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Archive for 2009

Lie to me, I promise I’ll believe…

I had a friend who was a stockbroker. He was good at his craft. When anyone asked him his secret to success, he always said “How do I kill in this business? Practice. In college, I had to sell myself to the girls!”

There are very few jobs or hobbies that, if described with 100% candor, would intrigue a girl to pussy exploding abandon. Espionage is one. President of the United States is another. You can’t go wrong with jewel thief either. But for most aspiring ladykillers, the word of the day is embellish.

Here’s how this works. Let’s say you’re a CAD monkey architect and your hobbies are biking to Whole Foods for smelly French cheese, building computers, and masturbating. Your only travel experience is a vacation to Turks and Caicos. (You’re in good company. This describes 98% of men.) Now most girls, if they’re interested, want to know what you do. They have a dedicated neural network pulsating in the pastel-colored folds of their girly brains that impels them to suss out how a man makes his living and how he goes about living. But, being women, they also have a contradictory twin neural matrix that would rather you not tell them the whole, eye-glazing truth. Their need to scrutinize is held in check by their need to fantasize. So this is what you tell her:

“Oh, I’m a creator. I guess you could say I bring together art and science in the design of living space. You heard of feng shui? I’m all about it. That’s the life of a cutting edge architect. My hobbies? I mountain bike competitively. There’s nothing like the rush of careening down a muddy, rocky trail in the scenic wilderness of a rugged foreign land, the giant fronds of tropical plants slapping you in the face along the way. It’s breathtaking! I’m also something of an electronics whiz and once tried to hack into a Chinese government website back when I was a rebellious kid. Some people say I’m a very passionate guy, so much so that I can hardly contain my passion. And to tell you the truth, it gets me in trouble more often than not.”

See? Not too truthful, not too deceitful. Like Baby Bear’s porridge, juuuuuust right.

Another example:

Real You: Intern at psychiatric hospital, avid music downloader, 70s porn lover.

Embellished You: Investigator of human social dynamics under stress, music critic and indie scene connoisseur (or DJ in a pinch), erotic art collector.

Women want the varnished truth. Every man with an ounce of common sense about women and a healthy streak of amoralism will polish his sales pitch. Even Brad Pitt glosses over The Mexican. It’s a testament to how ignorant the majority of men are about women’s motivations that so many of them won’t or can’t embellish their lives in service to their loins. They think in their honesty they are being virtuous, but they are only being boring, lazy and bland.

Some men will wonder how long the pretty lies can remain undiscovered. What if you want an LTR with a girl? She’ll find out eventually, right? Wrong. First, most girls don’t really want the 411 on the dirty little details of your tiresome lifestory or career, unless they suspect you of cheating. They *like* the ruse. Second, as long as they aren’t working in the same office with you they will never really know what you do. And you know what? They don’t want to.

Maxim #39: Never tell a girl how much you make, even if you’re loaded. In case of marriage, keep separate accounts.

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Culled from a lifetime of pussy hounding (and from what I can remember):

“Why would you even bother?”

“Seriously?”

[Looks at me with a blank stare, saying nothing.]

“Tch!” [Rolls eyes and turns her back.]

“Ok, I’m gonna stop you right there. See, I just saved us both time.”

“Oh my god, not again.”

“It would be better if you talked to her over there instead.”

[Grabs nearest guy and makes a big show of enthusiastically chatting him up.]

“You are SO not my type.”

“I’ve got five boyfriends. All filled up here!” (I thought that one was kind of funny and gave her props.)

“No thanks!” (This was funny considering all I had said was “Hi”.)

“This… right here… isn’t going to work.”

And the winning premeditated soulmurder rejection of all time (Happened in freshman year of high school, when LJBF was just a series of letters to me. She was a smoking hot senior. I was never one to shy away from a challenge.):

“You like me like that? Aw, that’s cute!”

It was this last rejection which ushered forth the demon unto the world.

If you aren’t prepared to brush off the bitchiest rejections like so much gossamer femsnark, you aren’t ready to play this game.

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Thanks to the eagle eye of reader W Baker, a second herb has been discovered in the photo of the herb with satchel.

verdant fields of herbs

Unbelievable. Two herbs frolicking in the wild! What fortune. I didn’t even see the second herb when I snapped this shot. It’s like finding out your antique ceramic cat is hiding secret code from the Spanish-American War engraved on its underside.

