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Archive for March, 2010

The Beta Switch Technique

A very effective game technique that works on all kinds of girls, from lawyers to strippers, is the beta switch. This involves pretending to act like a romantic, sappy beta, then when she’s on the verge of confusion, disappointment and disgust, switching quickly back into alpha mode. The beta switch technique is best when used on girls you’ve just started dating, as a means to solidify attraction, but it can also be used as part of relationship game to keep the embers warm.

I’ll give you a couple of examples of beta switch game that I have used successfully on girls. In one, usually on the second date, I pretend I’m about to give a girl a romantic gift of great value.

SINISTER CR: You know, GIRL 155, I’m having an amazing time with you.

GIRL 155: Aw, me too.

SINISTER CR: I’ve been thinking about how great this is, and well, I really feel we are good together.

GIRL 155: Um…

SINISTER CR: And I wanted to show how much you mean to me… [reaching slowly and dramatically into front pocket]… So I got you this. [Pulling hand slowly out of pocket] I hope you like it. It comes from the heart.

GIRL 155: [Beads of sweat now forming on her brow] Um, yeah, you know, that’s really not necessary…

SINISTER CR: [Pulling out a small leaf I broke off from a bush] Here you go. Don’t worry, it isn’t as expensive as it looks. [smirk]

GIRL 155: Oh, WOW, phew! haha, ok, funny. [Kiss kiss kiss penetrate penetrate penetrate]

***

Here is another example of beta switch game. This one I use just before things start to heat up and deal closing is around the corner.

SEXUAL HEALING CR: [Very serious face] Girl 156…

GIRL 156: Yes?

SEXUAL HEALING CR: [Tenderly taking her hands in mine, looking at her intensely, then glancing down, and looking back up at her] I think about you a lot…

GIRL 156: [Smiling nervously] Uuumm… ok. Don’t think too much! [Nervous laughter]

SEXUAL HEALING CR: …about what you’d be like in bed.

GIRL 156: [Open eyed surprise] Wow, that’s kind of hot.

***

Beta switch game technique works like clambusters because it arouses so many contradictory emotions in a girl. You are dragging her across an emotional landscape of curiosity, impending doom, relief, and lust. This rapid drama-inducing whirlwind will pry apart the iciest pussies. The secret ingredient to beta switch game is the mix of unspoken disappointment that accompanies her sexual arousal after she discovers your romantic beta ruse was just a goofy ploy. Although girls get turned off by excessive displays of sappy betatude, a part of them relishes the idea of a man falling under their spell and surrendering his composure in a fit of romantic gushing. By stealing that satisfaction from a girl at the last second, you redirect her intensifying feelings back where you want them — to her crotch. Beta switch game also has a long term benefit; in the future, when you do drop a little genuine romance on her, she will appreciate it a lot more. Which brings me to…

CR Maxim #66: Half the battle of game is stripping a woman of her inborn self-entitlement complex.

If any of you watch “The Office”, you’ll know that Jim ran beta switch game on Pam when he pretended to drop to one knee to propose to her, only to tie his shoelace. Beta switch game is an absolute pussy luber.

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I recently received an email from an early 20s girl who just moved to a big city and wanted advice on how to avoid becoming a bitter, cock hopping lawyer chick in pursuit of the elusive commitment-oriented alpha boyfriend. Like most women, she is interested in marriage and kids with a man who also tingles her tangle, and has decided that waiting until her 30s after years climbing the corporate and grad school ladder would be a grave mistake. Smart girl. She requested I don’t post the email, so I will only post my reply to her.

Chateau,

I just recently discovered your blog, and while your theory of women is hardly flattering, my own experience has proved it to be 99.9% true. However, after browsing through your archives I found that you occasionally give advice to wayward womanly souls. I understand the mailbag is very full these days, but I hope you’ll take a moment to read this and offer your complete and unvarnished opinion.

[REDACTED]

“What can I do to make myself a more attractive candidate for a wife?”

