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Many detractors and doubters of the crimson arts, including but not limited to a rather peculiar yet endearingly patriotic and bracingly truthful subculture of HBD quant geeks, have tried to find and exploit fissures in the foundation of the Chateau by accusing yours in Christ of inflating the good that can be gained from game. They claim I overlook some very basic HBD (human biodiversity)-approved limitations imposed on men by immutable biological factors outside the reach of self-improvement efforts.

Oh, really?

What do they think I’m running here? An archipelago of pretty lies? It’s time to set the record straight about what exactly game can accomplish for the man who wants more choice in women. And what better way to do so than through the use of a handy chart?

If you are:                      then tight game will bring you this:
an omega dreg              an improvement from involuntary lifelong celibacy
to a couple bangs per year with 2s and under.

a lesser beta                a few bangs per year with non-obese 4s and 5s and
the freedom to delay marriage to a tubby plain jane
for a couple of years while still fruitfully playing the field.

a garden variety          an end to month-long dry spells, the exquisite pleasure
provider beta               of occasional sex with a girl above the threshold of
genuine attractiveness (7), and a fiscal windfall from
having gained the ability to bed women without
spending godawful sums of money on them.

a greater beta              double digit lifetime partners, one “8” girlfriend at least
ten years younger, and an ability to consistently get sex
by the third date and blowjobs on the regular. bonus:
you can reject cougars with impunity.

a lesser alpha              triple digit lifetime partners, one “9” short-term girlfriend,
one threesome, and one multiple concurrent relationship
with a 7 and an 8.

a natural alpha            300 lifetime partners (should you choose to accept this
mission), multiple threesomes and orgies, long term
unmarried loving relationships with 8s and above,
and the freedom to hit (deserving) women
without worrying they will leave you or call the police.

a super alpha               the world is your harem.

******

The dreg to super alpha continuum represents categories of men whose corresponding dating market value traits have been averaged for each group. For instance, a lesser beta could be a very short man with a middling income and dull personality, or a normal height unemployed man with no money and decent looks who has crippling approach anxiety and horrible fashion sense. Similarly, a lesser alpha could represent a tall man with good looks and above average income, but possessing some geeky personality quirk holding him back from reaching his full potential with women. An omega is a man whose product is unwanted by any buyer. Unlike the economic market, the sexual market is a zero sum game, so some unfortunate souls at the far left of the bell curve will be unable to find a buyer of their product. In fact, omegas will have to pay for the privilege of dumping their wretched products on the market.

As I’ve written before, what men like in women is simple. In descending order of importance, here are the female attractiveness traits that men desire in women:

Beauty.
Femininity.
Sexual eagerness.

In descending order of importance, here are the male attractiveness traits that women desire in men:

Psychosocial dominance (game).
High status/fame.
Personality (passion/charisma/humor).
Wealth.
Good looks/height/muscularity.
Cleverness/smarts.
Dependability/reliability.
Sexual prowess.

A man along the alpha-beta-omega axis will exhibit the above traits in varying degrees of magnitude. The more of each attractiveness trait a man possesses, especially of those traits at the top of the pyramid that most attract women, the greater in intensity, amount, and quality of female attention he will fetch. A super alpha is a man who has maxed out in each category of attractiveness. An omega is a man who possesses little to none of these traits. A typical beta provider is likely a man who is low in the top four traits, average in looks and smarts, high in dependability, and low in sexual prowess.

Using girlish and pretentiously wonky Will Wilkinson as an example, he would score thusly:

Psychosocial dominance: Not enough information. He could very well be an alpha in his dealings with girlfriends.
High status/fame: High. He has fame within his tardlike liberdroid circle of equalist boilerplaters. Every male endeavor (except video gaming) has female groupies.
Personality: Average. He loses points for feminine demeanor and unmanly vocal skills, but gains points for passion.
Wealth: Assuming his income status is solidly SWPL, he’d be at the high end of this category.
Looks: Average. Feeble muscularity counterbalanced by boy band/art fag face.
Cleverness: High. He should thank his libertarian god for blessing him with a high (but uselessly applied) IQ.
Dependability: Not enough information. But he has the face of a sneaky fucker, and he’s still unmarried in his 30s (which I approve of), so I’m going with low.
Sexual prowess: Not enough information (thank god). Could be a limp noodle, could be a tantric dynamo.

