An Analysis Of Text Game

The Chateau has received quite a few requests for text game advice lately. Here are a few.

Email #1

First of all, let me say thanks a ton for your insightful blog. Two months ago, I didn’t even know what game was. Largely due to reading your’s and Roosh’s blogs, I’m slowly climbing the ladder from greater beta (my natural element) toward alphadom. Two weeks worth of reading the knowledge contained within the catacombs of the Chateau helped me get a bang!

Today I got into a text conversation with a girl I’ve been banging, and I think I ran some solid text game with interesting results. The back story is that I’ve been sick, haven’t bothered contacting her in 4 days and she’s wondering where I’ve been. She’s asking if my illness is causing me to lose muscle mass and strength. See the relevant part of the conversation below:

Her: I’ve got an extra 5 lbs you can have 🙂

Me: Psh you don’t have any extra weight, I can bench press two of you

Her: You can huh? You only seemed to manage one of me at the pool!

Me: That’s shoulder press, totally different

Her: Let’s see this bench press then, sir!

Me: Find a girl of equal weight and I’ll bench the two of you in a stack. No dudes though, I ain’t no fruit!

Her: You just want to see me on top of another girl!

Me: She can be on top of you, I’m not picky

Her: As long as i get to pick her out… I’m not sold on your taste 😉

Me: I have impeccable taste, thankyouverymuch. However, I’ll allow you to pick your top 3 choices and then I’ll narrow it down

Her: You trust my taste in women then? I pick katty, sandy, or madi 🙂

Me: Kat heartily dislikes my presence, so she’s vetoed by executive decision. Pics of the other two???

Her: Hot mexican or skinny blonde?

Me: Blonde for the win

Her: Haha, i haven’t seen madi in a couple of months, but i’ll work on it.

Me: I’m down

Her: Haha but fist you have to prove you can bench press me by myself.

Me: I think I can handle that

Her: Haha, but maybe not when you’re sick

Me: Im getting better

Her: Well, what are you up to after my work tonight, mr. Healthy bench presser?

Me: After you’re done? How about I work on “bench pressing” you

Her: Haha, is that what the kids are calling it these days? I’ll give you a call after work 🙂

Me: You don’t know what bench pressing two girls at once means? Get with the times! I’ll talk to you tonight

It seems like she’s down for it. Any ideas on how to [keep] the momentum of this threesome idea building until it’s a reality?

Your protege in evil and debauchery,

“Anon”

Texting as a substitute for long-form conversation is somewhat beta in nature. You risk lowering your value by playing a “girl’s game”; and make no mistake, typing hundreds of witty replies back and forth sight unseen, your dick nowhere near her pussy, is playing by a girl’s rules. It is inescapably betatizing.

That said, these are new times, and it seems a lot of girls can’t flirt outside of a textual context. A by-line of grudging acceptance has been added to the Chateau Guest Rules to account for the reality of endless text game.

As for the emailer’s question about how to swing a threesome with this chick he’s banging and texting ad nauseam, there is only a sense from the exchange that she did not fully comprehend, or accept, the seriousness of his innuendo. It sounds like she is playing along for fun, not for profit. He’s on the right track by telling her to pick out the girls she would want to include in a threesome, but his tone is too glib, when he should be affecting a pose of laconic pimpery. She should feel a growing nervousness if his offer is taken under serious consideration by her. Such nervousness would manifest as stronger shit tests, which is how girls relieve their burgeoning arousal (which, in women, is always tainted with a hint of fear), yet her shit tests in this exchange are too playful and goofy to suggest anything other than she doesn’t really believe what he’s saying.

His tone, too, sounds overeager. There should be a disqualification in there somewhere, like “we’ll see”. He should wait two weeks before bringing up the subject again, (in order to neutralize the impression of eagerness), and when he does reintroduce the subject he should do so with more dominating gravitas.

One other point: a man never submits the coda to a text exchange (or, for that matter, a phone conversation), unless he is telling her he has to go. The last text should have been hers, when she wrote “I’ll give you a call after work :)”.

******

Email #2

Here is a great example of non sequitur game in action.

I felt I must share a recent experience I’ve had, and reiterate how truly powerful the non-sequitor game is, (not too mention the purely alpha possibilities it opens.)