As you can tell, the second herb is the subspecies “de-balled family man” herb. He is a prime specimen of his taxonomy. Just look at his firm two-hand grip of the stroller handle, the head held high proud of his emasculation, the papoose slung insouciantly across his chest like a beacon to all other herbs that, yes, here be safe haven for our kind. Stroller, baby, frontal papoose… is that a pink blankie over his elbow?… my god, it’s the perfect storm of herbliness. A magnificent beast! What could possibly make this better except for the not insignificant odds that, since this shot was taken in a yuppie habitat, our herb may be the rare breed known as the “two daddies” herb. This find is almost as good as the Zapruder footage of the paunchy papoosed herb holding mall shopping bags while his annoying wife shouted instructions at him.

I should send this pic to National Geographic.

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Take a look at this photo.

making sweet herbly love

Is the person on the right a man or a woman? Neither. It’s a herb. Particularly, a subspecies of herb known as the hipster herb.

All the telltale indicators are here in one self-contained lump of flesh. The demasculinizing flip flops. The ungainly, loping walk that suggests the presence of a load in the pants. The baby soft skin from years of avoiding manual labor, sun and harsh soaps like Ivory. The slumped shoulders of meekness from carrying the ultimate calling card of the herb — the man satchel. I had to walk in front of them to verify the herb was male.

This herb is of the hipster variety. Notice the mop top hair, retro shirt sleeves, strangely androgynous countenance, and cute girl in his company. We can’t be sure the herb is banging this girl. Most likely, she’s a shopping and irony-laden cultural critic companion into whom the herb secretly yearns to dribble his tepid seed.

Why does the herb inspire my contempt? I’ve thought about this and I have an answer. The herb is nothing less than a physical emblem of the decline of America and a rejection of everything that made it great. As our SWPL women are getting more masculine and bitchier, our SWPL men are becoming human bean bags of suppleness. Sit on them and they’ll conform to whatever shape your ass is, because the herb most of all is a man who loathes the fiercer spirits of manhood. That’s why you’ll see them wearing frontal papooses and walking cats on leashes.

The hipster herb, the suburban family man herb, the art fag herb, the gender role smashing herb, the “I went to a formerly all-woman liberal arts college and I’m proud of it” herb — all 21st century versions of the new American Gollum. Pitiable creatures.

Oddly enough, a nontrivial number of herbs manage to score cute girlfriends. Scientists are baffled. Maybe they have an agreement — she gets to fuck around and he gets to continue treating her like a princess.

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Case #1

I’m on a date with a girl from a small, poor Eastern European country. She used to live there as a little girl when it was still behind the Iron Curtain. After the Soviet Death Machine fell to pieces in 1989, she moved to the US and has been here ever since. I broke one of my cardinal rules and allowed her to get political on me.

ME: So you must have been pretty happy when the Soviet Union fell.

HER: Well, I wouldn’t say I was *happy*. More like, there were pros and cons. Universal health care was nice to have.

ME: [thinking to myself Oh christ, a commie sympathizer] Universal health care means a poor quality health system and long lines.

HER: Hey, you’re not one of those libertarians, are you?

Precious. Girls have balls these days to just blurt out whatever obnoxious thing enters their heads. They fear absolutely zero retaliation or consequence for their actions from men they date. Are men this desperate that we have bred an entire generation of ill-mannered bitches? I wondered what would have happened if we were talking about our careers and I had said something like “Hey, you’re not one of those lame nonprofit do-gooders, are you?” She would have huffed and cut the date short, going home to call all her friends to tell them what a jerk I was.

I decided the hell with it, and switched to Nuke the Pussy from Orbit game.

ME: Whatever I am, it’s probably 180 degrees the opposite of what you are.

HER: Well, who did you vote for?

ME: I didn’t vote.

HER: Whaat?! [looking shocked as if I had admitted to serial necrophilia] How could you not vote?

ME: Easy. I stayed home. Are you a Commie? What would you call yourself politically?

HER: I’m not Communist, but I would say I understand a lot of what they believe in. I’m more of a socialist. I like the free education and healthcare.

ME: You do realize that it’s not free? Everyone pays for it in burdensome tax rates.

HER: Well, Ok, it’s not technically free. But I think we should care for the people. It’s our responsibility to make sure no one suffers without health care.

ME: So why don’t you just pay for it with your own money instead of forcing people like me to subsidize your morality? [I was really beginning to enjoy myself. I noticed her body had stiffened]

HER: [getting torqued] Yes, I believe we all should contribute. It’s what’s best for society. You wouldn’t just let people die without help!

