Around the four month mark you’re going to start taking your girlfriend on weekend trips, unless you are a beta, in which case you will be planning romantic weekends before you’ve even kissed her. Romantic (read: nonstop bedroom pounding) getaways include bed and breakfasts in the mountains, oceanview hotels or beach house rentals, horseback riding, ski chalets, quaint cottages in Tuscany (if you’ve got discretionary cash and you like her so much that you don’t mind wasting a trip to Italy on her instead of pursuing the local Italian women), and camping if she’s the outdoorsy type.
After your first romantic weekend, give her at least two days space once you’ve returned home. That means don’t call her. The reason for this has to do with a fundamental difference between men and women in how we perceive romantic gestures. To men, a romantic weekend away is an opportunity to share uninterrupted pleasure with a chick to whom we have deemed worthy enough to devote an entire weekend. Men value romantic weekends based on the pleasurable benefits we anticipate for ourselves, in order from most eagerly anticipated to least: Sex, affection, low stress, and good dining. The “relationship” and “where it is heading” comes in a distant tenth, right after rejoicing that we came in under budget.
To women, a romantic weekend away, particularly the first romantic weekend with a new lover, is only peripherally about pleasure. Everything in a woman’s life must have a “deeper meaning”, and this goes double for a romantic getaway with her boyfriend. Since women are more practical than men, they cannot live in the now as easily as men do, and are always contemplating the future. This is because pregnancy and kids are never far from a woman’s subconscious thoughts, so every experience can’t just be enjoyed on its own; it has to be dissected and analyzed to determine the man’s fit into the larger picture of house, husband, children, divorce theft bonanza.
A woman’s emotions will be turbulent after a heady romantic weekend together. If you had a good time, she will need a couple of days to process the weekend, and your place in her life. The hamster in her head will be running itself to death. It’s best to stay clear of her during this time, which usually lasts a couple days (add a few days if she’s PMSing), so that she can complete the transition from emotional entropy to steady state equilibrium without your presence and your words potentially fucking up the transition for the worse. I recommend playing it safe and avoiding all contact with her until her emotions have calmed.
If you call her right after the romantic weekend, you might be surprised to find she doesn’t pick up her phone or, if she does, she sounds weird and snippish. Don’t let this throw you; it’s just her brain settling down after you powerfully jostled it from its humdrum routine. Calling too soon means you risk getting ensnared in her confusion. But by waiting a couple days to make your post romantic weekend followup call, you’ll find she has returned to normal and is happier than ever to hear from you.
Remember, a woman in emotional upheaval is not sparring you, she is sparring herself. The best thing you can do is step the fuck aside and let her come to peace with her overworked head hamster. She’ll either convince herself she loves you even more than she thought she did, or she’ll freak out and leave the country. Either way, you’ve saved yourself some unnecessary bullshit.
I had to slog through a lot of reader submissions to choose two candidates for the July 2009 BOTM. How much am I getting paid for this again?
First, the winner of the June 2009 BOTM was Ryan Stokes, the Australian billionaire media heir who hitched himself to a world class cunt and couldn’t find the inner strength to dump her after she repeatedly publicly humiliated him with her sluttastic antics and was eventually caught in the badboy lair of an ex-con biker, likely getting rogered up her tight upper crust anus so hard that she shat impacted semen bricks for weeks.
Congratulations Mr. Stokes. You edged out Rod Dreher and cuntrag’s ex-Italiano eunuchio betaboy kitchen servant Vincent. That’s some tough competition you were up against. Take a bow… deeply.
July 2009 BOTM Candidate #1 was submitted by third world immigration and population replacement enthusiast Seeking Alpha. It’s a Salon article written in sickeningly SWPL navel-gazing fashion by Travis D’arby, a beta so extraordinarily obtuse that he couldn’t put two and two together when his wife (wife!) refused to friend him on Facebook.
I joined the 21st Century a few weeks ago and signed up for Facebook. While the Facebook software loaded up the names of friends it found in my AOL inbox, one in particular surprised me: my wife’s. Hers was an invitation only page so I sent her a friends request.
He stumbles across his wife’s *invitation only* FB page. This should have been a big fat red flag, but no, our intrepid anti-hero soldiers on in self-delusion.
