The Wall

the wall [thuh wawl] -noun: 1. a large, immovable monolith of frightening and awesome power capable of threshing egos and rending souls, serving as a metaphorical stoppage point at the intersection between a woman’s declining sexual attractiveness and her advancing years, beyond which female sexual desirability disappears into the misty void.

FuturePundit has a post up highlighting a scientific study which concludes, most depressingly, that by age 30 only 12% of a woman’s eggs remain.

Tom Kelsey, a Senior Research Fellow at the School of Computer Science at St Andrews, said, “Previous models have looked at the decline in ovarian reserve, but not at the dynamics of ovarian reserve from conception onwards. Our model shows that for 95% of women, by the age of 30 years, only 12% of their maximum ovarian reserve is present, and by the age of 40 years only 3% remains.

This is a surprise even to me. I knew there was a significant dropoff in female fertility by age 30, but I didn’t know it was this precipitous. I find this news depressing, because female fertility and sexual attractiveness closely parallel; allowing for a few lag years for the outer shell to catch up to the inner biology, the number of viable eggs a woman has remaining directly correlates with the number of years she has left as a highly coveted product on the sexual market. That is, when a woman has a full basket of eggs she is at her most beautiful. When she has dwindled to 50% eggs left, she is desireable to only half the men she was capable of attracting for short and, particularly, long term relationships when she was at her beauty prime. And when she is down to 3% eggs at age 40, she can only attract 3% of the men she used to attract for long term investment when she was peaking at, typically, age 20. And what’s worse, those 3% of men are the leftover omega dregs with no other options whom she turned down when she was a hotter commodity.

Personally, as a man who has no desire to have kids, the number of remaining eggs a woman has left is of no concern to me other than as an abstract matter. But a woman’s beauty is of paramount concern to me, and as such it would happen that, through the use of my infallible divining boner rod, my very selective screening procedures against women showing signs of physical decay would necessitate that I avoid dating women with less than 50% eggs in their basket. So far, this is how it has worked out, and I’ve mostly game and a devilish smile to thank for that.

This saddens me. Why? I will explain. Anything, any uncontrollable force, that strips beauty from the world is my enemy. How much grander and pleasurable life if women stayed beautiful for 100 years instead of a precious 15 years? How much love would my heart shout at the world if the pool of beautiful women was every woman, everywhere, forevermore, and not just a small sliver of women with power so fleeting it may as well be a curse than a blessing? Imagine this world, and tell me then how you keep the demons of hate from lashing impudently and futilely against the natural order of things. I say fuck the natural order. Bring on the life and beauty extending tamperings of human ingenuity. Get off your knees, you limp-noodled gaiaists and blithely stoic servants of religion, you philosophical naifs and self-deluded sophists. Turn the tables and bring your evolutionary inheritance to its knees, if you dare.

More evidence for the wall comes from a Japanese study showing that there is a real “tipping point” in aging, or a “hitting the wall” effect, where a woman’s natural biological ability to rejuvenate herself and stay toe to toe with the ravages of aging slips into freefall at age 35, much younger than previously thought.

‘While some measurements showed a gradual decline, cheek volume – one of the key factors in a youthful appearance – can drop off suddenly, by as much as 35 per cent in a year,’ he says.

Naturally, there are some women whose stress-inducing lives of stripping, smoking, slutting, and single motherhood age them much faster than their actual years. These are truly tragic cases, for they have thrown away their most precious asset for instant gratification.

In other news, the new HBO documentary “Youth Knows No Pain” was pretty good. A number of the women interviewed were boldly honest about their declining sexual attractiveness, and the reasons for why they went under the knife to “get a little work done”. One woman even noted that when her friends told her there are plenty of women who look good for their age, like Sophia Loren, she responded that Sophia Loren is just one woman out of millions who “don’t look so good when they get older”. Found: A woman with a grasp of basic statistical concepts. Alert the media!