ME: It’s immoral to take my money away from me when I don’t want to give it. That makes you a dictator. Are you a totalitarian dictator?

HER: It’s not being a dictator to want to stop suffering. It’s basic decency.

ME: [sending a multi-warhead payload] I think it’s bad long term policy to prop up the poor and weak. The herd must be culled. Otherwise, they reproduce on my dime and drag everyone else down.

HER: People wouldn’t just die like that. They’d live in suffering, so you have to help them while they’re alive.

ME: [total war] Oh, they’d die. If all aid were stopped, the babies of poor and useless people would die before reaching their first birthdays.

This date ended without the close, but I have to report that despite my Nuke the Pussy game, there was a spark of electricity in her eyes. I bet not a single herb or SWPL had ever spoken to her like that before.

Case #2

I approached four sets. The first two sets I went in with casual game. This is where I make some innocuous but humorous comment about something situational, and let the chit chat move the interaction along into more fertile fields. For example:

ME: [after seeing a girl pick a piece of lint out of her girlfriend’s hair] You have excellent grooming skills. Guys would never do that for each other. We’d leave it in there and laugh at our friend all night.

HER: [smiling] Thanks, she would do the same for me.

Our conversation went back and forth like this for a minute, then died out. Friendly asexual vibe: 100%. Sexual tension: 0%. This was the kind of game that would have been more than adequate for my father’s generation, but today it means nothing. I did another set the same way with the same results. Then I switched gears to Asshole Game for the next set.

ME: [noticing her mode of dress and curling my mouth downward in reproval] I can’t believe you’re in here.

HER: What? What’s that supposed to mean?

ME: You should really be in Georgetown. This bar is a little too edgy for your type. Not that that’s a bad thing, but you know, I’m trying to save you any uncomfortable feelings being outside your element.

HER: That’s an asshole thing to say.

ME: Yup, I guess.

HER: And what exactly is my type?

ME: Prim and proper. Boring but dependable.

The conversation continued in this way for a while. She reacted with obviously faux indignation. But the results were much improved. Number close. Friendly asexual vibe: 0%. Sexual tension: 100%.

There is change in the air. The culture is shifting right under our feet. What I have noticed lately with more frequency is that I have to act like a dick to get anywhere with a girl, even the good girls. This isn’t necessarily a bad thing, as my dick game is pretty good and I enjoy doing it. But it seems that only dick game can break through a girl’s perimeter defense to the pulpy, juicy center of animal desire.

It wasn’t always this way. Sure, there were sluts who were so inured to getting played by cads and assholes that they could only respond to asshole game. These girls used to be around 20% of the population back when I was in high school. Today, that number has risen. It’s closer to 60%, and in bars and clubs in the city it may as well be 100%. The sweetest girls who grew up in happy families with mom and dad still together are turning into little playettes with adamantium bitch shields. This change has picked up the pace in just the last year. It’s finally happening. The game is causing girls to adjust, and screen for the biggest most congruent assholes, in spite of their intentions to the contrary. It’s evolution, baby.

I cannot respect a girl who dances like a puppet to asshole game. She will get the worst of me.

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Here are the reader submitted nominees for the March 2009 Beta of the Month face-off.

March 2009 BOTM Candidate #1 was submitted by commenter Paul L. It’s a case study of a wretchedly nauseating beta marrying the ballcutting cybersuccubus who rides the rancid menstrual flow at the feministing coven.

I mean, just take a look at this guy and you already know what’s coming.

truebeta

This is really going to be painful for me to write. The things I do for you people. Here is the full measure of his betatude as told in the words of his fiance.

As many of you already know, I’m getting hitched. Deciding to get married brought up a lot of issues for me – politically and personally. Folks had a bunch of questions in comments, so I thought I would use these as a jumping off point to talk about issues of feminism, marriage, and – the current bane of my existence – weddings.

Hara says, “I hope that if you are considering changing your name it is one you both create for the two of you to change to (like a combo, but shorter) otherwise, I suggest not making your name change to his last name.”

As marriage is a well known raw deal for men, any man who acquiesces to his wife keeping her maiden name is only garnishing his testicles he’s already placed on a plate for her, like John the Beta’s head. At the very least, a man should demand his wife take his name in honor of the tremendous sacrifice he’s making by chaining himself to marriage and all the state-sponsored anti-male tyranny that entails.