My answer:

[Note: The girl attached photos of herself. She’s a 6, maybe 6.5. There is raw material to work with. Since 99% of girl game is looks + youth, the advice you read me giving her here is for that last thin reed of 1% of attractiveness measures that are within a woman’s control to change. An improvement in that 1% won’t allow a woman to move up from a beta to an alpha, but it could mean dating up from a 5.5 to a 5.6, or between getting unceremoniously pumped and dumped and squeezing out four months of relationship bliss. In the zero-sum soul crucible of the sexual market, a tiny upgrade from a 5.5 man to a 5.6 man might mean the difference between divorce and a white picket fence.]

Ok, this is a question that just can’t be answered succinctly in the quippy way I like to answer reader emails.  But based on what you wrote in your email I can give you a few pointers.

First, you sound like a pleasant girl, but then most girls who move to the big city start off pleasant only to be ground up by years running the dating circuit. This isn’t the suburbs. A lot of men here will pump and dump you, and from what you told me it sounds like you would be easy prey for pump and dumpers. I’m not going to tell you to suck it up and date men who don’t turn you on. That would be like me telling a man to get past a fat chick’s face and do her in the folds for the good of society. But you do need to have a solid perspective on what you can reasonably snag for the long term. So let’s start with the positives.

  • You’re young. This is by far the biggest asset you have now. Leverage it to the hilt. A 21 year old 6 can compete with a 32 year old 7.5.
  • You’re aware of reality. Don’t underestimate this. When you witness the wreckage of lawyer chicks’ lives piling up around you, your firm grasp of reality will help you avoid endless pain and hallucinations that your cat is a human baby.

Now the negatives.

  • You moved to a big city. Yes, the city is exciting, and the opportunities are great. But you will be continually tempted by alpha swagger and charm to drop your panties, only to feel the burn of disengagement after a few months, weeks, nights. Now you may get lucky and a true alpha will fall in love with you and want marriage and babies, but the odds are not in your favor.
  • You dress frumpy. Spice it up a little. You don’t have to ho out, but you should dress sexier. This is the big leagues now.

As for advice, here’s a quickie checklist:

Coy is good, but don’t be a cocktease. A greater beta, (if all things go in your favor, the best I believe you can shoot for), will quickly tire of you if your goodies aren’t parceled out on a fairly brisk timetable. So pace your makeouts. Aim for closing the deal around date #5 or 6. Any earlier than that and your dreamboat may decide you were under his maximum potential since you gave it up without much work on his part. Any later than that and he may decide you are too much work for the deal you are giving him.

Be shy. Men, especially alphas, love shy women. (Betas, because of low self confidence, tend to misinterpret female shyness as disinterest.) There is probably an evolutionary reason for this. Perhaps a shy woman subcommunicates that she will be less likely to cheat in a relationship. Smile and look down at your feet when he approaches you. Learn to blush on demand. Or apply makeup so it always looks like you’re blushing. Since you have very pale skin, this shouldn’t be too hard to do.

Play a little hard to get. Did you eye flirt with him and sweep a lock of hair behind your ear when he entered the office? Good. Now, when he approaches to say hi you smile warmly, issue a couple of pleasantries, and BE THE FIRST to walk away from the conversation, telling him you need to get back to work. You’ve gotta give the man some running room to chase down his prey. It’s in our blood.

Shy != retiring. In your high-powered career field filled with ambitious douchebags greater beta males you are likely to meet men who enjoy a bit of snappy badinage with a smart chick. If you discuss weighty topics, and feel a need to express disagreement, do so in a way that displays your sharpness but also strokes his ego. Always preface your disagreement by saying “I can see your point…”. Let him win 90% of the time, even when you are right. On those disagreements where you allow yourself to win, be sure they are inconsequential points that will not offend his pride of phallus.

DON’T come onto high value men. Yeah, you might get fucked, but you won’t get loved. Notice I said “high value” men. If you are attracted to a lower value man you may find it advantageous to drop a hint or two. Betas have a hard time screwing up the courage to approach a woman giving no signals at all.

DON’T give blowjobs before you have had sex with him. An early, pre-sex blowjob says one thing to a man — slut. And sluts don’t impress men as marriage prospects.

DON’T try to meet men while hanging out with a bachelorette party. Instead, hang your head in shame and tell any man who asks that you were bribed to go along. He will then be curious about you.