Most of the women in the documentary looked like alien-eyed stretchy gumbo toys, but a couple did actually look pretty good, at least ten years younger than their ages. At some point, the science is going to have to dispense with the scalpel and start rejuvenating under the hood, fixing the problem at its source using stem cells or some other form of cellular manipulation. I can’t wait for matrix-like abortion mills to be constructed to help my harem stay young and sexy for as long as possible.

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He Hit Me (And It Felt Like A Kiss)

Do you think I am the first to notice that a significant number/sizeable minority/secret majority of women get turned on when a man hits them?

Heh. No. Here’s a little ditty by The Crystals, an all women singing group, circa early 1960s:

Thanks to reader Luke Stiles for sending me this link.

And to all you piously indignant losers and pantywaist nancyboys with your skirts over your heads who can’t handle the truth… take it up with the ladies. They were singing about the dark recesses of female desire long before I ever arrived on the scene.

In the voice of that squat little lady from Poltergeist: This truth is gleaned.

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Chicks Dig Jerks: A Series

Every once in a while, when I sense the white knighting idealism beginning to take a stronger toehold on the thinking of some of my readers, I like to offer helpful reminders about the true nature of the creatures they are doomed to forever misunderstand.

In today’s special edition, a Seattle 19 year old pimp legally named Deshawn Cashmoney Clark was convicted for running a prostitution ring (hat tip: reader Master Dogen). This is not the most humorously banal angle of the story, though. No, the really SHOCKING, HEAVEN FORFEND surprise is how his harem of hookers is sticking by this uber-asshole’s side.

When that teen left the area in early 2008, Clark took up with a then-15-year-old girl he’d also met while attending school in West Seattle.

The two had been dating for several months when Clark propositioned her, demanding that she “walk the track” on Pacific Highway South and solicit payment for sex. While she did so, Clark would monitor her earnings by cell phone.

“If he felt that she was taking breaks unnecessarily, he yelled at her to get back out on the track and make him some money,” O’Donnell said in court documents. “At the end of each day, he returned to pick her up and took the money she had earned.”

The girl had run away from home while working for Clark, O’Donnell told the court. In one instance, the girl’s mother believed she had located her daughter. Instead, she found Clark, who, with a smile, issued her a warning.

“You will never find her,” Clark said, according to court documents. “I’ve got her so tight. She’s all mine.”

That girl — tattooed in Clark’s honor with the words “daddy’s little girl” — continued to support Clark throughout his trial, even as he married another woman.

Cashmoney wasn’t bluffing. He had her locked down, because she *wanted* to be locked down by him. This is a revelation about the female mind that escapes the logical thinking of so many men — why would a woman want to be with a man like Cashmoney? Why would any woman willingly offer herself as a rentable hole to a man hawking her goods to streetside bidders? Because women want to submit to a powerful man. Whether that power comes in the form of a crooning emo rock star, a CEO, or a pimp daddy with fists of fury doesn’t matter. All that matters is the male power, and the tingly feeling of submitting — wholly, completely — to that power. Every woman, deep DEEP inside, wants to be “daddy’s little girl”.

One admitted pimp and Street Mobb member, Mycah Johnson, described learning how to manipulate and intimidate young women from Clark.

“‘Cash’ showed me how to be a pimp,” Johnson wrote the court. “He would tell me where I should have (her) work and would explain how to use Craigslist to post her ads. He told me how to manage (her), specifically with respect to the money she earned — I was to keep all of it.”

Betas everywhere would do well to read the life stories of pimps. They have some useful advice. Naturally, the anti-game crowd will squawk “oh but these women were being manipulated!” They love that word manipulate. Cling to it like a newborn chimp to its mother’s furry belly. So much can be dismissed for consideration by shotgunning that word “manipulation” into any conversation about men and women they find distasteful. Unfortunately for them, it isn’t as readily dismissible as all that. Like hypnosis, you can only manipulate those who are manipulable. Those who, at some level, wish for the manipulation because they enjoy it. It is for this reason that the term manipulation is next to useless — apply a broad enough definition and you indict any goal-oriented communication as “manipulation”. Seduction? Manipulation. Sales? Manipulation. Politics? Manipulation. Convincing a buddy to see a great movie you just saw? Manipulation. No, Cashmoney’s honeys craved his manipulation. It TURNED THEM ON. How would he and his brethren pimps otherwise know how to “handle” women in the prime of their marketability? He knew because the evidence was staring him in the face — women who would fall for him, screw him, defend him, and yes… even love him.