When you posted your readers email and your comments/analysis on the email I was sitting on the couch, surfing the internet trying to decide which way my weekend was going to take me.  The obvious answer was to try what you had posted, I texted this super hot Russian-hole I’d met a couple weeks prior we had hung out a couple times prior.  I really felt I was getting close to the LJBF mode so I had stopped contacting her and was letting her ice.  The text coversation is as follows:

(2:35p) me:  sounds good

(2:35p) her: 🙂 ? What sounds good? 🙂

(2:47p) me:  my bad wrong person

(2:48p) her:  🙂 ok how r u?

(2:53p) me:  good

(2:55p) her:  🙂 I just woke up from a nap 🙂 thinking what im going to do today..

(3:08p)  her:  😦 no plans at all..for now i think maybe a movie later…

(4 :23p)  her:  still home, did you want to hang out? 🙂

(4:45p)  me:  not feeling the movie thing

(4:45p)  her:  it’s ok, we can do what you want, i can be ready in 20 minutes

(5:12p)  me:  yeah sounds good

(I re-use the opener to make reenforce that we’re only talking because I accidently texted and she chased me into hanging out)

(5:56p)  me:  on my way

I picked her up and we hung out, we went to bourbon street and I did everything I could to to continue the facade that I didn’t really even care about hanging out with her.  I smiled at every 8+ girl I saw, and let this guy continue to hit on her through much of the night, at one point my mom called (I know not cool, but my dad is chronically ill and when she calls that late something bad has usually happened… of course I never let the girl knew who called I simply just walked out of the bar, phone-to-ear, and got the intel on my dad.)  I was out for a few minutes, 3-5, when I came back in, I saw her at the bar with the guy that had been trying to game her.  Beta-man was buying her a drink, I walked up to the two and for the first time made a comment to the guy, “Having a good night?”  I’m not sure if he replied or not but she immediately asked who was on the phone, I just shook my head waiving off her question and went to restroom.  I came back out and her and Beta-man were still talking, the second I approached she left his side walked up to me and asked, “So, did you want to get a hotel?”  Of course, I responded, “Sure, let’s get out of here.”

I dropped a little bit of money on a hotel and had one of the wildest nights of my life.  From the minute we entered the room until we checked out the next morning I was covered in warm Russian love-butter.

I have always been fairly good at the game but this entry is powerful, it really emphasizes the power of text-game. This shit is evil good and must be added to everyone’s playbook that is trying to capitalize on a number you have but can’t seem to f-close.

When we left the hotel on the ride home she asked why I don’t have a girl friend and I told her that I get bored easy, telling her, “When I meet a girl I buy a gallon of milk, and when it expires I get rid of her.”  I have no idea where that line came from but it just flowed out effortlessly, in the couple weeks since the f-close it has been nothing but her chasing me, trying to not beat the expiration date rule.

+1 for aloofness and non-sequitor game.

Indeed, young padawan. Not only is this a fantastic example of non sequitur game, it is also a clinic in how to properly run aloof and indifferent uncaring asshole game. As has been written here before, Russian chicks are especially vulnerable to aloof game. Privet!

******

Email #3

Went on a date with a 22 year old 8.5.

She was dumb and aloof as shit (she literally has ADD, and it shows), but hot as shit. Immediate shit test: she comes in talking on the phone and doesn’t hang up when we sit down. I go to the bathroom and come back and she’s off the phone. Exceedingly difficult to talk to, it’s like she’s 15. after 1.75 hours and 2 beers, we bounced. Enough IOIs that I kissed her and we continued to make out on the street. Brought her back to my place to party with roommates, despite the fact that she said she had to get up early for a family gathering. She got shy and reserved and sucked. She was ruining my night, so I drove her home. Kissed more in the car, but she seemed more reserved on the way home.

Texted her 48 hours later: was the family gathering as fun as you envisioned?

her: it was ok. i only watched on race though. [gathering was at a race track]

me: haha. wtf did you do the whole time then?

her: i chased around a 5 year old and drank

me: lol. what’s your week looking like, we need to have our second date.

her: it’s shark week this week.

me: i live every week like it’s shark week.

No response. Her texts were always dry short, before and after we had the date. She will not text again, it’s not her style. What should I do AND What should I have done? I still want to pierce her labia.