If very low = 1, low = 3, average = 5, high = 7, very high = 9, and godlike = 10, and weighting toward the top four character traits, we can calculate a rough sexual market value score for Will Wilkinson:

7.1

Will Wilkinson is a greater beta.

Attracts girls in the 6-8 range, doesn’t need to turn off lights to enjoy sex, once got a BJ in an alley, his half-Asian girlfriend will cry if he proposes to her, has accumulated 5-15 partners (plus one very pretty boy).

If Wilkinson scores high on psychosocial dominance and sexual prowess, he would bump up to a lesser alpha. Rarefied company indeed, Will! As it stands, his ineffectual bloviating about relationship exactness and complementarity to the contrary notwithstanding, Will perfectly obeyed the biomechanical law of the sexual market and cashed in his market value chips for a cute, slender chick who ranks about a 7.5 on the female dating market value scale (10 being Monica Bellucci in her prime).

Of course, Wilkinson, like most purveyors of palatable lies, does not believe in game, or even in the primacy of the sexual market (his type are liable to sneer “reductionist!” whenever confronted with the reality of humanity’s base animal nature and their enslavement to it). Why, if only the entire left hand side of the male curve would just get a grad degree and an enlightened attitude toward women, they too could enjoy the fruits of cute half-Asian girls!

The great majority of men are not genetically capable of getting grad school degrees, but they are capable of learning some rudimentary game. Concepts like negs, social proof, qualfication, compliance, and body language. And in the winner-take-all seduction sweepstakes, all else equal, an uneducated man wielding tight game will beat a game-eschewing educated man waving a diploma 99 times out of 100. Bet on it.

Again, using the example of Will Wilkinson I outlined above, we can roughly deduce what a man of his market value — greater beta — can accomplish with knowledge of game and assiduous application of it in the field. If Will is willing to shed his preconceptions and start reading up on all the free seduction material now available on the internet, plus find himself a mentor who could correct him when he fucks up in set, he could enjoy a lifestyle that includes dating and fucking girls even younger and cuter than his current girlfriend, and put off marriage indefinitely for the same benefits found within long term loving relationships with girls who, because they are so enamored of him, won’t pressure him for an expensive princess wedding.

Game is not a skeleton key that will open every locked pussy. It, like most human improvement projects, has its limitations; a 5′ 2″ ugly, dull, 60 year old factory line worker living in a rancid basement hovel is not going to go from celibacy to boffing supermodels no matter how advanced his game. But game’s limitations are much farther out than most men realize. That ugly, short, boring old guy won’t bang supermodels with game, but he will discover a world of fuckathon fun among 45 year old divorcees of mediocre attractiveness.

As game, or in weightier parlance, psychosocial dominance, sits at the pinnacle of male character traits that women find attractive, a man will get more bang for his social investment buck by learning game than he would by working hard at improving himself on more conventional metrics such as career advancement, wealth generation, educational attainment, or material acquisition. He should do all those things to the best of his ability, of course, but if he could only choose one path to pussy, I would counsel him to learn the science of seduction. A grad school degree requires an additional 6-7 years of commitment after high school plus crushing debt; career advancement requires years of kissing ass and working late; wealth generation requires a lifetime of prudent financial management; material acquisitions require hard-earned money and their effectiveness at attracting and keeping pussy is questionable.

But game, the beautiful drama, needs only six months to one year of study and practical application before a man will reap the rewards of tingly ginas. When you are running game, you are saying powerful things, you are behaving powerfully. And when you behave powerfully, you really are powerful. Game is power. And it all rests on one very simple, very true, premise:

Women are mostly the same in what they find attractive in men.

And the male trait they love the most? Dominance.

Weep unfathomable tears of bitterness, equalist shits. Weep ’em good.

