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In London, epicenter of European poz, there are adult baby parties. In Poland, sex change freaks run for office. And in New York, there is preschool for adults.

I have a grand unifying theory explaining the infantilization (and its cousin, androgynization) of late-stage secular Western societies.

In the not-terribly-distant past, 4K-8K years ago, at the dawn of agriculture, geneticists discovered that only 1 in 17 men got to reproduce. (Female hyperdrivegamy alert.)

17 men did it all for the nookie; only 1 in 17 men got the nookie. Now that’s a tough dating scene. Your negs had better be thermonuclear. Imagine a pickup convo from 5,000BC.

Man #16: You have nice eyes. Especially the left one.
Fertile Crescent Cutie: Where are your two bags of grain?
Man #16: I got your two grain bags right here, bish. Hoo-ah!

Agriculture allowed for the massive accumulation of material possessions by a few (lucky? gifted? both?) alpha males, which resulted in a lot of inequality among men and a lot of women deciding that fucking and bearing the children as a shared concubine of one bling-plastered alpha male was preferable to being the only wife of a doting beta male. But I’m sure somehow today’s feminists can twist this punishing reality into evidence that those 16 sexless ancestral men oppressed all those women sleeping with the town big man.

This tremendous reproductive skew caused a genetic bottleneck. Many men did not pass on their genes. We today are the product of a few male winners and their armies of adoring female fans from the fertile crescent long ago.

So what does this all have to do with modern Western infantilization? Hang tight. For the past few hundred years, maybe more, maybe less, the dating and reproductive scenes in white Western Europe and socially similar satellites have been mostly egalitarian. The age of the 1-in-17 Poonmaster was over. Many beta males got sex and a chance to leave a genetic legacy. Yeah, there was still cuckoldry, and plenty of betas likely had to endure the very special torments of the friendzone, but by and large humans had entered a new epoch marked by the inclusion of many more beta males into the sexytime folds.

So, for a long time after the close of the era of the big man, a lot of “lesser” men who would’ve failed in the 1-in-17 dating scene flourished in the 1-in-1 or 1-in-2 dating scenes, enough to change the water quality of future generations of the gene pool. Civilization arose with the rise of the beta male invested in a family and in a community of like-minded men who did not, for the most part, present a poaching threat to the individual beta family man. This was the Golden Age. Its blessings did not visit all parts of the world (*cough* congo *cough*).

Fast forward to 2015. Beta males aren’t just ascendent, they’re established. The charming jerkboy is the odd man out in advanced Western societies. The few “big men” who amass ungodly wealth are socially constrained from accumulating an equally ungodly number of loving legal concubines. Or they themselves are psychologically beta, and so despite their large fortunes accrued by leveraging mental talents particularly suited to modern economies, continue having trouble seducing women.

We have, succinctly, a beta male surplus. Beta males have been so successful that they have literally enriched not just themselves, like the big men of yore, but have taught women, who otherwise would be their rewards for fulfilling their male Darwinian directive, how to fish for themselves. Modern women benefit so greatly from beta male cleverness and largesse that they are self-supporting providers — Woman, Inc. — and accumulate their own stash of materialist goodies. The modern dating market, consequently, has ruptured. Self-sufficiency has freed women to more hotly pursue the dark side of their sex’s reproductive dichotomy — to pursue and fall in love with the charming cad with charming cad genes who makes them tingle even as they’re footing the full dinner bill for his company.

Generations of breeding for beta males with supercharged beta male characteristics has resulted in something akin to overbreeding among some breeds of dogs. What once was a useful animal, like the bulldog, has turned into a cartoon simulacrum of a dog. Now the breed can hardly run or breathe without splattering the walls in drool.

So it is with Western beta males, splattering the walls with their sperg sputum. They are overbred. Now the breed can hardly function in the dating scene. It needs help talking to women. It welcomes the leash. As a reflexive response to the stress of navigating a modern, mass secular society, some members of the beta male breed regress into the prenatal comforts of adult infantilization. If they personally haven’t regressed, they condone those who have and oppose those who would shame them into acting more masculine.