Texting a girl after a difficult date is approval-seeking. It won’t help, and it could hurt your future chances with her. If you want to know how well a date went (as perceived by the girl, which, hate to say, is the perception that matters for getting laid), see if she texts you first. Girls who feel good after dates will often, in fact almost always, text you soon after the date has ended. They can’t help themselves. It’s like they want to shout their tingles from the top of a mountain.

Your text exchange started off badly and didn’t get any better. You are forcing rapport by asking about her family gathering when she knows you don’t really give a shit, and by dropping random “lol”s and “haha”s in reaction to her sub-par humor.

Also, when asking for a second date, never say “we need to…”. “Need” is a verboten beta word, passive and weak. You should banish its use from all your interactions with women. Instead, say “Let’s get together”, or even “I want to see you again”.

Make no mistake, her shark week excuse was a humiliating rejection so patently absurd that I’m surprised you even bothered taking her seriously after that. Your subsequent reply was beyond lame. No wonder she didn’t respond. The world could practically hear her pussy snapping shut.

What you should have done: “Bring the movies”. Text a second date meeting time and place and tell her the first round is on her. It sounds like the first date was a loss, so a follow-up from her was unlikely, and as we can see a “normal” text feeler from you did not have any positive impact on whatever lukewarm feelings she had for you. Going forward, you may want to try non sequitur game, like the emailer above. But more probably you will have to NEXT this girl.

******

Email #4

Comments from the Chateau about this man’s text game are interspersed in bold.

This is my first time writing you, so let me say thanks for putting out what I consider to be the most important site on the web for males. I am a natural beta and this site has had an incredible positive impact on my quality of life and happiness.

Anyway, an old girlfriend texted me out of the blue yesterday and the exchange is below. I don’t really want a relationship with her again, but I do hang out a lot in the town she currently lives in and wouldn’t mind keeping open the possibility for a late night rendezvous. My goal with this exchange was basically to ignite some gina tingles for a potential meetup in the future.

Quick Backround: We dated for about a year. She broke up with me about a year ago for some BS reason, but after discovering your site, I realized it was because I had become pathetically beta. She’s 23 now ( I’m 24) and works for a huge accounting firm in NYC. She was probably a solid 6-7 back when we dated, I attached a picture for reference (sorry I couldn’t find any nudes). [Ed: Accurate ranking. She’s a 6.] I’ve added any explanatory comments in italics.

Her (12:17 AM): I miss you

Me (7:03 AM): cant say I blame you

Her (9:01 AM): Do you miss me?

Me (11:32 AM): What do you miss most about me?

[Excellent deflection and reframe.]
(All of the below texts were sent within 15 minutes of the previous one)

Her: We had fun together

Me: Do you know what I miss most about you?

Her: What

Me: Big boobs (seriously, 34D @ 5’5’’ 125)

Her: If that’s the case then I guess that doesn’t say much about our relationship

Me: Just sayin they were nice. It’s a compliment. Anyway I recall you ended it

Her: I know. I was in the wrong.

Me: Is this your way of trying to get back together?

Her: No I am just telling you

[She’s lying. No girl contacts an ex out of the blue unless she wants to be with him again. Watch Swingers.]

Me: Its ok you don’t have to be coy about it

Her: LOL do you really expect me to randomly say after like a year  lets get back together

Me: Hey im not the one sending random I miss you texts

Her: OK then sorry I won’t say anything

Me: Don’t get upset. Anyway I meant what I said

Her: You meant what?

Me: That I miss your boobs. They were fun to play with

[The boob joke was funny at first, but now is overplayed. If you want to convert her to a fuckbuddy you have to, at some point, show a little attainability, which means curbing the cocky/funny act and assuaging her female sensibility. You run the risk here of overqualifying (out-assholing) yourself.]

Her: Great thanks

Me: What fun things do you miss most about us?

Her: Doesn’t matter

[No surprise that she is clamming up with regret. You could have jumped straight into comfort stage with her because your value was already sky high.]

Me: Hey don’t get upset. I wanna know what it was.

Her: We just had a great time together in my opinion

Me: Like what specifically? Im trying to remember

[This is a great asshole line, but might be counterproductive at this point.]

Her: Are you still in east Brunswick? (my hometown, moved back after college and am still here for now)

[Now she’s redirecting the conversation.]

Me: No actually I moved to california

Her: Really or are you joking

Me: Haha got me. Still in NJ. You never answered my question still.

[Good save to regain convo leadership.]