DON’T talk about sex, unless you want him to fuck you that night.

DON’T date a man better looking than what you can reasonably expect to get if you want to have any chance of impressing him in bed.

Date older men. Since you are not a heart-bursting hottie (don’t be depressed, most women aren’t), younger men are more likely to use you as a dry spell ender or entertaining diversion instead of a long term girlfriend with wifey potential. Older men are psychologically primed to settle down and commit. This generational male dynamic is especially pronounced in the big city.

Lacy lingerie. Wear it, live it, love it.

And finally, the three most important girl game tips I can give:

  1. Don’t get fat.
  2. Don’t be a single mom.
  3. Learn to settle.

Best,

C.

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Maxim #112: Never underestimate the sneaky lengths to which a woman’s female friends will attempt to undermine her relationship with a boyfriend or husband they don’t approve of.

I was walking with a girl when one of her close female friends called. I listened in on the side of the conversation available to me.

“I’ve found the perfect guy for you… You’d really like him…. No, he’s really cute…. Do you remember Ben from Mischa’s party?…. Yes!, isn’t he funny?…. Oh you guys would be so perfect together…. I know I know….. So what?….. Oh don’t be such a worrywart…. I heard he’s a really good dancer too…. Maaaaaaybe I’ll invite him out after our Yoga class…. *laugh*…”

I knew her girl friend on the phone. She was a cute Asian girl, 28 years old, currently dating a white man in his 50s. They had been dating for over a year when we were all introduced at a party once. I remember the man was in shape and presentable, though he looked his years, with a neatly coifed head of silver hair. I was told he was an excellent tango dancer and that’s how they met. I was also told by third parties that he was uninterested in marriage or children, preferring the freedom of his bachelor life. I was naturally intrigued by this man because I am compelled to give props to any older man without obvious compensatory means who is able to bag a much younger and cuter chick on his terms. I observed them closely at the party, and noticed the Asian girl’s obvious love and devotion for him as she tenderly rested her hand on his knee. For his part, he looked at her with pride and love, and struck the acceptable alpha pose of a man in control of his love life (satisfied, borderline smug, smile coupled with glances of affection and contented stares into the distance.)

In other words, there was no evidence the Asian girl friend on the phone was dissatisfied with her older gentleman boyfriend.

Before their phone conversation was over, I leaned into the mouthpiece and shouted “Homewrecker!” The girl with me giggled.

Laugh it up, muffball.

I asked my woman companion why, if her girl friend was happy with her boyfriend, she was trying to set her up with another man? I was offered a pu pu platter of Rationalizing Hamster savories.

“But he doesn’t want kids and I know she does.”

“Did you ask him personally if he doesn’t want kids? Did you ask her if she wants to leave him because of the kids issue?”

“It’s not just the kids. He likes to stay indoors and do his own thing, and she’s just doing what he wants to do. They’re not compatible.”

“You’re absolutely positive she’d rather be out hanging with the girls instead of staying at home with him?”

“Yes, she’s a fun girl. She would be happier with someone on her wavelength.”

“She seems pretty happy right now with him.”

“He’s not serious about her.”

“Are you a mindreader?”

“Stop it. It’s a girls thing. We have intuition about this.”

“Don’t hate on love.”

If you’ve ever harbored doubts about the inherently evil nature of women as you diligently polish the porcelain pussy pedestal in your head which refuses to dislodge itself, look no further than the scheming, manipulative ploys women will happily pursue in service to destroying the love between a female friend and a man they don’t think is “appropriate” for her.

Love, as fragile, rare, and transcendent as it is, means nothing to women when the man in question offends their hypergamous sensibilities and their urge to conformity. It doesn’t even matter if the man is not their own lover. They will seek and destroy anything which subverts the established pussy order.

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The One Truth Of Game

Reader “St” asks:

What is the One Truth of Game?

Here is the answer to that question —

Impress me.

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Years ago when I was rooming in a big house with three other guys, I used to have this short motivational list, handed to me by a friend, taped to my closet door.