I’m keeping my last name. I think hyphenation is nice – and that’s probably the route we’ll go with kids – but I like my last name. A bunch. I’ve even considered adding in my mother’s last name as well, as a little “fuck you” to the patriarchy, but I think Jessica Michelucci Valenti is too much of a mouthful, even for one with as big a mouth as me.

What this confused broad doesn’t seem to grasp is that her maiden name is her father’s surname. So instead of passing on her husband’s surname, she passes on her father’s surname. The male lineage continues, just not her husband’s. Hyphenation is a direct “fuck you” to a man’s masculinity, as it not only denies the smallest acknowledgement of his dignity but rubs his face in his dishonor by elevating his father-in-law’s manhood over his own.

Any man worth his stones reading this, take my advice. If your fiance tells you she’s keeping her last name in marriage, tell her “No, you’re taking mine. End of discussion.” If she refuses your demand, dump her forthwith. I’ve just saved you a miserable fucking marriage to a shrike and a painful divorce settlement after you’ve caught her boffing the slam poetry dude whose show you took her to in celebration of women’s herstory month.

On the issue of same sex marriage, frye886 says, “It seems to me a more powerful action by many couples would be to refuse to get married and publicly state the reasons why not.”

If you’re basing your decision to get married on the legal status of gay marriage, you’re asking to be flayed alive by soul reapers such as myself.

Andrew and I discussed not getting married until everyone could, and we think that’s an understandable choice.

“Andrew and I discussed” means “Andrew listened while I told him what we were doing”.

Instead, we’re trying use our impending marriage as a pro-active way to talk about same sex marriage among our friends and family, and being mindful of the inequity in every step our process. (For example, in our engagement announcement we asked anyone considering getting us a gift to instead donate to an organization fighting for same sex marriage rights; we’re planning on saying something about it as part of our ceremony; and we’ve taken the advice of several commenters and will have cards indicating we’ve made a donation to said orgs instead of favors.)

With all this insufferable moral preening, you’d think gays were being lined up against the wall and shot. How much you wanna bet this Jessica nutcase is a closet lesbo?

Several of you also got into it about dresses – whether the traditional white dress actually did signify “purity,” etc. I’m kind of ambivalent about it, but I ended up getting a not-quite white dress (don’t want to give too much away in case the boy is reading!) that I bought from a place where all the money goes to charity.

“Don’t want to give too much away in case the boy is reading!” It’s funny how even the most strident feminists can’t help but swoon like little princesses for the traditional trappings of the wedding ceremony. Yeah, white is definitely not her color. She’s likely to be as pure as a refurbished vibrator. I wonder what color she got? Rainbow?

So that’s where I’m at so far. I’m sure things will continue to come up and that I’ll continue to try and find ways to subvert them or add a little dash of feminism.

Any guy who agrees to marry this wo-man is asking for a world of emasculation. Some guys will do anything for the pussy, so their’s is an act with at least some reasoning behind it. But our intrepid beta is plank-walking to his figurative castration with his eyes wide open. He *celebrates* it. Those limpid beta eyes say it all. As does his “progressive” resume. His life hereafter will be full of dashes of feminism and subversion of his manliness. Look at this chick’s man-jaw:

itsamanbaby1

I think we’ve identified the boss monster. She is not LTR material, let alone marriage material. She is same night lay material and rocket launcher material.

“Quite an experience to live in fear, isn’t it? That’s what it is to be a slave.”

In the meantime, does anyone have any feminist wedding planning tips they’d like to share?

For him: punch your eardrums out.
For her: try not to let the ringing of my words distract you as you’re walking down the aisle.

ps: She will cheat on him within five years of exchange of wedding vows. And he will condone it and blame himself.

***

March 2009 BOTM Candidate #2 was submitted by commenter stacy. It’s the heartwarming Lifetime channel story of a generous man who lets his ex-wife and her new boy toy husband move into his house.

Struggling to make ends meet, trying to dig themselves out of debt, Nicole Thompson-Arce and her husband have moved in with her ex-husband.

Together, the unlikely threesome of Omaha, Nebraska, is raising two young daughters from the first marriage.

When I started the BOTY project, I was skeptical that there were enough betas of such vomitously unique circumstances to fill a year’s worth of submissions. My skepticism was unfounded. Just when you think you’ve heard it all, some guy steps up to the plate and knocks his testicles out of the park.

When she and Craig Thompson, 42, were going through a divorce in 2005, this was not a deal either of them could have imagined striking. It was a messy divorce, the kind involving a custody dispute. But once they ironed out that battle, agreeing to joint custody, Thompson-Arce said they were able to move on and forward.