Her: Our trips. Relaxing. Movies. I moved to Hoboken (In NJ, Directly across the river from NYC. Known for its many bars and single young professionals)

Me: Its nice there. Easy to meet a lot of people. How do you like it?

Her: I love it

Me: I should tell you im getting married

Her: What?

Me: Yeah I should have mentioned it before

Her: Congrats

Me: Haha just joking. Cmon I thought you were sharper than that. Do you really think Id do that to myself?

Her: Why wouldn’t you what to get married? I do

Me: I don’t blame you. I just don’t think im marriage material. Its too hard to pick one person forever

Her: Maybe. But when you love someone you know I feel Just because you didin’t feel that way about me doesn’t mean you won’t (WTF??)

[Don’t sweat it. This seemingly disqualifying reply is just the female hamster spinning to death. She’s trying to trap you into chasing her.]

Me: What? That didn’t make sense

Her: Nevermind

Me: Haha ok. you must still be drunk from last night. So what do you do for fun in Hoboken?

Her: No I’m not. I’ve been working a lot and studying for my last part of the cpa. But I run and like the bars around

Me: Cool. Im sure you do work a lot. Are you partner yet? (I know it takes 15 yrs to make partner there)

Her: Soon. Another year

Me: Yeah you wish. For real do you know what the best way to get promoted is?

Her: Don’t even start. I’m sure you going to say something sex related

Me: Haha so you know its to sleep with your boss? Maybe you really will be partner in a year then…

Her: You’re def not the guy I used to know

[Normally, this admission would be a good thing, but since she contacted you first she already had it in her head that she wanted to fuck you again. Therefore, your cocky asshole act may be backfiring and driving her away.]

Me: That’s not true. Im still as ruggedly good looking and charming as ever

Her: K

[The banter was good, but went on for too long. Again, you likely overplayed your hand by revving your engine in the attraction phase without switching gears into a smooth cruise of genuine rapport. You needed to get real with her so she had the flimsy excuse she sought to rationalize sleeping with you again. And don’t focus so much on dating vs fucking and moving her into the FB zone. That will work itself out *after* you start banging. Keep your eyes on the prize.]

This is a decent representation of my text game and the type of attitude and banter I try to get over on the phone. I’d love to hear your comments about what I said, my frame, and overall alphaness from this. I think this is a good litmus test considering how this relationship ended and where I am now. Also, any suggestions from you as how to proceed from here would obviously be appreciated.

Thanks again,
“Anon”

Your overall alphaness was try-hard lesser alpha. You have lost sight of the sweeter brushstrokes of game in favor of the crowd-pleasing fireworks. Regulate yourself before you celibate yourself. In the future, if you talk to her again, make sure it is face-to-face, and keep your mouth shut. Her hamster will find a way into your pants. After that, manage the relationship in the direction you want it to go. To convert her to a fuckbuddy, this is easy: just refrain from talking to her or taking her out more than once per week, and never on the weekends.

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Why You Should Incinerate Your Used Condoms

Via reader Tim, Funny Yahoo Questions is an archive of hilarity. And disturbing vileness.

The desperation of single moms knows no limit. Seven years without a replacement father to foot the bills can really fuck with a lonely mother’s ethical code:

Men, always flush your used condoms down the toilet. And whatever you do, don’t let her dispose of the condom for you. Thanks to our fucked-up nonsensical anti-male laws, all it takes is one crazy bitch to saddle you with a kid tax for eighteen years.

What’s the leading indicator that a man is dating a young, hot chick?

When he’s turned on by her sitting on his face. You will never hear a man say he wants an aging cougar or a fat chick to sit on his face, unless he is a freak loser. A young babe’s ass crack is intoxicating like a rose. A cougar’s ass is a dingleberry jungle. PSA: When doing a cougar from behind, press the ass cheeks together so you don’t have to view the tangled mess within. Your boner will thank you.

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Spot The Alpha

The alpha of a mixed group isn’t always the man. Sometimes, the men in attendance are such feeble representatives of their sex that they are eclipsed by the stronger presence of the women. Here is a photo sent by reader Desant who wants to know if the male specimen on the left is alpha.