THE ONLY ADVICE YOU’LL EVER NEED

Chicks dig power.
Don’t date.
Never pay.
Play by your own rules.
He who hesitates masturbates.
Better to pursue lots of women until you find one willing to go all the way right away than to waste a month on a tease.
Women want to be seduced.
Hot sexy babes want to fuck someone… why not you?

This advice hasn’t stopped working for me.

***

Readers occasionally ask me what I was like before I learned game. Before Game. BG. Heh. I used to think there was a time Before Game in my life, but upon further reflection, maybe there never was. I’ll give you an example of what I mean. I was sifting through some mementos during a spring cleaning when I came across a handwritten note I had given to a girl back in the day before I ever knew what a neg was, or anything much about female nature at all.

I’ve always believed there was something special… uncorrupted… about girls I banged before the advent of game in my life. As if winning them over without the use of game and the crimson arts placed them on a higher pedestal than women who would later fall under my more calculated spell. I could look back fondly on those early years bangs and imagine I was “being myself” with those girls, and that the girls loved me for me. So when I found the note I had once long ago written to a girl who was more beautiful than I ever believed I could get, a wave of happy nostalgia and warm feelings for her washed over me. Here, now, in my hand, was proof that there are girls in the world who swoon for romantic, idealistic men. That the Hollywood love story really is possible! I read the note.

ROSES ARE RED
VIOLETS ARE BLUE
YOU’RE A CUTIE
BUT YOUR FEET ARE PEW!

Nope, turns out I was running game back then too, before I knew the power of the neg.

For the curious, she responded to my lovelorn poem on the back of the note.

“You, Nosey Parker, first, who asked you to smell my precious feet? Second, I won’t sink to describing all the smells abundant here!”

Later that evening we had the most amazing sex. She came three times.

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Background:
You’ve been dating a girl for many months. She calls you boyfriend. You call her “dirty ho get on mah cooooock.” (Please to do impersonating Fat Bastard.)

She’s an adventurous girl who likes to travel to exotic lands. She’s also a sexually voracious girl. You’re a dude who reads this blog (smart!), so you know when a girl takes a vacation overseas odds are it’s meant to be a straycation where she sluts it up with a honey-tongued Antonio. Well, your girl has announced she wants to go on a hiking excursion through the wilds of South America, holing up in hostels along the way with musky scented hippies and assorted Euroladdies. She wants you to go with her, although she tells you she has been planning this trip since before she met you and will go by herself if you don’t join her.

The trip is expensive and you’re not digging the idea of blowing free time hiking on craggy rocks in foul weather. Let’s say you have alternate plans to spend your money on a big purchase in the near future. So you think it over and decide not to go, knowing full well the implications of waving bon voyage to a girlfriend who is about to embark on a lone trek through an exotic fantasyland, where she will be irresistible Americano prey for the local Lotharios. The thought weighs heavily on you, but not too heavily as you think about the fun you will have while the cat’s away.

Two weeks later she returns and jumps into your arms. She is positively glowing. She eagerly tells you about her trip and gives you a bunch of presents she bought while down there. Then she jumps you. The sex is as good as it always is. You think she came, but the important thing here is that you came. Afterwards, she makes soup for you and generally treats you like a king. In fact, over the next few days, you notice she’s bending over backwards to please you.

Hmmm.

You wonder if her generosity of spirit and openness of heart is prompted by guilt or by joy at seeing you after a long absence.

The weeks pass and everything continues going well with her. But still… What exactly happened down there? You know better than to trust women, but if she’s continuing to sex you like you’re a god, and making you sandwiches with a smile, what do you care what did or didn’t happen? You’ve learned a few things about women over the years and one thing you know is that women don’t cheat like men do. Unlike men, women are incapable of expressing unbridled sexual lust and love for multiple men simultaneously. Women only have room in their emotional landscapes for one “main man” at a time. When a woman cheats, one of the men is going to get the short end of the stick. For example, a wifey who procures an alpha shaft on the side is likely henpecking her beta hubby and withdrawing sexual favors from him. By contrast, Tiger Woods was probably continuing to fuck the shit out of Elin even while getting his knob slobbed by twenty other women on the sly.