The cries of “manipulation” ring louder. “Those women didn’t know what was happening to them!”, they will scream. Right-o. Funny thing is, the world is full to brimming with lovelorn betas attempting to manipulate women into sex and running headlong into a major road blockage. Their manipulations aren’t working. Some manipulations are clearly more effective than other manipulations. And which ones would those be? Well, the manipulations that turn women on!

Addressing North, defense attorney Alfoster Garrett, Jr., argued that, while his client profited from prostituting the teens, they were willing participants in the scheme.

Describing Clark as a “scapegoat,” Garrett noted that his client was 16 or 17 during at the time he was accused of prostituting the other youths.

This is one of those few times I agree the defense attorney has it exactly right. What else do you call an employee of Clark’s who cheers him on in court except a willing participant in his lifestyle and chosen career? Who you gonna believe, your lying eyes or a bunch of sociology trained femtards? It’s time to reform the law. Yes, as ringleaders and the administers of violence, pimps are more culpable than their whores, but whores share some of the blame. A fair justice system would punish all parties involved.

While he their circumstances may have made them susceptible to the pimp, Clark’s upbringing set him on a path to crime.

“He is a product of his environment,” Garrett said, asking that Clark receive an exceptionally short sentence.

Actually, his genes set him on his path of procuring limitless loyal poon. His environment only greased the skids.

North rejected the contention that the teens’ former involvement in prostitution evidenced a desire to continue in that life.

“I don’t find that the victims were willing participants,” North said. “It’s a complex relationship not unlike a domestic violence situation.”

Paging Rihanna. Still nurture pangs of love for your past lover Chris Brown, don’t you babe? I know, I understand. CH is here. No judgment. Pour out your heart. I won’t bite. Much.

North’s decision to impose the 17-year term followed a plea by Clark’s 19-year-old wife, Julata Clark.

Julata Clark, who gave birth to Deshawn Clark’s second child weeks before he was sentenced, said her husband is young and able to change his life.

The hilarity train keeps on rolling. Hey, Cashmoney had family values. The guy got married! Gotta love a wife with two kids storming court to support her husband’s pimping, carousing, and general assholery to the nth degree.

And society’s gotta love that this guy, at the ripe age of 19, already pumped out a couple of spawn while MBA toting 30 year olds examine their stock portfolios to gauge whether now is the right time to have that first autistic, underweight baby.

A parting thought. Owing to the rank stupidity or, more generously, the willful misinterpretation, of a minority of my readers who can’t wrap their minds around the simple concept of is-ought and who fervently believe (or secretly wish) my posts detailing in loving glory how much chicks dig jerks is tantamount to advocating every man set himself on the path of pimpdom, let me remind you that I am merely a courier of reality. I tell you how it is; what you do with that knowledge is up to you. The Pimp’s Way holds much truth about the nature of women in their fertile prime from which the average law-abiding man can personally benefit, but that truth does not need to come delivered in the same package to be effective in your own lives. You grasp the truth, and then you apply it to yourself and your dealings with women in the way that is most congruent with your values.