Some women regress, too. Modern women, after all, possess some of those super beta male genes as well.

Now times are starting to get tough. Diversity and globalization stress fractures are showing. That beta male surplus has become a liability, like an albatross hanging around the necks of suicidal Western nations. Reproductively culling some of these beta males used to be good for business during down times, from a culture-wide perspective. When all of them breed into an environment in flux, weird behavioral anomalies begin to manifest. Bronies. Trannies. Autists. The total societal embrace of gay marriage. Adult preschools. Diaper parties. Comic Con. New atheists. Manboobs. Male feminists. Amanjaw Marcuntte. SJWs. Bryan Caplan. Juggalos. Miscegenation cheerleading. Cuckold fetishists. Fat Walmartians.

Women have an instinct which influences their competing hindbrain desires for betas or alphas. This instinct, acting on the subconscious, pushes them away from beta males when beta males have outlived their usefulness, as I believe is currently the operating paradigm in decrepit first world open borders self-flagellating elite-infighting capitalist bazaars.

Psychological infantilization, essentially, is one of the processes by which the excess beta males in modern secular societies subconsciously “self-cull”. War and religious fanaticism are other methods of beta male self-culling, but the former has fallen into disrepute, and the latter, while on the upswing, isn’t yet the unconquerable force that will change the face of the West forever. (But it’s getting there.) Turning gay, in practice or in habit, is another way marginal beta males remove the worst pain of the sting of sexual rejection.

All this is to say….

Game can save lives civilizations.

PS A society overrun with too many breeding beta males can also produce men who go the opposite way and try to maximize signals of masculinity.

The busier and more crowded with males a society becomes, the more competition there is and the more flamboyant the badges are [i.e., hipster beards].

The modern male not only has to vie with hundreds of fellow males in the real world but has to stand out from potentially thousands of rivals online, so clean-shaven men [may] well be turning off women drawn to seemingly powerful men.

“When you live in a small group where everyone knows everyone because of repeated interactions, there is no need to signal quality and competitiveness via ornaments,” he said.

“In large groups where individuals are surrounded by strangers, we need a quick reliable tool to evaluate someone’s strength and quality, and that’s where these elaborate ornaments come in.

Bronies or try-hard hipsters. We truly live in a Gelded Age.

Yesterday, I speculated on motives for co-pilot Andreas Lubitz’s murderous sabotage of the plane he flew into a moutain. Three of my speculations appear to be strong possibilities, based on the most current evidence come to light.

2. Beta male rage. He suffered a recent breakup and took it out on himself and 150 strangers. […]

4. Terrorist mole. We’ve had a spate of planes going down because of pilot treachery. Have secretive terror-sponsoring societies filled flight schools with terrorist moles? Talk about the long game… […]

6. Muslim convert. No evidence of this, but I wouldn’t be surprised if the media Hivemind keeps this kind of info under wraps for the duration of public interest.

I settled on the schizophrenia explanation, figuring that based on Lubitz’s history battling depression and bad things happening to people who take anti-psychotics that it was the most likely reason for his mass murder-suicide.

But, that wasn’t my first instinct. When I saw a photo of the guy, my gut told me he was a lovelorn beta male candidate who may have flew (heh) into a psychotic episode triggered by a relationship breakup. I decided against my gut, in favor of the more “PC” speculation. I should’ve stuck with my gut. News arrives that Lubitz was seeing a therapist to get over his fiancée dumping him.

Reports this morning suggested the pilot may have been badly affected by a “relationship crisis” and was struggling to cope following a break-up with his girlfriend – who he was due to marry next year.

He is said to have shared an apartment in Dusseldorf – the destination of the doomed plane – with a woman whose surname is Goldbach.

The beta male rage angle is looking better.