So you conclude that your girlfriend’s strong sexual desire and genuine affection for you means you are still number one in her heart, and that she probably did not do anything while away from you, except dream about being back in your arms. You *could* snoop around her stuff and spend mental energy trying to discover if she had a fling, or you could forget about your unfounded suspicions and just enjoy her everflowing love.

What do you do?

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Reader LoboSolo sent me this article by conservative writer Paul Greenberg extolling the “innate superiority” of women.

I’ve never been much of a believer in historical theories about the Indispensable Man. There may be some examples — Washington, Lincoln, Moses — but they are few. But the indispensable woman, I believe in. Call it Greenberg’s Law: Women are the innately superior sex. My theory may not be backed by any scientific evidence, but it’s something every man has surely felt. At least if he’s got a lick of sense. […]

When it comes to great truths, each generation shouldn’t have to work them out by itself. They don’t have to be written down, any more than the English constitution is. Every boy soon learns that women seem to know intuitively what the weaker male sex may grasp only by effort and education. Which is why it requires marriage and family to civilize the male animal. He needs a woman’s tutelage.

Greenberg tells a story, among others, which purports to demonstrate unassailable female virtue:

Brighter boys learn the lesson of female superiority early; dimmer ones may never catch on. A story: It was homecoming weekend many years ago in Pine Bluff, Ark., and a clump of us stood on Main Street waiting for the black college’s high-stepping marching band to come striding by, drum major and majorettes and 76 trombones and all.

A venturesome little boy in the group stepped off the curb to look way up the street — where the little girl on the Sunbeam Bread sign, a local landmark, still swings endlessly to and fro. Way in the distance, the boy spotted the prancing majorettes throwing their batons high, higher, highest, catching them on the beat. “Wow!” he exclaimed, returning to report what he’d seen. His conclusion: “Girls have to know so many things!”

Lovely stories, Mr. Greenberg. Now let me tell you a story.

I’ve seen things you gullible chumps wouldn’t believe. Married women’s loins on fire off the rumpled sheets of my bed. A feminine Russian woman, her buttocks turned in my direction, sweetly asking me if I’d “like to do her in the ass” as her cell phone rings with the plaintive wail of her husband seeking her whereabouts. I’ve watched nipples harden in the dark near the cathedral gate, and behind the rectory doors. I’ve lain with the most virtuous women you could imagine — caring women who “have to know so many things” and who give dollars to homeless bums and who tear up during sad scenes in the movies — who freely allowed my member to violate them in every conceivable way in their husband’s and boyfriend’s beds, their writhing bodies, ecstatic moans, and gushing furrows testament to the lustful abandon with which they unshackled themselves of that other conservative virtue, fidelity. I once counseled the most darling woman — a young woman so exquisitely gentle and winsome I’d dare any man not to fall instantly for her — to stop her flowing tears for our doomed affair and, there on the sidewalk in midday, to return to her husband at her apartment which was two blocks down the street; the husband who, through years of his toil and love, put a roof over her underemployed head in one of the ritzier neighborhoods of the city. I have made love — God’s highest expression of devotion to His creation — with women in the company of small woodland creatures, scandalized roommates, and children who were, as best we dared, out of earshot of our erotic rustlings. I have witnessed women, caught in the snare of irrefutable evidence damning their supposed virtue, lie with the effortlessness of a soulless sociopath. In the moment of release, when we come closest to touching the Hand of God, I have been instructed by a wondrously virtuous woman to “rape her” and to “do it like you mean it”. Her screams of howling joy — pain or pleasure I could not tell — to this day echo in my memories. And, most enlightening of all, I have seen wives and girlfriends, their hearts once filled with seemingly endless and nourishing love, cruelly turn on their daft former lovers with a vengeance unmatched by even a wronged God. Such as the time a sizzlingly sexy brunette whose mouth I was gracing with the metaphorical appendage of God’s divine love answered a phone call, mid-oral delight, from her ex-fiancee (who it should be noted was recovering from a mental breakdown) to thank him for purchasing a $5,000 Tempur-Pedic mattress delivered to her apartment two weeks earlier. Her thank you’s sounded surprisingly sincere for a woman whose free hand was simultaneously cradling the fleshy pod holding the life-giving seed of another man.