And to the all-too-predictable choir of cliche-spouters: No shit not *every* woman likes assholes. Do I need to put that addendum after every fucking sentence I write, or are you capable of discerning the all too obvious subtext? Here are my thoughts on the phenomenon of chicks digging jerks:

• Like most things about human nature, the female asshole-loving urge runs along a bell curve. To the far left we have women who would have nothing to do with assholes. To the far right we have Cashmoney’s honeys. Bunched in the middle are most women, who despite their protestastions to the contrary get tingly for an asshole, but won’t see it all the way to shacking up with a pimp.
• So many overaged yentas write to me telling me indignantly how they despise assholes and would never do what the girls featured in my posts do. I don’t have reason to doubt them… much, but I would remind them that the types of women who are most fond of assholes are exactly those women men most desire — that is to say, the young, supple babes with sex in their eyes and femininity in their souls. As women age out of attractiveness, they also (coincidentally!) age out of their attraction for assholes. Which brings me to…
• Maxim #71: In their sexual primes women’s attraction for assholes is at its strongest. You can catch a lot of hungry flies with honey, but shit attracts the most well-fed flies.

Tune in next week for another edition of “WOW, that’s news to me!”

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A Reader’s Field Report

A reader (name withheld) sent me a field report of his experience with a girl who continued playing the field while dating him.

Women love to think they are one of a kind, not predictable, and far too complex for labels. Well they are predictable. In fact this makes a great neg.

I believe men put greater weight in someone’s words than women.  It is a sign of character and respect for a man to look someone in the eyes, shake hands and hold to his word.  I have never observed a woman bragging about keeping her word or standing on the principle of something she has said. Women are wordsmiths. This of course is an Achilles heel when dealing with women. Strip away the words though and the message is surprisingly clear.

Case in point, my last fling.  Part of her ‘routine’ is a sweet country girl with old fashioned morals. *Snark*  I met her buying her furniture.  She was selling everything she owned to move in with her boyfriend 5 states away. A little teasing, a few texts and a phone call got her to meet for a glass of wine. Two dates later the move was off and I was on.

Her relationship history was an instant red flag but she was a little hottie. She had her game down and knew what spin to feed guys. She walked the walk too, at least for the first month or so. I ended up making a few notes to keep my head straight.  This ended up turning into a relatively sophisticated relationship analysis tool. I paced the relationship, graded along several lines,  listed red flags and kept an ongoing synopsis and commentary on her. Most importantly I only considered her actions.

At times I would open my file on her and not really like what I saw.  This usually happened after a good F* . But I’d reread all the supporting details and I was back on Earth, eyes open.  I suspected she had Low Self Esteem and I have been down this road. Little details solidified this after only a few weeks.  I knew it wouldn’t last.

Sure enough a couple of S* Tests surfaced.  I suspected they involved affirmation from other eligible guys. After icing her for a couple of days, she wanted to meet and “talk”, mid-day.  I preempted her little talk with the precious words “I think we are thinking the same thing”. This totally rattled her. Guys don’t break up with her!  I  told her I could tell she wasn’t taking herself off the market yet expected me to. This was the story  my “analysis” told me.  Of course I was completely way off base, nothing of the sort was true, how dare I have her figured out! hmmff.

Sure enough it later came out she did have a date with some guy the same week as the [shit test].  Years ago I would have been blindsided and confused. I doubt I would have put it all together beforehand. I probably would have given credit to her improvised rationalizations when the reality was a plain as the C stains on last weeks sheets.  I didn’t do everything perfect.  I went off on her when she revealed what she was up to. I should have just snickered and ask her for her Truffle recipe.  But I did see it coming. I was bummed for about 6 hrs till I went to sleep. It was fun while it lasted. The next morning  though I had a perma-grin knowing I pegged her in more ways than one.

Message to my brothers: Understand you’ll probably flounder in the emotional soup that pervades female cognition. You likely give too much weight to her words so turn them off.  Her actions say it all.  Hone in on them and you may even be able to predict her next slutty thought.

PS. Wish I’d have read your Ex-girlfriend how-to.  I would love to have set the table for a rebound.

I like the idea of keeping a mental checklist of a woman’s red flags. In fact, I would go one step further and jot down in a small notebook all the red flags as they appear. This serves two purposes. One, as the reader above wrote, it keeps your head on straight and out of the clouds. Continual reminders of women’s bestial natures is the raw alchemical agent for long-lasting, healthy relationships, should you choose to go that route. Obviously, red flag number one was her decision to dump a man she was about to move in with for a man she met in a furniture store.