Moving on and forward means never seeing the bitch again, not helping her and her new husband move into your home and fuck under your roof. I think half the reason so many women initiate divorce and revel in sticking it to their ex-husbands good and hard is because these beta chumps LET THEM DO IT and come crawling back BEGGING FOR MORE.

By the time she married Mathew Arce last July, she said she and her ex were friends. In fact, they were so close that his mother — meaning Thompson-Arce’s ex-mother-in-law — was in (not just at) the second wedding ceremony.

Is a man a loser when he cannot even comprehend his own dishonor?

“I knew they were having money problems, so I just asked them to move in,” he said. “I figured I’d get to see my girls, my daughters, more often. And Nicole said yes right away.”

Some men want their kids in their lives, severely cramping their nightlife and game and sucking all the fun out of life. I can’t understand why, but there it is. The child custody laws are so inimical to the fathers’ interests that arrangements like the one in this hellish story seem reasonable to fathers who have no other recourse.

Thompson [the ex-husband] and Arce [the new husband], who are 20 years apart — “I had to get the whole spectrum going there,” Thompson-Arce [the ex-wife] joked — have become the best of friends, and share a similar sense of humor. They have tackled home improvement projects, run around together on days they both have off and often hang out at the kitchen table building plastic models.

Do they swap guy tips on how to flick the bean hiding in the folds of her fat droopy vulva? The ex-wife is so fat and ugly maybe this guy just doesn’t give a shit that she’s getting boned two doors down the hallway in his own home. Not that this mitigates the disrespect issue, but it goes a way to explaining his seeming indifference. You be the judge:

tharsherolls

The transition has been smooth and great for the kids, Thompson-Arce said. And for their benefit, irrespective of finances, she thinks it’s a living situation they’ll stick with for at least five to 10 years.

10 years. Notice she’s calling the shots here.

It has, however, taken a little time for the little ones to get the story straight.

Seven-year-old Victoria went back to school after winter break — and after the whole team had blended under one roof — and started telling people this: ” ‘My mommy has two husbands,'” Thompson-Arce remembered. “I was like, ‘No, honey, don’t tell them that!'”

This is all sorts of fucked up. Hey, on the upside, once the two daughters reach bangability age they’ll be so full of neuroses and daddy issues that a teen guy looking to score could just fall into their pussies.

“When they do have a romantic evening, I don’t hear them, so we’re not going there,” Thompson quipped. “There’s a bathroom between our two bedrooms.”

Beta, shoot thyself.
Women love these kinds of stories because they get to live vicariously through the fantasy of banging the guy they really desire while the good provider chump practically neuters himself with his amiable acquiescence.

I thought there was a possibility that the beta ex-husband was redeeming himself by dating around. Tomcatting with his newfound freedom would make him slightly less beta. But no…

The ex-husband hasn’t dated since the divorce. He said it’s because he’s been focused on work and taking care of the kids. Thompson-Arce, however, said that she and her husband are forever trying to get Thompson on the dating scene and want him to meet someone special.

Special, and understanding, she would most definitely need to be.

“He’d have to find a very open-minded woman because we don’t plan on going anywhere anytime soon,” Thompson-Arce said.

He’s a loveless loser.

It’s one thing to marry a warpig and get shafted by her in divorce court.
It’s another thing to invite her and her new husband into your home so they can screw right under your nose.
It’s still another thing to let your kids witness your total and utter humilation and emasculation.
But it’s a whole new level of beta to sit passively by as your seacow ex-wife lays down the rules of engagement and tells you how it’s gonna be.

I hate both of these wrecks equally. MMmmm… delicious, life nourishing hate.

The voting:

Addendum

I thought about adding this story to the March 2009 BOTM voting, but a guy who lets his GF fuck him up the ass with a giant purple saguaro so she can fulfill a twisted fantasy is more of a freak than a beta. He at least is presumably fucking her in the usual way most of the time, so his journey to the beta side is not yet complete.

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Just a reminder: As with previous mailbags, if you don’t want your question displayed for public scrutiny, say so in your email to me.

Email #1

Just discovered your site and I find it amazing that you can put in words all the nagging little truths that I seem to see all the time.
However, often I find there can be some shades of gray in life, which serves to blur the truth.
So, I was wondering if you could categorize a couple of my friends and me. We all have completely different experiences with girls, none of them pure alpha or pure beta, so it is hard to determine. We all do some thing alpha and some things beta. Which one of us would benefit from game?
Sorry for such a long post.