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Pompeii_wall_painting

Peacocking head accessory? Check.
Overindulgent Roman guido (the original!) necklace? Check.
Cheeseball earrings? Check.
Hours in the gymnasium building neck muscles? Check.
Tunic unbuttoned down to navel to display sprouts of chest hair? Check.
Thousand yard stare of stupidity? Check.
Deep Mediterranean orange tan? Check.
Chick is a slut? Check.

Historical accuracy confirmed. The world’s first hot chick with douchebag!

(Link and association provided by commenters Lucifer and Ruby. Great JOOOORB guys.)

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More evidence that thin has always been in. (Hat tip: Reader SB7.) The fourth century Romans of the Villa Romana del Casale and the surrounding town of Platia created mosaics of slender babes well within the optimal 17 – 23 BMI range frolicking in bikinis while playing outdoor games and generally looking cute.

romanlovelies

Not a BBW or chubster in sight!

I feel the spirit of Dr. Seuss move me.

Do you like
chicks shaped like ham?
I do not like them, Sam-I-am.
I do not like
chicks shaped like ham.

Would you like them
now or then?

I would not like them
now or then.
I would not like them ever again.

I do not like
chicks shaped like ham.
I do not like them, Sam-I-am.

Would you like them in your bed?
Would you like them giving head?

I do not like them
in my bed.
I do not like them
giving head.
I do not like them
now or then.
I do not like them
ever again.
I do not like
chicks shaped like ham.
I do not like them,
Sam-I-am.

Would you eat them
in their box?
Would you poke them
with your cox?

Not in their box.
Not with my cox.
Not in my bed.
Not giving head.
I would not poke them
here or there.
I would not poke them anywhere.
I would not poke chicks made of ham.
I do not like them, Sam-I-am.

I’ll be in all zee veek!

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Ugly women, feminists, and fat chicks hate that men have attractiveness standards. It’s been as long as I can remember that mustachioed lezbo academics and their impressionable vajlings have been claiming that prehistoric drawings and figurines supposedly depicting fatass broads prove that female beauty standards are malleable and culturally conditioned. Riiiight. My first post-puberty boner at age fourteen for the cute, slender brunette down the street wouldn’t have happened without messages from TV telling me thin chicks are in.

Now it turns out all those ancestral BBW figurines that so enamor the sort of feminists who loathe male desire may not have been sex objects or symbolic mother/goddess figures at all. (Link via Dienekes.)

Made by Neolithic farmers thousands of years before the creation of the pyramids or Stonehenge, they depict tiny cattle, crude sheep and flabby people.

In the 1960s, some researchers claimed the more rotund figures were of a mysterious large breasted and big bellied “mother goddess”, prompting a feminist tourism industry that thrives today.

But modern day experts disagree.

They say the “mother goddess” figures – which were buried among the rubbish of the Stone Age town – are unlikely to be have been religious icons.

Many of the figures thought to have been women [by researchers] in the 1960s, are just as likely to be men.

Somewhere among my readership a fat chick just wept big bloated tears of ice cream.

Even more disheartening for the cultural conditioning crowd and BBW goddess true believers, there is evidence that prehistoric men carved plenty of sexy, slender babes for their viewing pleasure. And in mini-skirts, to boot! Yes, Cosmo B.C. must have been warping teenage minds 7,500 years ago.

“What about Rubens?!” squeal the fatties. Well, many of Rubens’ late medieval European contemporaries, such as Botticelli and Cranach, painted slender babes. And Rubens himself deviated from his fat fetish to paint normal weight women. Furthermore, it is likely that Rubens was not painting masturbation material for the masses. If he was, he probably would have ended up like Francisco de Goya, who *did* paint erotically posed slender women.

Goya was summoned by the Spanish Inquisition to explain who commissioned the “obscene” art.  I don’t know what Goya told them but he lost his job as the Spanish court painter, and this was as late as the early 19th century, though in southern Europe.  Goya’s nude maja comes close to modern erotic pinup art/photography and is the type of art that is most likely to represent the artist’s preferences or those of his contemporaries, but it doesn’t depict an overweight woman.  What were the chances of a painter coming up with something similar when the Church ruled?