Two, keeping a red flag journal (RFJ) will illuminate with crystal clarity where you need to make adjustments on the fly to keep the sex coming, or where you went wrong if the relationship ended in a breakup. It’s a truism that jotting thoughts down in writing will have much more impact on your thinking processes and subsequent actions than storing those observations in your memory bank. A red flag journal will give a man tremendous leverage in any dating scenario, as it will strip away any beta rationalizations he may be tempted to wallow in, and it will also serve as a learning tool for future girls. Because as we all know by now, most women are pretty much alike in their natures, save for the adorable embroidery.

“I think we are thinking the same thing.” I liked this response from the reader as a preemptive action, but he would have been better off following up without mentioning that he knows she’s not taking herself off the market. That is a subtle demonstration of lower value on his part. He is tacitly implying that he’s not good enough to keep her off the market. Instead, he should have simply accused her of wanting to keep *him* off the market. That would have been adequate to cause her to veer wildly off her breakup script and into a defensive crouch where gina tingles are born.

Anyone else notice how girls will attempt to schedule breakup talks at midday? Well, at least those girls who aren’t breaking up through email or the silent treatment. (A majority of women, for reasons probably having to do with the female proclivity for that most milquetoasty of values known as “closure”, prefer to do their breaking up face to face.) If a girl ever says she wants to meet for a “talk” at a midday hour, my advice to you: Don’t respond at all. Don’t give her the satisfaction. A non-response also paves the way for continued sex as her breakup initiation sequence will be forced on indefinite hold. As I’ve written before, it’s all about hand. He/she who holds hand, dictates the direction and pacing of the relationship. And we’d all rather be the dictators than the dictated.

If there’s one lesson men should take from my blog, it’s this: Scrutinize what she does, not what she says. This one lesson, above all others, will never fail you. It will serve you well until your last days. As far as generalizations go, this one is about as rock solid as an established scientific theory. An amusing irony of life is that, despite women being blessed with a generally greater verbal faciliity than men, their words falling from their lips are gossamer lightweight and amorphously empty, devoid of intention and brimming with obfuscation and misdirection. Refuse to dance on her spinner’s web and the power is all yours. And chicks dig power.

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Are Pickup Artists Wrong About The Benefits Of Smiling?

Generally, most pickup instructors teach men the importance of remembering to smile on the approach. Their thinking is simple: Girls prefer the company of smiling men, because a man who is smiling is showing that he has what he wants in life. In reductionist terms, he’s advertising his worth as a provider and broadcasting his positive emotional state as a man who, the woman is likely to assume, gets his share of pussy. A woman’s hindbrain is more apt to label an impassive stone-faced man with the celibate loser scarlet L.

Examining my own successful pickups, I can recall not smiling much at all for at least half of them. Maybe a coy smirk, after introductions were made, but certainly my face was not shining brightly with the happy, smiley glow of a motivational speaker working the audience. I’ve always thought that the advice for men to smile was a bit overblown, but I could never put my finger on exactly why this is the case.

Now evidence has come out from OKCupid’s in-house blog team that smiling in profile pictures on their internet dating site is not the boon to men that many would think (link provided by reader Ben).

Men’s photos are most effective when they look away from the camera and don’t smile:

Maybe women want a little mystery. What is he looking at? Slashdot? Or Engadget?

My first thought is along the the same lines. Women do have a tingle for the international mystery man. This is why salesmen on the road score so easily. It’s the “expert from afar” phenomenon that women can’t resist. Possibly mixed in with a little of the ol’ subconscious desire for hybrid vigor. The problem for women, as is the curse of their mercurial gender, lies in the tension between two contradictory pulls that happens in their brains — women love dark mystery men but they also love happy, smiling, social men. What is a woman to do? The smiling social man and the mysterious brooding man are hardly ever occupied by the same man (although I have made an art of managing it). Judging by OKCupid’s data, the best course of action for a man who insists upon internet dating (it’s a sucker’s bet for the average man) is to post a picture of yourself staring intensely into the distance at the horizon. Or at a stripper just outside the picture frame. The girl looking at your profile pic will never know the difference.