I’ll start with me. I think I’m probably a beta, perhaps a latent alpha.
My beta tendencies have to do with picking up girls. I’m very good looking, so I’ll often have girls coming on to me in bars, even good looking girls. However, I miss all the cues unless they come on very strong. At the end of the night, when I’m going home alone, I’ll realize which girls were coming on to me and slap myself in frustration. When I meet the girls again, which happens often because I live in the suburbs, and they start coming on to me again, I miss the cues a second time. If I do pick up the cues, I tend to come on way to strong and blow it by scaring the girl away with desperation.
Another problem is that I can’t seem to get the fatties and hideous ones away from me. They tend to follow me around like puppy dogs and ruin it for me when I try try to talk to other people, even guys. Then at the end of the night, they ask if they can give their number and I always say yes and put it into my phone incorrectly so that I have an excuse for when I meet them again. Sometimes I even makeout with them or use them for relief during a drought.
My alpha tendencies come forward when I’m in a relationship. The girls I’ve dated have all been 6-8s, although there have only been two 8s. I don’t call for days at a time. I forget important events and then tell them to just get over it. I ignore their shit testing completely. I dominate them physically, though not violently. I also do random nice shit like thoughtful gifts, massages, meeting with an artist they like, etc. The girls always love me, they become obsessed with me. When I break up with them (no girl has ever broken up with me) they tend to call and follow me for at least a year. The most egregious example is a girl I broke up with in high school, because she was black (thats the actual reason I gave her), right before prom, that still follows me around and tries to arrange to meet me, 6 years later. This is partly because I’m pretty and partly because they “love” me.
Am I an alpha because I weather shit testing so well or am I a beta because I can’t pick up girls?

I have a buddy that is the opposite of me. He seems like an alpha while we’re out. He is just an average looking guy, yet he can frequently pick girls up, almost every night. He often has same night sex. They are almost always hot girls. However, he then gets into a relationship and becomes obsessed with the girl. He will call dozens of times a week, get her expensive gifts weekly, become a total bitch. The girls always either break up with him or cheat on him. When they cheat on him, he always forgives them and they keep on cheating until they eventually just start dating another guy and drop him. Once the relationship is over, he’ll go out and start banging hot girls again. Is he an alpha for banging girls frequently or a beta for being such a bitch in relationships?

My other buddy is an ugly guy. He used to be fit, he was a college baseball pitcher in his Freshmen, but he has gone to seed and is now fat. While he is still strong and looks it, he lacks any stamina and, more importantly, muscle definition. He goes out and picks up a chick every couple of weeks but they’re generally 3s or 4s. Occasionally he bags a low 5 and brags about how hot she was. He keeps a stable of 3s and 4s that he bring out for beta dates like bowling and movies with groups of friends, but he bangs them at the end of the night because they’re ugly and love it. Is he a beta for getting only ugly girls, or is he an alpha for getting laid frequently and having a stable despite being an ugly, fat guy?

Again, sorry for the long post. Thanks for reading it.

-DOS

I have to say, DOS, I see a lot of my old self in your description. Some men are born with natural ability to pick up on a woman’s attraction cues, but most men have to learn the hard way, either by missing out on great opportunities or by presuming interest where there is none. The good news is that with enough practice, you can hone your awareness of subtle female cues to the point where it becomes intuitive.

When you are a good looking guy, women will make assumptions about the rest of your quality as a man, which can actually work against you as the alpha bar will be raised. Average looking men with good game will often do much better with women than good looking men with average game, and this is because the women don’t expect as much from the average looking guys. Thus, when they are sent into a labia moistening rush by the average looking guy’s tight game, the pleasant surprise will often lead to stronger attraction than what these women would have felt  in bland conversation with a good looking guy. So, as a good looking guy, know this: You will get more auditions with women at the cost of their leniency should they discover you have no game. Women can be harsh judges of men who don’t meet their expectations, and the good looking man who blows his advantage by revealing needy, beta game underneath the shiny surface is the biggest disappointment of all.

As for the fatties and fuglies, my advice to you is to sack up and refuse their numbers. It’s very beta to mince around number closing girls you’re not interested in because you can’t bring yourself to say the words “I’m not interested.” Trust me, they’ll be hurt but they’ll respect your manliness.