Although this celebratory feast may not showcase our declining nation’s best and alpha-iest, don’t underestimate Corky’s alpha potential within his social circle. The claw hand and elbow symbolically muscling out his only other male competition is certainly try-hard and awkwardly propped, but he brings game with a stylish display of peacockery — the bulky statement watch, the unusual pendant, the ironically nerdy and retro glasses leash, the bold cerulean undershirt — and an imperturbable facial expression of stone cold confidence mingled with a hidden capacity for dispatching foes with extreme ruthlessness. He is 20 years old today, and he is NOT to be trifled with, motherfucker. Not on this special day. Not when he’s the star of the show. With the precision of a Call of Duty-trained warrior and the passion of a Downs freakout, this guy will rain upon your cursed head thunderous tard blows with his windmill arms before you have a chance to stop laughing long enough to defend yourself from imminent death.

But that’s not all the evidence we have for his alphaness. Admire his overall body language, which is open and taking up lots of manly space. I would not be surprised if he was straddling the bench cowgirl style. His manboobs are thrust toward the camera assertively, as if to say “I dare you to purple nurple me. Do it. DOOOO IIIIIT!! See if you get your hand back.” And that linearly clamped unsmiling mouth from whence no tooth can interrupt his studied coolness says one thing — “My birthday is serious business”. Where is his other hand? Cradling his colossal sack, natch.

(An alpha is in love with his genitals; kneading, fondling, cupping, caressing, complimenting, filming or otherwise drawing attention to them at every legal opportunity.)

Finally, what may be the best evidence of Corky’s status as group alpha is the simple fact that he is the honored guest. What woman can resist swooning for the man of the hour? Birthday boy, military hero receiving a Medal of Honor — it’s a difference of degree. A man gets few moments in the sun in his life; he is wise to capitalize on them when they happen. Corky is capitalizing with a vengeance.

What’s worse than a douchebag? A douchebag wannabe. Thus, the man behind Corky is a strong alpha contender.

Sunkist Tits is without a doubt the alpha female of the group. She is sitting in the Queen’s throne, at the head of the table. (Studies have shown that the best spot to sit at a corporate meeting is directly across from the CEO/speaker, as that is the next most dominant seating position after the head of the table. The most beta spot to sit is adjacent to the CEO. You’ll look like a lapdog.) Sunkist Tits may even be the primary alpha if the two guys are desperately horny beta orbiters, but we can’t tell that from this photo. Her tits are magnificent. I even forgive her manly shoulders for them, because clearly the broad shoulders are needed as a cantilever to support her juicy melons, lest she tip over and capsize.

The girl to the left of Sunkist Tits — a plain looker who cannot inspire me to grace her with a nickname — slouches in defeat while in the presence of a hotter girl. Her face flickers with self-doubt. Her manly chin hints at a closet full of sluttiness.

Green Bag Girl rivals Sunkist Tits in cuteness, and her teeth glow with artificially enhanced whiteness. She slouches too, but that is probably from taking it up the pooper by a black man.

Salem Witch Girl is not bold enough to go full goth, nor self-aware enough to go to a dentist. Unfortunately for her, there is not a man alive (except maybe a lying blog commenter vainly trying to score a stupid debate point) who would rank her higher than the other three girls. Therefore, low value men will swarm her with propositions, figuring she will be quicker to put out. Paradoxically, this means she may in fact receive over the course of her fertile years more male attention than Sunkist Tits, because the world has a lot more low value men seeking the path of least resistance than it does high value men with the balls to approach hot chicks. This knowledge explains her happy face. So while Sunkist Tits gets the pick of the litter, she gets millions of Corkys vying for her hand in pre-marital blowjobs.

VERDICT: Douchebag Wannabe is the alpha of the group.

Reason? Corky may be a cocksure alpha nerd, but he’s still a nerd.

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The Problem With Women Is Too Much Self-Esteem

The mantra for the past two generations in America has been that women suffer from low self-esteem brought on by a multitude of negative influences such as teacher bias, misogyny, old boys’ networks, parenting favoritism, double standards, gender stereotyped toys, etc.

Le Chateau representatives are here to tell you the low female self-esteem industry has been one giant scam perpetrated on gullible liberals and cowed conservatives. Women — American women in particular — don’t have a low self-esteem problem; just the opposite — they have a problem of unwarranted high self-esteem. What kind of woman do you get when you combine a cultural apparatus designed to maximally extol the virtues of womanhood and cast all fault for any female shortcomings on male bias and discrimination with a biologically innate evolutionary imperative that renders men more expendable than women? Answer:

A woman with a big fat head.