While internet profile pics are only a simulation of real-life face to face interactions, the knowledge gleaned from internet messaging habits does help inform men what might work best in a nonvirtual scenario (what used to be known as “getting out of bed in the morning”). For instance, if you are going to play “serial killer stare her into submission” your best course of action is to leaven your hard stare with a flirty grin. But you’re much better off not making intense eye contact. If women prefer the man who looks preoccupied with something else besides her, then in a social situation you want to limit your pre-approach eye contact to the bare minimum (just enough to make it register with your target) and refrain from excessive smiling, if at all. You also want to look like your full attention is directed elsewhere, and that it requires a serious face. After all, a man’s business is serious. Always. With a heavily hooded sorcerer’s robe and the right lighting (stand over a floorlight) you can attract more than your fair share of curious women, then wow them with a surprise smile once she peeks under the hood.

So unlike the advice of a lot of pickup instructors, I say don’t smile at the girl when you are walking toward her. Don’t frown either, of course. Just a dab of deviousness will do ya.

There is a lot of interesting data mining at that post, so go ahead and read the whole thing.

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2009 Beta Of The Year Winner!

After a year of collecting reader submissions for the most nauseating example of sack shriveling betatude the world over, a Beta of the Year “winner” has finally been announced! Based on popular vote, the winner of the 2009 BOTY is…..

Conor, the facsimile of a man who allowed a woman to walk all over him, bought a place for her and him, paid all her bills, and upon discovering her cheating responded in the only way an unrepentant beta could: by asking her what he could do to make her love him. Really, that sort of response is just pure essence of beta.

You can read the full story in this post (candidate #3). Congratulations go to reader Patrick for the winning 2009 BOTY submission. You, sir, with your keen ear for the sorriest specimens of manhood to walk the earth, have just won yourself a skeleton key to the boudoir of my Montreal harem, and a beer on me.

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The Medicalization Of Maleness

Reading the funny articles about Tiger Woods’ romp through a battalion of trashy, deluded babes who thought they would be the next Mrs. Woods, I noticed a theme emerge.

David Smallwood, who has treated a host of celebrities at north London’s Priory clinic, said: “He displays a number of the pointers such as seeking highs from outdoor sex and having many mistresses.

“I would implore him to get help. But I see him as ill, not bad.”

***

“People who have affairs typically do so because something is lacking,” says psychotherapist Stacy Kaiser. “You can be the world’s best golfer, role model and endorsement spokesman and still not feel good inside.”

When that happens, she says, a man tends to “fill that hole with women as a distraction and an escape.”

The opinion of the experts and sexperts is in: If you are a man who is able to satisfy his natural sexual inclination for a variety of women, you have a problem. A big problem, my friend, and you should seek therapy right away to cure yourself of your affliction.

As a valiant avatar of the ugly truths, I’m here to tell the collected wisdom of the armies of psychotherapists swinging their degrees like battle axes: Tiger Woods does not have a problem. What he has is a male sex drive, and a willingness to fulfull it. In so doing, he makes you confront your worst fears about the base instincts of humanity unleashed in glorious wanton hedonism. You shirk not because of what Tiger does, but because you tremble before your fear of what most men would do given the opportunities available to a man with Woods’ high social and material status.

Tiger Woods may not be a model citizen, but neither does he have an emotional or psychological problem. He’s just a man with a strong sex drive who got bored with the same old pussy day in and day out and decided to spice it up with a willing brigade of slutty concubines all too ready to dismiss their own feelings of complicity in the sordid arrangements that will now cost Woods hundreds of millions of dollars. If Woods has a problem, it’s that he got married. Big mistake, chief.