Your relationship game is solid, but only because you are dating girls who don’t really move the world for you. It’s easy to play the aloof and indifferent supreme alpha when you actually feel aloof and indifferent with the girls you are dating. Try dating a girl who makes your heart race and watch how quickly your aloofness evaporates by month six. A true test of a man’s game is how he responds when his lust and love are aflame.

Ranking: You are a greater beta.

Now your first buddy has the opposite problem from you. His game is tight, he gets girls he really wants, and he dates girls that meet his standards, but his game wilts when he lets his emotions pull him under the beta riptide. This is common to men who have emotional magnetism and a flair for drama. Men of the Mediterranean are lovers in this mold. I would guess your buddy is a romantic at heart, and probably gets off on the mess he leaves in his wake. Is it more beta to swoop easy prey and treat them like dirt in relationships or to swoop worthy prizes and lose them to the capricious whims of your lovesick heart? The question answers itself.

Ranking: Your first buddy is a nascent alpha.

Your second buddy at least gets laid. There are a lot of ugly, unfit guys who can’t manage that, even among the dregs of womanhood. So he’s elevated himself above omega status by the sheer act of penetration of subpar girls. But he is in no way an alpha. A lot of old school, traditionally masculine men with beer bellies and the TV constantly tuned to ESPN, who can fight their way out of roadside bars, are the sorts of no-game-having chumps who like to claim alpha status because they have sex regularly with their fat and ugly “old ladies”. “Oh yeeeah, I’m getting me some tonight!” you will often hear them say. Don’t be impressed. Theirs is a pyrrhic victory.

Ranking: Your second buddy is a lesser beta.

Email #2

I have been following your blog on and off for the past six months. I must admit that I am highly impressed not only by your frank opinions about today’s rapidly evolving mating landscape but also by the searing, incisive wit with which you present them. As much as I admire your blog, you will not find me amongst the umpteen commentators simply because I don’t have the time to do justice to my views and yours by commenting.

So here’s the deal. I’m from another continent and have moved to the US around three months back to study at a reasonably prestigious business school in upstate New York. I did not take the trouble to personally visit the school before I joined, or else I would have immediately recognized the glaring lack of ‘city life’ in this town (I’m from a large city). That, combined with the rigors of a male dominated career (19% of my class is female) has left my poon dreams hopelessly unfulfilled. The three months I have spent here have yielded me less girl face-time than even a few hours worth in my conservatively orthodox country. Time is scarce and girls are few.

Now here’s the real deal. I’m a 25 year old virgin. I’ve been in a serious several-year-long relationship before and still come out a virgin. I’ve had a career, a well paying job, enough money for my age (in my country) and still stayed a virgin. I’m reasonably good looking (6’3”, 180 lbs, used to run 2.5 miles  a day and bench 250 lbs – 6 days a week), smart, witty, funny (or so I’m told) and still managed to stay a virgin. Sometimes I feel that it must be a world first that I’m pulling off here.

I’m writing to you because a random google search led me to your ‘what a girl’s job tells you’ which engrossed me for weeks – till I had read through The Game, most of your posts, most of Roosh’s posts and even some of VK. And then some of Style’s and Mystery’s videos. It helped me heal after a traumatic breakup and appreciate the world again. To say that this has changed my life would be an understatement.

Needless to say, I have been heartbroken by my life in America. I am an immigrant with visa restrictions on a tight budget and a murderous schedule. Spare money and time are both hard to come by. After a lot of careful planning and budgeting, I have manage to work out a schedule which allows me to hit the clubs (in a 2nd tier city) at least once every couple of weeks, of which tonight was the first night. A brief description:

Started off at 2300 at a random club filled with early 20s college kids. Couldn’t muster the courage for any approaches, acted like a wallflower till I was buzzed enough to make it to the middle of the dance floor. Decided to move to another place since I felt I had lost the first-mover advantage here. Next club I ended up at was full of random dudes hitting on a shrinking pool of eligible females. Tried dancing with whichever spare girl I could find. A lot of them turned away, one said hi and then started fidgeting with the club photographer’s camera before sticking her tongue down another guy’s throat. Several others turned their backs. I’m stumped by this behavior. I can understand 8s and 9s doing this, but this is the response from every fucking girl. Is this some sort of middle-America racism? Because all these chicks are white, probably several generations born and raised in the same county. I was unsuccessful the last time I tried too. I’ve heard the lamest of!
responses – from “my boyfriend’s waiting outside” to “we’re lesbians” and “will you buy us a drink?”. But tonight I’ve finally decided to seek help because its driving me insane.