All those moments will be lost in time, Mr. Greenberg, like tears in rain.

What is it with conservatives and their willful blindness to the true nature of women? Pedestalization of the Other (and its many permutations, c.f. “noble savage”, “gaiaism”, “diversity”, and “na’vi”) is a sickening act of self-abasement; a desperate denial that one could possibly be right when one has been so badly wronged, or that a wrongdoer could possibly be as bad as the facts attest. Perhaps those who engage in this sort of faith-based pedestalization of women are deathly afraid to confront the reality of female nature because it would impose on their tidy worldview. Perhaps they need a savior, in the form of women, like of god, to compartmentalize the darkness and symbolize something to aspire to. After all, if women are just as bad as men, where does that leave the sensitive man? Stuck now with double the responsibility to guard oneself against predation by both sexes, and to discard to the ash heap cherished notions of the fairer sex. Does this sound familiar? If you thought “beta”, you’d be right.

Where conservatives sanctify women, liberals demonize men. Not all conservatives and not all liberals, but enough of them that a valid generalization can be made. Whether sanctifying women or demonizing men, the end result is the same: laws, policies, and cultural beliefs that are anti-male, and which we in the West are soaking in today.

I believe the conservative’s and liberal’s instincts toward women can be explained by contrasting the peculiar life conditions of both:

  • Conservatives, having grown up in larger, more intact families than liberals, and being thus surrounded by more sisters, aunts, and female cousins on a daily basis, are loathe to imagine those female relatives could be the alpha cock-hungry animals inside that they really are. Liberals, meanwhile, hailing from broken homes and guided under the tutelage of man-hating single moms with a revolving bedroom door, find it easier to grasp the amoral nature of women.
  • Conservatives have less sexual experience with women than do liberals. I would not be surprised if it was discovered that liberal men lost their virginity at an earlier age than conservative men. Nothing teaches like experience.
  • Conservatives believe women are morally child-like compared to men, that women are the weaker sex, and so cannot be held accountable for their actions. Liberals, who see white male oppression behind every human group difference, are more likely to individualize a woman’s bad actions and politicize a man’s bad actions.
  • Conservatives are ashamed of their base desires. Thus, they recoil at the thought that the women they desire might share the same debased thoughts that they do. Liberals, by contrast, are proud of their base desires. And so they are more accepting of the knowledge that women are as depraved as men.
  • Religious conservatives fear sex for its power to distract from god. It is better for them that women are thought of as empty vessels incapable of making sex-based calculations in their decisions. Secular liberals love sex for its power to distract from considering the merits of any moral code. It is better for them that women are thought of as sex-possessed tankgrrls ready to rumble across the Vaginot Line of mind-body liberation.
  • Conservatives invest more in the idea of family than do liberals. A wanton woman is a grave threat to that idea, graver than even a wanton man, for reasons clearly elucidated by evolutionary biology. Ergo, women cannot possibly be as wanton as men.
  • Conservative women are busier being pregnant and/or fatter than liberal women, and are thus less frequently able to act wantonly. This may skew conservative men’s impressions of women to being something more positive than it really is.
  • Conservatives by temperament are drawn to the beautiful. Liberals by temperament are drawn to the degraded. Conservatives have trouble tainting with dark knowledge the beauty of a woman in her prime. Liberals relish the thought that a beautiful young woman would wallow in the mud just as enthusiastically as they do.

As a man who is drawn to both the beautiful and the degraded, my aim is to act as a bridge between conservative men and liberal men, holding the liberal’s hand tenderly to the conservative’s crotch. I shall bring understanding between the two mortal enemies, and together we shall march into the nearest bar, our minds fortified with the knowledge of women’s true natures and our hearts swollen with masculine conceit, and lay waste to that place, claiming battalions of pussy for our own. Without excuse, without apology. Without god, whether supernatural or political.

Women are vile creatures at heart, just as men are. An ugly truth, Mr. Greenberg, which even God can’t shield you from. Don’t let the batting eyelashes fool you.

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