From the cradle, women are groomed by their peers, family, society and DNA-coded algorithms alike to embrace the joys of big-headedness. It used to be only beautiful women had this problem (and with at least a semblance of justification based on real value), but now ugly women, fat women, and lawyers are all riding the phony low self-esteem grievance chariot to the entitled princess winners’ circle. The result has been to produce a nation of broads hell-bent on seeing themselves as god’s gift to god himself.

The worst thing a man could do would be to feed this beast even further with traditional courtship game. It’s not for nothing that modern game focuses so much attention on breaking down a woman’s self-esteem into manageable chunks — negs, qualification, teasing, push-pull, takeaways, calculated indifference — all are game tactics with the primary purpose of knocking bigheaded chicks off their royal, gilded vaj-shaped thrones. And these tactics are effective precisely because girls want to be dethroned by a man of higher value than themselves, whether they admit to this or not.

The funny thing about female self-esteem is that it doesn’t take much to help it grow wildly beyond the bounds of the pot it was planted in. All women are born with a self-entitlement complex preinstalled. Eggs are biologically more expensive than sperm, and the brain of each sex has evolved to reflect that immutable procreative reality; in women, their minds are primed from birth to regard themselves as the more valuable sex, and this regard is not without merit, at least in the reproductive realm, which is the realm that underpins all other realms. Men, by contrast, are primed to regard themselves as less individually valuable than women, and this manifests as a willingness to take more mortal risks.

So now that we know that women start with a higher basal self-esteem than men, wouldn’t it make more sense for a healthy, functioning society to turn its cultural apparatus toward the project of boosting men’s self-esteem? In fact, this is what quasi-patriarchal Western societies used to do, before they were infected with the late decadent, postmodern deconstructivism and victimology virii. Now the optimal pattern has been completely turned on its head — intrinsically high self-esteem women are administered supercharged booster injections of ego-stroking, while intrinsically low self-esteem men are, either deliberately or coincidentally, pushed further into ego-deflating self-abnegation. See: March 2009 BOTM.

The goals of this outpost of bristling reality are, one, to acquaint readers with the truth of the female (and male) condition that exists past the boundaries of mainstream-approved polite discourse and, two, to arm the male readers (and, by extension, the female readers) with the tools to capitalize on that taboo knowledge. Thankfully, there are plenty of readers here who contribute to that knowledge base. Reader PA comments:

Gentle and friendly teasing is not intimidating, and creates a sort of rapport that makes one feel at ease.

Exactly. This is true even with non-sexual interaction. Think the last time you saw a man who is good with kids. He will ‘neg’ the girl by saying stuff like: “hey! you’re cheating! no red crayon allowed!” or whatever.

Boys, on the other hand, don’t like to be negged. If you’re good with kids, you will build him up with stuff like “that’s really cool. Can you draw it bigger?” etc.

If you have young nieces and nephews, you will quickly recognize the truth in PA’s comment. Nieces respond positively — with glee, even — to prototype negs and teasing; the sort of banter that modern feminists would describe as demeaning. In contrast, little boys, with their fragile egos, wilt under negs and teasing, but respond well to compliments and encouragement. Mothers instinctively know this, as they will often reprimand the fathers for being too discouraging or too critical with their sons while giving the fathers a pass or a semi-serious chiding when they tease the daughters.

The great irony here is that what makes good parenting is exactly the opposite of what feminists claim is the best way to raise boys and girls. Parents know, deep down, that to raise a good daughter you must keep her ego judiciously pruned, and to raise a good son you must suffuse his ego with promise.

Game theory — in fact, most social theory — has much to owe to the instinctual rapport that emerges between father and child, before diseased memes intrude and sully the message. When you want to better understand the nature of game and how it helps attract women, think of how you treat your niece, or how a father you know treats his young daughter. Recall how effortlessly the negs and teasing spilled from your lips when you were goofing around with your little niece. Recall, too, how she squealed with delight. Then take that knowledge and apply it — almost verbatim! — to your seductions of adult women. Their vocal pitch may change, but the squeal remains the same.