Days passed without a reply until I confronted her about it one day while she checked her e-mail.
“So I’m good enough to marry but not good enough to be your Facebook friend?”
“I never check my Facebook page.”
I playfully took the mouse and clicked through several pages of spam until I spotted my Facebook request.
“Well, you can do it now. It’ll only take a second.”
She gave me that “don’t tell me what to do” look only a wife can deliver then promised to get around to it later.
I waited a few more days and still nothing. At first, I didn’t think much of it. She will go days without putting her laundry up until I get seeing a freshly laundered basket of clothes on the kitchen table and put her unmentionables away myself. Procrastinating in regards to my friends request seemed perfectly predictable.
Here’s a critical difference between alphas and betas: Alphas are always one step ahead of their women; betas are oblivious to the clues beaning them right between the eyes.
But last week I decided to have a little fun at her expense. I typed “cute guy” into Google Images and created a fake Facebook profile for my chosen hunk. While my wife hogged the desktop, I sent her a friend request via my laptop. Guess what? Within minutes, she accepted my request!
While I snooped around her Facebook page, a few peculiarities caught my eye. First, no wedding pictures nor mention of her marital status. And secondly, all her Facebook friends were cute guys!
Is it me, or does this guy sound happy that his wife’s Facebook lovers are cute?
When I foolishly asked her why all of her friends had Y chromosomes, I naturally got my ass handed to me for sticking my nose in places it did not belong.
Any reader of my blog knows by now, that once a man hears this from his woman, it’s time to tell her to hit the bricks. She’s already boffing someone else. Privacy concerns take a back seat to suspicions of infidelity. D’arby writes like a reasonably intelligent guy. Why couldn’t he see what was right in front of his nose? Which brings me to…
Maxim #59: High IQ is no inoculation against beta delusion. If anything, high IQ obstructs clear thinking about women’s nature.
I have yet to broach this topic again and am debating my next move. Personally I don’t mind if she wants a little action on the side; it’s the being lied to that I find unacceptable. She was still a virgin when we met so I imagine a little sexual curiosity about other guys is perfectly natural.
Is it possible for a man to be more beta than George Sodini? Travis D’arby may have managed it. “Debating [his] next move”? This is the kind of mincing leftwing puke who gets mugged at gunpoint and wonders if he deserved it. Oh, but he hates being lied to. That makes the “action on the side” (such a pretty little euphemism; let’s tidy it up some more: “your wife is getting jackhammered by a roundtable of rock hard cocks and taking steaming loads to her face which drip insouciantly off her eyelashes”) totally acceptable. Keep telling yourself that, D’arby ol boy. Or should I call you D’cuckold?
D’cuckold then goes on a journey of ego salving verbal vomit as he proudly attempts to rationalize his wife’s whoring by calling for the monogamous, patriarchal institutions of the West to cede to the bright new future of polyamory. Really, you can’t make this shit up. By the way, you ever notice how advocates of the polyamorous lifestyle — you know, the guys who claim they’re OK with their wives and girlfriends fucking around — are usually fat and ugly middle-aged weirdoes or pantywaist pussboys like D’arby? I guess when human nature is too awful to bear, and your whole life is a monument to getting your teeth kicked in by reality, your autonomic reflex is to pretend you enjoy having a serpentine turd extruded into your mouth.
D’arby included a postscript to his soul searching:
My wife and I did come to an understanding of sorts last night. She belatedly apologized for snapping at me while I told her it was alright, that she no longer had to hide anything from me and that love and understanding had replaced shame and guilt as the zeitgeist of our time.
Now if only I could get her to call it something other than fish food . . .
This is quality entertainment, folks. Quality. Any further commentary would only distract from the coda to this man’s unbearable betaness of being.
***
July 2009 BOTM Candidate #2 was submitted by Puma. It’s about a man (and I use the term loosely) who writes to a newspaper columnist for advice (big mistake) about his whore wife’s cheating and her moment of candor where she confessed that she sexed up her lover in ways her husband can only dream she’d do to him. I’ll just go ahead and quote the whole letter. It’s comedy gold.
Dear Amy: Some years ago I caught my wife having an affair that had been going on for more than a year.
See: Maxim #59.