(NB: This isn’t omega male rage, a la Elliot Rodger. Omega males are sexless castaways. Beta males can get girlfriends, but are awful at maintaining relationship hand, so they frequently get dumped, what seems to them, out of the blue.)

Chalk one up for CH speculation #2. What about the other speculations? Looks like I was onto something as well when I suggested (#s 4 and 6) that Lubitz may have converted to Islam.

All evidence indicates that the copilot of Airbus machine in his six-months break during his training as a pilot in Germanwings, converted to Islam and subsequently either by the order of “radical”, ie. devout Muslims , or received the order from the book of terror, the Quran, on his own accord decided to carry out this mass murder. As a radical mosque in Bremen is in the center of the investigation, in which the convert was staying often, it can be assumed that he – as Mohammed Atta, in the attack against New York – received his instructions directly from the immediate vicinity of the mosque.

We’ll see if this gets confirmed by German authorities. Or not, given that the Davosian Hivemind would wish to assiduously conceal such information from the public.

The whole horrible spasm of evil stinks to high hell of the effluvium excreted by a nexus of romantically defeated beta male rage + psychotropics + religion of peace + social atomization. Like commenter Bill said, white Westerners, and white Western men in particular, have become “unmoored”. Blowouts like Lubitz could become a feature of the future, rather than inexplicable one-offs. Unmoored white men, and especially white women, will increasingly find a soothing comfort in the black-and-white tenets offered by the alternative to secular, vibrantly diverse, libertardian materialism: Muhammadeism.

(A battle pitting Muslim beheaders against beep booping libertarians is gonna be awfully one-sided. And seriously cut into my poolside time.)

Chief Christian Sadist Pleasureman writes a lot about SCALE, and how its growth is tearing apart the fabric of society. He’s onto something, but I should point out that SCALE has other downstream effects he doesn’t often consider. One of them is the observed reality that massive SCALE permits women a broader pool of alpha fux to garnish their beta bux. SCALE encourages women, and the top 20% alpha males they desire, to satisfy their worst instincts.

Kind-faced (aka tamed) beta males like Andreas Lubitz get chewed up and spit out by SCALE. They have no community outside of immediate family. The implicit contract of relationship stability that was a given in the time of his beta father and grandfather has been severed. SCALE has permitted wider romantic vistas for women, for good and ill, and they are voting with their feet. The wreckage of Lubitzs left behind looks like the dumbstruck face of a good-natured beta who can’t believe his dependability and emotional support aren’t good enough for his disenchanted lover.

So now the question remaining is whether Lubitz’s romantic troubles precipitated his psychotic break and turn to Islam, or if his mental problems and embrace of Islam pushed his girlfriend away. Either way, the story is an omen for the future of white civilization.

I’m hearing this off-tune braggadocio a lot lately from the usual leper colony of game haters: “I just walk up and make small talk like a normal human being, and get girls! Why do you game dorks make such a big deal out of it?”

Lemme clue you in about what’s going on behind the scenes here. At least a few of these “just be yourself” shoot-from-the-unhip variants are doing what they say — picking up girls and whisking them to the altar on nothing but small talk — but what they don’t tell you is the quality of girls they small talk into lustful abandon. Hint: They ain’t HBhubbahubbas.

Yeah, if you’ve got your shit together, and compose yourself that way, you can conceivably chit chat a 5 into a deep love trance. For example, sometimes to shake the rust off I’ll hit on plainer girls equipping myself with only an arsenal of small talk. Once, I saw a incipiently chubby, swipply girl in a t-shirt advertising some tropical locale she had visited. She was no great looker, easy on one eye, but respectable enough for practice, so I veered in with my game put on hold. I said “Hey your shirt. I’ve been there. Great place. Did you like it?”

No qualification, no push pull, no teasing, no escalating kino, no fission grade smirk, nothing except average guy fluff talk and (by then internalized) non-obsequious body language. Ten minutes later, she was smiling like a drunk porpoise. When it ended, no numbers exchanged, she looked almost annoyed, as if silently wondering why did I waste her time if I wasn’t going to ask her out.

