting on in years. Very beautiful women have perpetually groomed coteries of alpha male suitors to tap in times of crises. Older women have ticking egg counters and desperation that help their escape.

Illicit open relationships — polygyny circles — are far commoner than forthright open relationships that typically assume the polyandrous or rarer volatile and highly unstable polyamorous forms. Sex differences practically guarantee that this would be the reality we see, rather than the reality homely polyamory proponents would want the benighted to believe.

In the real world, the openly polyamorous nirvana of ‘sex at dawn’ is really the circus sideshow abattoir of ‘sex before personal hygiene’.

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