Desperate to save our marriage, she agreed to answer my questions and give me all the details I asked about.
One of the biggest improvements game can make to a man’s life is to help him avoid the worst beta pitfalls. A man needs to stop digging before he can start building. One of those pitfalls is the urge so many men have to find out what went wrong, to ASK ENDLESS QUESTIONS of their exes or emotionally distant wives, as if this inherently selfish emo-catharsis is somehow magically going to re-tingle their women’s cold, dry ginas.
It’s funny how every goddamn couples and marriage therapist out there recommends MORE COMMUNICATION from the man to fix failing relationships, when doing just the opposite would be more effective at rekindling the romance. There is no quicker way than MORE COMMUNICATION to confirm a woman’s feelings of disgust for a man, and to strip him of the last vestiges of his attractiveness. MORE COMMUNICATION is the war cry of the beta, the limpdicked Playdoh spear thrust wobbly at ancient enemy forces too vast and grotesque and mysterious for his tender manpuppy mind to fathom. A man would be better off keeping his trap shut and grunting one word syllables to his estranged wife. Let her fill in the blanks. I’d bet my method — One Word Game — would save more marriages than the advice handed down by the entire published oeuvre of the American Psychological Association.
We’ve gotten past all that now, and in fact our marriage is probably stronger than it was.
I bet it isn’t!
But one thing still bothers me: She admitted to performing certain intimate acts with him that she had previously refused to even talk about doing with me.
You can see it coming like a freight train. This “one thing” that bothers him is the essence of the matter. When a woman loves a man, she will do anything for him in bed. Anything, and everything. If she is not doing these things with you when you have evidence by her own words that she has done these things with other men, she doesn’t love you. She doesn’t love you like the way she loves the memories of the lovers she fucked while you slept alone in your marital bed. She may tell you she loves you, but those are just words. Female words. And female words are worth less than the air their sound waves travel through. Female actions, on the other hand, are worth all the knowledge in the universe.
She has never been able to explain why. She says, “Well I know I shouldn’t have done it, but I guess I got caught up in the moment.” And, “I wish I hadn’t! I shouldn’t have! I didn’t particularly enjoy it! I just acted without thinking!”
I understand from talking to others that this as a fairly common phenomenon in affairs.
You don’t say!
Can you enlighten me as to why?
An honest therapist or advice columnist would say: “You’re a beta. You don’t turn her on. You need to stop being a beta.” We’ll see below what this advice columnist (a woman) says to him.
Why would a woman do intimate things for a lover that she has refused to do with her husband?
Curious Husband
Have a seat, son. Let me explain to you the mystery of the gina tingle.
Here’s the advice he got:
Dear Husband: When two people are having an affair, they’re never sitting at the kitchen table with a pile of bills, trying to figure out how to make the payment on their minivan. They don’t have to take the dog to the vet for his shots.
This freedom leads people to do all sorts of things they wouldn’t normally do.
Let’s stipulate that affairs are tempting and fascinating, at least in part, because people engaged in them move outside the confines of what they see as the norm of their daily lives.
Your wife did these things for the same reason that men having affairs send flowers and steamy notes and fly off to Buenos Aires to meet their lovers — but don’t do these things for their wives.
You’ve talked about this, which is good.
The only talking that would have done any good is him telling her to slurp his knob or pack her bags.
You may influence your wife by moving out of your own comfort zone and romancing her the way a lover would.
I can’t believe this bitch gets paid to write this shit. As Puma wrote in his submission, “Begging for sloppy seconds from your own goddamned wife. Brilliant!” The entire counseling industry is smoke and mirrors designed to keep the betas running on their hamster wheels while their cheating wives are free to pursue “action on the side”.
This could prompt both of you to begin a welcome new phase of your marriage.
The phase where she waits a few months for things to blow over before boffing the street vendor?
To all the femdopes suffering from post traumatic reading incomprehension currently linking to my last few series of posts about George Sodini and menstruating indignantly all over the internet, you should get your logic straight before flapping your gums:
George Sodini was not a PUA. He went to an R. Don Steele seminar and sat in the audience with a bunch of other losers in love. Attending a pickup workshop and sitting in the audience listening to R. Don Steele for a few hours does not make one a pickup artist, nor does it make one a murderer. Becoming a pickup artist requires months of learning and real world practice to see consistently positive results. We have no evidence that Sodini did either.