If your paintings would have caused hard-ons to spring up among the drooling public, the Church would have had a word with you.

Bottom line: There is no evidence that Rubens’ paintings of unpleasantly plump women were representative of the kind of women that most men of his time considered hot. Except for a few weird outliers like the Mauritanians and fatty fuckers like Rubens, and allowing for some minor variation in female attractiveness standards between the major races, the vast majority of men across cultures and historical generations have lusted for thin young women (BMI 17 – 23) with 0.7 waist-hip ratios and feminine dispositions. No amount of railing against the “system” or engaging in sophistic pseudoacademic hocus-pocus is gonna change this fact.

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Megan Fox, by all accounts, is one of the bitchiest cunts in Hollywood. In interviews, she usually disorients the male host or the male guests seated around her. Because she is a genuine 9.5 at the peak of her beauty (23 years old), no man seems capable of properly gaming her, not even popularity-cresting celebrities like Seth Rogen (watch at 4:00). Fox admits as much in this article. She’s a killer queen, dynamite with a laser beam.

If ever there was a chick who could provide a world class challenge to a master seducer, Megan Fox is the one. So I was surprised to see that the man who stepped to the plate is a schlumpy herb-like character who moonlights as a stand-up comedian. He interviews Fox and her disappearing male co-star in this video (thanks to reader A for sending the link):

At 0:24, the herb negs her: “I’m sorry, just one second”. He even matches his neg with alpha body language when he sticks his hand out, palm down, a gesticulation that communicates he is silencing a small child. Immediately, you can see in her face that Fox is rattled, in a good way, her blank expression replaced by a shocked open-mouthed smile. She’s knocked off-kilter, probably because she’s not used to getting negged, let alone negged from a no-name herb.

At 0:37, she attempts to regain her tankgrrl composure. Except she goes so far over the top trying to look tough, what with her head cock, knitted eyebrows, and super serious glower, that her cover is blown. She’s been reduced to ridiculousness.

At 1:50, neg number two. The herb says her male co-star is distracted by her sitting next to him (this is a subtle tooling of the co-star) so it would be best if she put a bag over her head. Now, it’s clear he’s being funny, but how many female movie stars would agree to put a bag over their heads? Fox is game, because the interviewer set the frame early on and softened her up when he punched through her studied, chilly ice queen exterior with the first neg at 0:24. She’s warmed up to him so she’s more amenable to his suggestions. She puts the bag over her head and keeps it there. I don’t think I’ve ever seen Fox that playful in an interview before. This is a hot babe who NEEDS — who is BEGGING — for a man to game the living shit out of her.

This video reminds me of Neil Strauss’ anecdote in the book “The Game” where he’s interviewing Britney Spears and getting nowhere until he decides to run game on her. Game opens up Britney — metaphorically if not literally — to revealing more of herself and asking for Strauss’ phone number at the end of the interview.

I believe this video is evidence of the awesome power of the neg over high quality women. A herb negged Megan Fox, arguably the hottest chick in Hollywood today, and her eyes blazed with attraction. Naturally, the doubting betas will counter: “But there’s no way he’s banging her.” They miss the point. If a herb can get a positive reaction from a woman in the top 0.01% of attractiveness and social power with a simple throwaway neg, then the average everyday beta who applies the same game principles can pursue and FUCK girls who are a point higher than the women to which he is accustomed. A beta improving from dating 5s to dating 6s might not seem like a huge change on paper, but in reality it is a radical alteration of lifestyle. Given that it is women who “date up” — a fact contingent upon the greater relative expense of eggs compared to sperm — a man who, in effect, flips the selection script and “dates up” with the help of game, even if he only dates up one beauty point from 5 to 6, will experience exponential happiness that attests to the tremendous psychosexual rewards a minor jump up the female market value scale brings a man.

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Alpha Assessment Monday

This is the first installment of Alpha Assessment Monday, where the readers and myself judge your conversations with women, or the conversations you plan on having with women, for its alphaness. Mockery, scorn and useful advice will be doled out in equal measure.