How many typical married men would act like Woods if suddenly blessed with his fame and fortune? Imbue 100 Joe Sixpacks with Woods’ high status, and 99 would run roughshod on their marital vows. Over and over. Gleefully. Guiltlessly. Until they got caught.

I would ask the experts in the human condition: Do Woods’ mistresses have a problem that must be addressed by months of therapy? If not, why not? Aren’t they just as happily and guiltlessly following their own biomechanical directive in hypergamously hooking up with a wealthy uber alpha who happens to be married? How many typical housewives would act like Woods’ skank parade if suddenly blessed with Woods’ attention and desire? Impart 100 Jill Saddlebags with Woods’ sexual flirtations, and 99 would run roughshod on their marital vows. Over and over. Guiltlessly. Orgasmically. And even after they got caught, because they know in the event of divorce they are not going to be the ones coming up short.

We live in a culture where today the natural male sex drive is demonized and the natural female sex drive is glorified. It is an interesting shift of the paradigm, and one I suspect is unsustainable for a modern, first world economy that rests on certain implicit assumptions about how its citizens are to comport themselves if the good of the whole is to thrive. (Nevermind my antics; While good for me, I’m not one to bow before the concept of the good of the whole. I’ll just freeride until I wind up in the same place as all those properly behaved subjects of the industrial kingdom.)

The adamantium foundation of core values that buttresses all other values is the sexual market. The constant flux of sexual energy between men and women is the force multiplier that breathes life into cultures, and infuses societies with everything from salsa to skyscrapers. When you fuck with the workings of that origin value you fuck with everything resting on top of it, ten times over. This is why late 20th century feminism has been such a boon for the haters of beauty and a weapon for the bringers of doom. Given the inherent lag effect in any large scale human value shift, I expect the fruit of our current culture of lies to ripen fully within our lifetimes.

As I see it, a culture can grapple with the reality of the sexual market and its consequences in one of four ways:

I. Shame/demonize/medicalize the male sex drive. Condone/laud/glorify the female sex drive.

II. Shame the male sex drive. Shame the female sex drive.

III. Glorify the male sex drive. Shame the female sex drive.

IV. Glorify the male sex drive. Glorify the female sex drive.

2010 America is currently knee deep in paradigm number I. 1950s America, according to our best sources (the ones who lived through it) was operating under cultural condition number II, with nods and winks toward number III. Speaking of number III, this seems to be the arrangement most prevalent in the Arab cultures. Number IV is the historically rarest configuration, and is seen most often in pagan cultures like Scandinavia and underdeveloped tribal nations like the swath across much of subsaharan Africa. Number IV is emergent in either highly anarchic societies or in highly homogenized societies of small, manageable population sizes.

America has chosen number I, which is probably the worst option to choose for a mature economic powerhouse rapidly morphing into a trifurcated multicultural and multiethnic population of immense size. This is the option that will send most men into either withdrawal or violence, and most women into hypergamous overdrive. No modern economy, built as they almost invariably all are on the sweat of men with an eye toward saving and investing in the future, can survive a long bout with a value system resting squarely in number I and constantly propped up by the likes of elite opinion makers and Oprah.

Personally, I live by construct number IV, as it is the value system that most pleases me, and is likeliest to persuade women to shed their inhibitions in my company. A master seducer at the height of his game will be living his life by the precepts of number IV, whether or not he argues for the abolition on a wider scale of the paradigm that so suits him in his personal quests.

My prediction for the future is that number I eventually will yield, softly or cataclysmically, to number II, with a short temporary stint in number IV. Number IV is really the wildcard here. While number I works its magic slowly and insidiously, number IV has the explosive power to radically alter the cultural landscape in a very short period of time, especially in a culture historically insulated from the hedonistic ravages of number IV.

I think it would be funny if our culture were one where male gigolos are forgiven and invited onto talk shows and cheating wives are forced to cough up half their assets and income, lose custody of their children, and be shamed from polite society. Sounds punitive, doesn’t it? Well, that’s what we have today. Just reverse the genders.

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