It is not incitement to murder nor is it an expression of misogyny to observe that Sodini might not have gone on a killing spree had he learned effective game and diligently applied it to his dealings with women to boost his confidence, land a few dates, and relieve his 20 year dry spell. Currently, game is being used successfully by millions of non-murderous men the world over to improve their love lives. It may have even been used successfully on you.
Loose cannon psychopaths walk among us. Get used to it. See: Lorena Bobbitt.
It looks like I was right about George Sodini knowing about the seduction community (or a niche of it, at any rate). He was at an R. Don Steele seminar for “picking up women” called “The Right Attitude Workshop“. (Hat tip: reader Thras.) I put “picking up women” in quotes because R. Don Steele is widely held to be something of a buffoon in the pickup community.
R. Don is the “PUA” that older guys with little knowledge of real game turn to, lured by his cheesy marketing claiming success at teaching older men how to pick up younger women. Ross Jeffries, a pioneer of game based on “neurolinguistic programming”, used to have it out with Steele on usenet back in the day. The end result of their spastic internet bickering was to make both men look like tools (Jeffries should have maintained more state control) and to serve as evidence that Steele is a poseur out of step with mainstream seduction science. That Sodini went to a Steele workshop for help in picking up women shows that Sodini was unaware of Steele’s poor reputation and the legitimate (and more effective) alternatives in the seduction community that were available to him. Whatever Sodini learned at Steele’s workshop, it wasn’t anything that would have helped him get laid or given him the tools to gradually shed his crippling betatude.
I stand by my claim that learning real game, not the breathlessly marketed cheeseball “techniques” for picking up younger women that one would find at a Steele workshop, would have helped Sodini find a woman who would love him, and thus avert the killings that he felt compelled by his demons to carry out.
***
Commenter Zdeno wrote:
Sodini definitely counts as a data point against the hypothesis that “every man can save himself, if only he knows GAME.” He was obviously aware of the seduction community, but the tools available to him weren’t enough.
This blog’s readership is generally accepting of HBD, right? We admit that intelligence, not to mention almost every psychological trait worth measuring, are all primarily genetically determined. Physical traits and athletic ability follow the same pattern. Why do we assume that game is uniquely malleable? It’s like as soon as we start talking about success with women, everyone’s a Gladwell-reading Blank Slatist.
I thus submit the following to the list pretty lies: Game is to a large extent genetically determined. In a polygamous society, some men will be left out of the sexual marketplace regardless of how many negs they memorize.
Define “save”. If by “save” you mean that every man can land a supermodel with expert level game, then yes, I would agree that is a flawed hypothesis. But if you mean, more realistically and less misleadingly of what the seduction community actually claims, that the great majority of men can improve their lot with women by learning game, then the hypothesis is true: The great majority of men in need of saving *can* save themselves with game. A guy similar to Sodini, with a years-long pussy drought weighing down his psyche and his balls, can go from involuntary celibacy to getting laid with chicks one to two points higher than what he is used to banging just by learning game. And by “game”, I mean the whole panoply of male mate value increasing strategies and tactics; from negs to wardrobe upgrades to avoiding the worst beta impulses when interactions with women don’t proceed smoothly.
As most of my readers are probably aware, I believe that genetic predisposition plays a large role in shaping our personalities and fate in life, and in limiting what we can achieve. At least, it plays a much larger role than what the current prevailing mis-wisdom would have you believe. This is why I am not a dyed-in-the-wool libertarian. However, neither am I a determinist. If genetic determinism were the be-all and end-all of human existence, then game would not work at all. You’d either “have the knack”, or you wouldn’t. But years of success with game by thousands of men of varying genetic blessings has proven that game is teachable, it is learn-able, and it will improve the love lives of, and the quality of women available to, the majority of men who make a serious effort to understand game and the nature of women.
There will always be those wretched omega outliers, those psychologically stripped betas, and those congenitally desperate losers in life who will not benefit from game. These pitiable shadows of men in our midst serve to remind us of the cruel indifference of the natural world, and the ultimate pointlessness of everything we do. And, yes, what this means is that some men, because of their inherent natural gifts, will find success with game sooner, and easier, than other men.