The first submission is from ATC:

Background – at the time of this interaction we’d been dating for 2 weeks. She’d slept in my bed a couple of times but wouldn’t escalate past 2nd base, despite the fact that I’m pretty sure I felt a Norplant-like device under her upper arm. [editor: ew.] If this is indeed what it was, I think it would be very hard to underestimate her sluttiness (for actual alphas, of course). She’s 23 and divorced (i.e. dumped) her husband a year ago.

Three days after this exchange, she started distancing herself and her texts became more pro forma before disappearing altogether by the end of the 3rd week.

Via text:
Her: Hey some buddies of mine saw me with you last night and they asked if you were my bf haha…people are gossiping now…but I cleared up the confusion.

Me: I’m too badass to be a mere bf.

Her: Hahaha geez…well I didn’t tell them anything [note: contradicting what her 1st text said]. Hmm, do you mean like a super buddy or what?

Me: That’s a label, and I don’t think we’re the type of people who are given to labeling ourselves.

Her: Hmm, I’m not sure I understand, but if what you’re trying to say is that you don’t want to be tied down, that’s ok because you can do what you want and so can I. =)

Me (6 hours later): Hey, guess what I overheard the hairdresser telling her girlfriend about me?

Her (immediately): What? (etc. etc.)

One crucial beta move jumps out — you let a girl sleep in your bed with you without getting any nookie. In other words, she got everything (companionship, sleep, validation, emotional orgasm) and you got nothing except Olympian blue balls.

A few times in my life a girl I had begun dating attempted this “we can sleep together and cuddle as long as you keep your hands to yourself” routine. This magnificent shit test is just about the most selfishly indulgent act of cruelty a woman can foist on a man. If you ever wondered whether women have *any* empathy at all for how a man feels and thinks, the “sleep but no sex” shit test should answer your question: Women don’t have a clue about the male sex drive, and of those that do have a clue they are cunty sadists if they pull this stunt.

I learned my lesson the hard way (quite hard) and ever since have responded in one of two ways:

  1. I left if we were at her place, or I kicked her out if she was at my place.
  2. I molested her all night long until she either relented and we screwed or she gave up on her idea of sleeping in my bed peacefully without sex.

By letting this chick sleep in YOUR BED on HER TERMS, you have stamped your forehead with a big, bold BETA. She now owns you. Don’t be surprised if she pushes the bitch boundaries with you a lot harder and a lot more often than other girls you have dated. Once a girl smells beta chum in the water she will circle your flaccid, bleeding husk for eternity, biting chunks of manhood out of you until your dignity is consumed or she tires of batting you around like a cat toy.

Moving on, the Norplant is a huge slut tell. There’s no other way to put it. Girls with a modicum of intelligence and conscientiousness will choose to take the pill over having a stick buried in their flesh. Seriously, what kind of women use Norplant? Ghetto trash. Impulsive thrill-seekers. Nymphos. Raw dog lovers. Recently divorced girls who plan to live it up with all the random cock they missed when they got married young. If you feel a Norplant in your girl, you’re one small step from double dicking her festering hole with one of the Bang Bros.

On to the text exchange.

Her: Hey some buddies of mine saw me with you last night and they asked if you were my bf haha…people are gossiping now…but I cleared up the confusion.

Total bitch. You like this chick? Her shit tests are smelly and transparent. Is she from a lower class? On the plus side, she’s thinking about fucking you. Girls don’t shit test guys they have completely written off.

Me: I’m too badass to be a mere bf.

A swing… and a miss. The problem with your reply is that you played right into her frame. And her frame SUCKS. It’s rotten to the core. The only acceptable response is a reframe, or genuine, sincere, knock the snot right outta her, ASSHOLE GAME. An example of what I mean:

YOU: [after 8 hour delay] I’m confused. You’re talking, but I don’t see you buying me a beer.

Let’s take a look at your next text.

Her: Hahaha geez…well I didn’t tell them anything [note: contradicting what her 1st text said]. Hmm, do you mean like a super buddy or what?

Me: That’s a label, and I don’t think we’re the type of people who are given to labeling ourselves.