Today, in the era of the bloated female ego, the mark of a quality woman is a humble woman. Meet a pretty woman like this — usually foreign, and usually from a strong lower to middle class family — and marvel how refreshing she seems to the typical, mind and body bloated American chick you are used to dating. Unfortunately, more likely you will meet another egotistical bitch with self-love issues and will have to invest months training her (i.e. running game on her) to grace her with a proper and realistic humility. For those who love the game for what it is, this is not such a burdensome sacrifice. But for those who struggle to hear the strange tuning of women’s feminine nature, the required training may be a cost too high to pay.

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Why The Elites Prop Up The Blank Slate

Dennis Mangan nails it:

But it also occurs to me that Orszag and his ilk have another motivation beyond pushing their blank slate theories, and that is self-justification. Those like him who have made into the elite are made of sterner stuff, practicing their 10,000 hours, and thus deserve to be part of the elite, unlike you proles, wasting your time on TV and Nascar.

No, connections and intelligence have nothing to do with becoming a Cabinet member, or even a New York Times columnist. All that success comes from the superior morality of someone who buckles down to the task.

There is a lot of speculation about why the elites (and at present, the elites in America are mostly megaphone-wielding whites) are so insanely and stupidly gung-ho about the infinite malleability of human nature and the policy implications that follow therefrom.

• They want to drive a wedge between themselves and “the wrong kind of white people” using the underclass as pawns so that they face less competition from those most likely to give it to them for the top career slots.
• They are brown-nosing amongst fellow SWPLs for those ever-crucial status points that can only be signaled by hating and obfuscating the common sense that is the currency of thought with putatively less enlightened whites.
• They are true blank slate believers.
• They are creating artificial social obstacles designed to make it difficult for less intelligent whites to navigate their way into polite society, thus selectively filtering for only the most socially savvy to rise to the top.
• They are paying the danegeld and rationalizing their extortion.
• They are secretly ashamed of acting in ways in their own lives that deny blank slate theology, and therefore seek to assuage their guilt. Hypocrisy is the tribute vice pays to virtue.
• They want to squeeze the middle class — their main competitors — and establish a virtual hereditary aristocracy of globalized ruling class transnationalists. Patriotism, religion, tribalism, and ethnic kinship all work against that goal.
• They are bored with national prosperity.
• They abhor hopelessness.
• Do-gooderism is their replacement religion.
• They are sadists who like sticking it to dumber people.

All the above reasons have a kernel of truth, but for a glimpse at what motivates the seemingly self-duping elites in their crass status whoring and propagandistic myopia, you have to peer beneath all that straight into the thermal core of their souls where self-conception resides and the ego sloshes in a cauldron of lifeblood. This is where Mangan’s answer hits upon the ultimate truth —

A defeat of the blank slate robs the elites of their self-satisfaction. Their pride is the beast that stands guard at the last gate, claws and fangs bared, a giant warhammer held aloft to stop those who would raid the castle. At this gate — the last stand before they must relinquish everything that defines their smug superiority — they will spare no quarter for platitude smashing barbarians. Here they fight with a viciousness that belies the nobility of what they claim to fight for.

If genes for intelligence, conscientiousness and discipline account for half or (probably) more of one’s success in life (i.e., success over others), then what does that say about the elite that doesn’t remove a large plank propping up their zealously guarded pride? What successful person really wants to hear that a big reason for their success was…

dumb fucking luck?

(This post has been a 9-11 remembrance, mothafuckaaaaaas.)

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American Hero

Who is the bigger American hero? This man?

Or this man:

Did you notice how the repugnant dyke-like creatures immediately resorted to lying about being threatened by this man in hopes of rousing the white knight posse to come to their rescue? Let this be a lesson — women will lie lie lie to silence disagreement and win the support of the crowd. They will lie about rape, about domestic violence, about assault, and about any fact that challenges their warped worldview so long as it serves their interests. Women have no moral code that isn’t bendable to serve their personal interest and no sense of justice that isn’t biased to flatter their feelings. Feminists have demonstrated they should be treated like children under the law.

It’s time for men to grow some balls and shove the shit right back in the fat piglike faces of the femtards and other assorted leftie agitators. Co-opt the “debate” tactics of the left and make life miserable for these freaks, degenerates and traitors.

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No-Call Game

Fed up with having to decide when you should call a chick after getting her digits? Tired of phone tag while managing the ever-present annoyance of flaking? Baffled whether to leave a voicemail or send a text? Wondering what kind of message to leave?