But does it follow from such a truth that game is a Blank Slatist wolf in womanizer’s clothing? Should we instead tell the left side of the desireability bell curve to hang up their cleats and go home to rot until the end of their days? No. Tell them the truth: Game will help you find sex and love. It won’t help you as much as, or as effortlessly as, better looking men, or richer men, or smarter men, or more charming men, or more adaptable men, but it will help. And that is the choice before you: To learn the art of seduction and at least give yourself a fighting chance to score more often and with women better looking and more personable than what you are accustomed to scoring, or to give up all hope and masturbate your life away to the gloomy flicker of an LCD while your fat cow American wife thrashes you to within an inch of your pride.
Reader Stan B left a link to a video of George Sodini giving a tour of his nondescript home. According to Stan B, the home in the video matches the address in Sodini’s DNS registration.
At 1:17 you can see a book on his coffeetable with the title “Date Younger Women”. I can’t make out the author. So it looks as if Sodini was making an effort, however half-assedly, to find love.
Nothing in the video strikes me as especially weird. He sounds a little nerdy/Aspergery and humorless, but the video content is unremarkable. People make narrated videos of their homes all the time. Someone suggested he made the video for an online dating site, but if that’s the case then why did he zoom in on the dating guide book? If he thought that letting girls know he reads those kinds of books would mean they would find him more attractive then his understanding of women was weak. If I had to guess, I’d say he at least peripherally knew about game and internet PUA sites, but didn’t know nearly enough to wipe the stink of beta off him. He probably knew just enough to lift himself out of his 20 year celibate depression with the faint flicker of hope.
His home is the typical beta castle — spartan, functional, ugly furniture, prominently featured computer and TV, neatly stacked boxes in the basement, well-kept. His home would not have helped him bang girls, but it wouldn’t have chased them away either. Many men need help decorating their homes with more stylish and daring set pieces or unusual artifacts, like a collection of historical walking canes used by world leaders, or a hookah on the coffeetable.
A sexually frustrated beta has sublimated his pain into a murderous shooting spree aimed at his ex-girlfriend. He left an online diary behind offering a glimpse of his blackened soul:
Sodini’s Aug. 3 online diary entry, which included a date of death, was full of disturbing musings about religion and his plans for the attack. He noted that he hadn’t had a drink since 2:30 on Friday as part of his preparation.
“Total effort needed. Tomorrow is the big day. Unfortunately I talked to my neighbor today, who is very positive and upbeat. I need to remain focused and absorbed COMPLETELY,” the diary read. “Last time I tried this, in January, I chickened out.”
The diary also indicated that Sodini hadn’t had sex since 1990 and that his so-called “practice papers” — details about the planning of the attack — are welcome to be published afterward because “maybe all this will shed insight on why some people just cannot make things happen in their life, which can potentially benefit others”.
When men kill women, the underlying reason is almost always an unfulfilled psychosexual need. This goes for spree shooters, rapists, and serial killers. I’m not surprised Sodini hadn’t had sex in nearly 20 years. As I’ve written before, to some men on the losing side of the desireability bell curve celibacy is walking death and anything is justified in avoiding that miserable fate.
Click on the first link to see a picture of Sodini. He’s not a bad-looking guy and he’s in shape. There is nothing outwardly repulsive about him that would cripple his chances with women. But as we know the physical appearance of a man reveals little about the state of his spirit. A decent looking guy can harbor the sunken ship of a broken beta heart, and clearly Sodini was a beta, if not an omega, as his 20 year dry spell attests.
If Sodini had learned game he would have been able to find another woman and gotten laid after his ex dumped him. He wouldn’t have spent the next 20 years steeped in bile and weighed down by his Sisyphian blue balls, dreaming of vengeance. Game could have saved the lives of the women Sodini killed.
I agree with the gist of what commenter Whiskey has written — as the West reverts back to the ancestral sexual market that is currently in operation in sub-Saharan Africa, we are going to see a growing eunuchracy of involuntarily celibate betas and the marginalized men in their ranks decide that exiting in a blaze of hot lead beats living in loveless obscurity. And ex-girlfriends are target #1.