You’re scrambling to catch up to her. She’s leading this bitchy, Norplant-embedded conversation and knows it, too. Your reply sounds like something you gleaned from a PUA guide book and misapplied at the wrong time, when it was too late to have the intended effect.

Her: Hmm, I’m not sure I understand, but if what you’re trying to say is that you don’t want to be tied down, that’s ok because you can do what you want and so can I. =)

Me (6 hours later): Hey, guess what I overheard the hairdresser telling her girlfriend about me?

Her (immediately): What? (etc. etc.)

This was the best exchange with her that you had. You ignored her beta bait, waited an appropriate amount of time (six hours) before responding to a woman of her character (low), and re-engaged with some random observation. That she answered you immediately tells me two things: One, she was still contemplating you as a sexual creature. Two, she’s a fickle drama whore who can’t resist dumbed down gossip. The way to game these types of girls is NOT to feed her world of drama with your own manufactured drama. That road leads to LJBF and more sexless slumber parties. The way to game them is stone cold, one word assholery. These girls love to fill in the blanks when you tease them with brief, erratic discharges from your reptilian brain.

Maxim #30: When in doubt, ask yourself “WWJD?” What Would a Jerk Do? Then do that.

Your Alpha Assessment Score (AAS) on a scale from 1 – 10: 3 (Your instincts are poor, but self-awareness is the first step to alpha status.)

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Amish Love

The Open Borders Journal has an article about the growing popularity of Amish pulp romance novels. It seems women — Amish and heathen alike — are snorting these books like chocolate-covered eight balls.

Most bonnet books are G-rated romances, often involving an Amish character who falls for an outsider. Publishers attribute the books’ popularity to their pastoral settings and forbidden love scenarios à la Romeo and Juliet. Lately, the genre has expanded to include Amish thrillers and murder mysteries. Most of the authors are women.

Beverly Lewis, who sets her novels among the Amish in Pennsylvania, has sold 13.5 million copies of her books.

13.5 million copies. I’ve long said that if you are a man who understands the mind of women you should write hackneyed romance novels under a female pseudonym and CASH THE FUCK IN. Forget the noble goal of writing the next Great American Novel; the money is in forbidden love and hoary cliches aimed at bored middle-aged wives and tweenies experiencing their first gina tingles.

But surely, I need talent to amass such a large audience, you may wonder. Well, let’s take a look at an excerpted passage:

“His warm, gentle lips moved over hers, and she returned the favor, until Hannah thought they might both take flight right then and there. Finally desperate for air, they parted.”

There’s your answer. No one ever went broke underestimating the poor taste of the distaff masses. Of all the “literary” genres, cheeseball romance is probably the easiest to write and, idiocratically, the most lucrative as well. It’s the female equivalent of single position porn and egg white plus yohimbe-fueled money shots under cheap lighting. All you need to know is one simple rule, and then you can count your benjamins: You’ve gotta tap that inner ape core in every woman by appealing to her base sexual instincts. This means having a good grasp of concepts such as:

  • Game
  • Male attractiveness traits
  • Badboy reformation projects
  • Female hypergamy
  • Overcoming obstacles to love
  • Parental intrusion
  • Peer judgementalism
  • Forbidden love
  • Foreplay

It also helps to have an eye for detail and knowledge of colors beyond red, green and dark green.

I think another reason besides the concept of forbidden love that explains the popularity of Amish romance novels has to do with the cultural milieu in which they exist. When the country is going to pot around you (read: it’s getting more diverse and distrustful as people greedily scramble for their slice of the taxpayer-funded pie), you find solace in fictional worlds of order and stability. And what’s more orderly, more mundane, than the Amish? If I’m right, we’ll soon see a literary trend toward traditionalism and small town esprit.

I’ve thought about writing pulp romance under a female pseudonym, but I don’t think I could resist the urge to subvert my readers’ expectations.