(This will sound beta, but then isn’t asking for any help beta after all?) Please look over any structural/grammatical incoherence since this is coming after a mindfucked night and ~10 drinks.

PS: I’m patriotic too but some of your right/libertarian views on immigration and world politics are unagreeable.

This email was sent to me by someone whose name was written in what looked like the Cyrillic alphabet. First, I will say that if you are going through college poon-free you are doing yourself a grave disservice. At no other stage in life will there be as much easy opportunity for fine ass as during the time you are in college. Yes, even in those majors where the ratios are skewed heavily in favor of men. After all, the campus is a big place that swarms with women from other majors.

On the other hand, since you are coming to America from an Eastern European country I understand your disappointment with the local goods. Every American man I’ve spoken to who has spent some time in East Europe has raved about the quality, quantity, femininity and approachability of the Slavic siren. You are in for a rude awakening here, my friend. Our women are the bitchiest conceited cunts in the world, save perhaps British broads. I suggest bringing whatever thug-lite Russian game you have left in your veins to bear on the American co-eds of your worst nightmares.

On to your sordid tale of woe. Sir, I simply can’t believe you made it through a several year relationship without popping your cherry. I’m certain this violates some quantum law of physics, and your extraordinary act of betatude has doomed the cosmos to a massive rip in space/time. Most likely, you were never in a “serious several-year-long relationship” like you think you were. Most likely, your “girlfriend” was never in love with you, never felt like your girlfriend, and probably got some cock on the side, regardless of the perverse arrangement you had with her. I know this sounds harsh, but the first step on the journey to alpha enlightenment requires facing the ugliness of reality head on.

I will also say this: I know it is much MUCH harder for a male immigrant like yourself to make it in this country than it is for a female immigrant. It is simply a law of biomechanics that a young, reasonably attractive immigrant girl will find herself besieged with assistance from American men and from our institutions, and her route to employment, friendship, love, and citizenship much smoother than yours. It is unfair but no one said life was fair.

Point one: Use your accent to your advantage. I used to know a couple Russian guys who were *ashamed* of their accents and this shame prevented them from approaching American women for fear of not being understood or thought uneducated. I tried to tell them that many types of accents are very sexy to American women and they should view their own as a leg up in the field. So to you I say lay that accent on thick, and speak slowly, like a Communist party apparatchik with multiple assassinations on his resume. Feed into people’s positive stereotypes and think of yourself in the way that others think of you if it helps your self-image. You are now a Russian spy with Polonium-210 issues. (If you are not Russian, then change it up to reflect a positive stereotype from wherever you happen to be. For example: African prince, Chinese martial artist, scion of Greek shipping magnate, Italian Lothario, Canadian Canadian… you get the picture.)

Point two: Banish thoughts of your virginity from your head. Indeed, remove the word itself from your vocabulary. Don’t say it, don’t write it, don’t think it. Dwelling on your virginity will only cripple your game in the field. Focus only on your moments with girls that left you with good feelings, like the time that one girl smiled when you cracked a joke.

Point three: Drop the dancefloor game and work on your conversational game. Approach girls waiting at bars for drinks and open them with an observation about one of the dancers or a cocky line about her wanting to meet you because she bumped into your arm. Dancefloor game should be viewed as a supplement to regular game.

Point four: If 5s and 6s are turning their backs on you immediately, then you are giving off a horrible whiff of betaness. You say you are reasonably good looking, so hideous ugliness is not the cause. It’s probably your body language, your fashion sense, and/or the first words out of your mouth. If you are a bad dancer, that could kill your chances right quick on the dance floor. Most bad dancers don’t realize how bad they look until someone tells them or they catch themselves in a wall length mirror.

Point five: Stop drinking so much. Copious amounts of liquor will ruin your game. A couple drinks is fine to loosen up.

In conclusion, all I can tell you, since your problem isn’t one specific issue, is to study game and start applying its teachings in the field one lesson at a time until you stop getting insta-blowouts. There is light at the end of the tunnel, I promise.

PS: I’m patriotic too but some of your right/libertarian views on immigration and world politics are unagreeable.

I welcome you to our magnificent (for now) country, but know this: The Eden which brought you here can rot and disappear under the shadow of its own moral purity. In fact, it is happening right before your eyes. The rains become the flood, the parasites become the host. Closing the door behind you isn’t hypocrisy; it’s an act of ego-transcending clarity.

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