Don’t misconstrue. Small talk is great, and it, like other tools of applied charisma, is a skill that can be honed and targeted to nuke vagina from orbit. Shit, half the men who fail at love haven’t even gotten to the step where actual words are coming out of their mouths around women.

But if you’re gonna play in the big leagues and throw your pitch at bona fide babes, you’ll need more to close the deal than a polite acknowledgement of her choice in breast coverings. (In fact, you’d do better to tell a hottie exactly that: “Hey, I like your choice in breast covering.” It’ll shock her into attraction.) You’ll need the knuckleball, sinker, cutter, and a little bit of unpredictable english if you want to stand out from the mob of scrubs.

*LSMV = low sexual market value

I’m seeing more middle-aged and older white women with pink, green, and purple dyed hair.

I’ll keep this short and sweet: It won’t help, ladies.

Ah, cute prole girls. I love em to death. It’s my studied opinion that red state prole chicks who don’t bloat up (a vanishing set, granted) are, on the whole, more feminine than their blue city counterparts.

Here’s the trick, should you find yourself deep in bucolic red territory: Deck yourself out in a piece of clothing or an accessory with insignia that clearly identifies some media, fashion, or arty conglomerate. (Big IT companies don’t work as well for this trick, because no matter how exclusive Club GOOG, you will still be looked upon as a nerd. You may as well have a scarlet N on your forehead.)

Curiosity will overwhelm her good sense. She’ll ask (she will) for details. You’re in to sin.

Cute prole girls are salt of the earth, but they love the fantasy of the blue city alpha male with connections and a social calender bursting with fruit flavor. Dat “expert from afar” feel. Wearing something that signals you work for one of those dream companies, true or not, is a honey cock trap for inexperienced naifs. If the giddy sociopath is strong in you, feel free to concoct an elaborate, opulent lifestyle dedicated to your glowing self-conception.

Your Place Or Hers?

I’ve read all the pickup theories concerning this burning question. On paper, each side makes reasonable arguments. One that sticks out is the claim that women feel more comfy in their own places, and their comfort will translate into easier sex.

Theories abound, but my experience has already given me the answer to the question ‘my place or hers?’. It’s an If THEN ELSE *beep boop* computation.

1. If your place is much farther away than her place, go to hers. Favorable logistics wins every time. Too much delay getting her from the date venue to a bedroom means more time for her tingle anticipation to dissipate.

2. If the above condition is not met, by default take her to your place. As a percentage of total number of venue-to-home bounces, you will close the deal more often at your place than at hers. This is what I’ve found to be true. Taking a girl back to your castle instills a power dynamic that works to your favor. She will “feel led”, and that feeling, especially when coupled with a stir of anxiety, arouses her. Plus, a woman who knows subconsciously that she can kick you out of her place on a whim is a woman who has too much psychological leverage to ever fully submit in that most pleasurable way to your indomitable presence.

EXCEPTION TO ABOVE RULE: You’re slinking around for supplementary pussy. Best then to keep your mistresses in the dark about your permanent abode(s).

 

Bright Red BPD Flag

If, near the end of a mutually rewarding date, the girl lasciviously invites you back to her place, but once there, despite your best efforts and tightest takeaway game, steadfastly refuses to bang and taunts you with the prospect of night-long cuddling, you have a control freak with Golden Gash issues. Leave immediately, and wish her well during her stay at the spinster-in-training school for the reformed slut.

Insurmountable last minute resistance is unforgivable when the girl has made the blatant overture for a nightcap and opens her own place to you. This is nothing less than a bitch power play. The only way to beat a crazy, cock-creviced chick playing this game is to deny your participation. The last thing you want is to be that beta guy stuck in a situation where hours are spent fruitlessly begging for pussy table scraps like some street cur. If it’s heading in that direction, kick yourself out on a subtly underdramatic note, and head home with your pride intact.

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