“His warm, gentle lips moved over hers, and she returned the favor, until Hannah thought they might both take flight right then and there. Finally desperate for air, she squirted. Her nether furrow drenched in warm moisture, she thought perhaps she had urinated, and ran away from him in shame, her legs shaking the whole way like a dog shitting olive pits. Wherefore this strange new feeling?, she begged to the god whose eyes she felt burning judgement into her soul. Finally home, panting in confusion and ecstatic pleasure, she stumbled across her parents’ open bedroom door just in time to see Papa plunging an unwashed zucchini deep into Mama’s womb — the same zucchini Hannah had harvested that morning while murmuring prayers to Mary Mother of God to give her the fortitude to resist sinful temptations. Frozen in place by shock, Hannah’s bonnet slipped to the floor. Mama looked up, frowned, and threw an oil lamp at her. Papa laughed, the zucchini in tatters in his hand.”

I remember driving through Amish country during the spring, after a soaking rain. In the fields, two boys had hitched a plow-like contraption to horses and were whipping the horses into a gallop as they stood behind the great beasts, getting pulled around at a pretty good clip. Earth was flying up, and both of them were covered head to foot in mud which obscured everything but their wide, happy smiles. What a life, I thought. What boy today wouldn’t find that more fun than another blast em up round of Halo?

So what do the Amish think of Amish-themed porn romance novels?

Ms. Esh said some Amish customers snap up the Amish fiction she stocks, but others tell her they don’t like the way the books portray the community.

“There will always be people who say we’re getting too exposed,” said Ms. Esh, a 48-year-old member of the local Old Order Amish community.

Speaking of exposed, I recall the Amish girls were good-looking. Very fresh-faced and wholesome. Not too many fatties among them. There was the occasional ugly inbred mishap, but thanks to the Amish fashion sense those girls didn’t have to suffer the indignity of hotter, skimpier-dressed peers shoving their ugliness in their faces every minute of every day. Still, even with head to toe clothing covering all but their faces and hands, I was able to make fairly accurate assessments of the Amish women’s looks from many yards away. The power of male discernment of female beauty is a finely tuned instrument, indeed. The hyperjealous harem guarding Muslims know this, which is why they invented the burqa.

Amish mothers hit the wall hard, unfortunately. No MILFs in that community. It’s 30 and stick a fork in them, no exceptions. Living off the land must age a person faster.

Some Amish have nevertheless become avid fans. An Amish woman in Lancaster told Ms. Lewis that “all the women in our church district are reading your books under the covers, literally,” Ms. Lewis said.

Amish men, listen up! You’ve allowed a sliver of the heathen slut culture to invade your oasis. Your womenfolk are reading crass female porn under their bedcovers. And make no mistake, it is PORNOGRAPHY. Cheap thrills to tingle ginas. It’s just a small step from there to Amish women demanding equality in the fields and nagging you to do more housework. Then comes Amish feminism (6th wave? It’s all the same briny crap) and finally Amish bukkake. Give an inch, and they’ll make you yearn for the relative modesty of Rumspringa. If this doesn’t scare you straight, try picturing a guy like me seducing one of your bonnet-wearing daughters, my hand first touching her forearm, then her thigh, a neg lighting up her eyes, and a makeout behind the hay bales as I promise her a world of adventure and excitement.

During a recent visit, Ms. Woodsmall [non-Amish author of an Amish romance novel series] sat on a swing outside the Flauds’ [Amish couple with six children] 133-year-old farmhouse and peppered them with questions for her sequel to “The Hope of Refuge.”

“This is one of those questions I hate to ask,” said Ms. Woodsmall. One of her characters, a schoolteacher, wants to modernize some aspects of Amish education. “What are some things she might want to change?” Ms. Woodsmall asked.

The Flauds’ 13-year-old daughter, Amanda, piped up. “The bathrooms,” she said, explaining that many students at her school wanted to replace outhouses with indoor plumbing.

Some of her inquiries drew a blank. The Flauds couldn’t come up with Amish expressions for the word “quirky” or the phrase “women’s rights.”

The Amish will be the salvation of America, if there is to be one. May they continue pumping out kids at quadruple the rate of the SWPLs, post-integrity equalists, and warlord-wannabes who currently buttfuck themselves on the levers of power.

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