You can stop beating yourself up! Jack Goes Forth writes that he has discovered a loophole which he dubs “No-call game”:

My new game: The ‘no-call’ game. You still have to get a girl’s number but during the exchange you pull the ‘text me your number and I’ll hit you back with mine real quick’, then appear to be busy and get the fuck out of dodge. Then you simply never call them. Ever. Even if they call you, you don’t pick up, or reply. You never, ever, call a girl…or really anyone for that matter. In fact even if you meet a girl you really like, you definitely don’t call her. Don’t even call her back. Actually don’t ever see her again unless it happens by chance. I think when you get to this point of game where it really means nothing at all to you to completely lose touch with every girl you meet, for some reason the laws of nature will reward you. You may wonder how you would ever meet up with a girl and put yourself in a position to bang without ever speaking to them, and I can’t answer that. It’s like a jedi-mind trick thing. That’s why this game will only work for only a handful of men.

Through a combination of having girls throw themselves at me while I’m bartending, my hatred of speaking to people over the phone, overwhelming laziness, and a lack of concern for anyone’s feelings but my own, I’ve somehow found myself with 10 different options at a time, all the time. I cheat on the girls that I’m cheating on my girlfriend with. It’s sad really…but I don’t care, which is the whole point of the exercise.

I’m aloof to the point of comatose…. I barely even speak to girls when we’re on an actual date, which I don’t go on. Bartending at a youngish (21-28) party bar has spoiled me for the rest of my life.

I may have found my ‘end game’ (RooshV).

This email was not a joke. I believe in my system.

No-call game is the ultimate expression of aloof and indifferent Uncaring Asshole game. We all know how much hot chicks moisten up for a self-absorbed man who doesn’t take them seriously. (Ugly chicks moisten up, too, but they are smart to realize that an attentive beta is in their best interests.)

No-call game isn’t for everyone. A few things have to be in place for it to work.

1. You need to collect a lot of numbers. No-calling one chick means there is a 99% chance you will never bang her. No-calling 100 chicks means the chance you will bang any one individual chick just tripled. There seems to be a mysterious “law of large numbers” that takes effect when you are no-juggling lots of girls — opportunities begin to present themselves with little effort on your part.
2. You need to collect the numbers of chicks who live, work or play near you. No-call game relies in part on future chance encounters — let’s say at Trader Joe’s or on your street — so that when the girl bumps into you she starts chasing you because your no-call raised your value well above hers. Jack is a bartender, which satisfies the “she must play near you” condition.
3. You need to have ice running through your veins. When that no-called chick runs into you with desire in her eyes she is likely going to shit test the hell out of you for not calling her. Steady on, governor. You’ll need to remain as aloof in her company as when you were not calling her. Hint: act like she is the one with the problem.

You may think this post is a joke, but I can confirm it’s not. Ask any man who is swimming in pussy and he will tell you in so many words that the fruits of no-call game form a big part of his life. Quite simply, in-demand men forget more chicks’ numbers in a day than you will get in a year. And how do those forgotten girls reward them? You guessed it.

Of course, being a bartender helps. A friend with a high status day job in Chicago called to tell me he had taken a side job as a bartender. He sounded excited, so I asked him how it was. He said he’s quadrupled the number of bangs he’s gotten since bartending. He concluded that bartending is a higher status job for men than any societally approved career. But no-call game will work even if you’re not a bartender. Let’s say you meet a girl at your local coffee shop and you game her like you would any girl. You exchange numbers and take off. You never call her. Two weeks later, you see her at the coffee shop again and sit near her.

HER: You never called!

THE DEVIL U WILL ALWAYS FORGIVE: I hate talking on the phone. Funny, we met right at this exact same spot last time.

HER: That’s not cool. You could text.

THE DEVIL U WILL ALWAYS FORGIVE: [shaking head] Big thumbs.

HER: [stifling laugh] You’re one of those guys, huh.

THE DEVIL U WILL ALWAYS FORGIVE: Good to my mother? Yes. [proceeds to game her as if they just met for a surprise date]

Although a girl will act superficially offended that you didn’t call her, underneath her angered and shamed exterior she is bristling with arousal and curiosity. She wants more than ever to know about the man who couldn’t be bothered to follow up for a chance at tapping her cute ass. When meeting girls for sex becomes an afterthought, or even a bother, is when the sex will flow freely like a river.

Also note, as Jack mentioned, that laconic game beats verbose game any time. When in doubt, say nothing with confidence.

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