This Is Me With A Smile On My Face

So a Republican won Dead Ted’s royal Democrat Senate seat in Massachusetts. More blessed magical karmic justice there could not be.

(Sung to the tune of ‘Singing in the Rain’)

I’m piiiiiissing on Ted’s grave
just piiiiissing on Ted’s grave
What a glorious feelin’
I’m defiling his name

Let the DNC chase
everyone from the grave
Come on with the pee
I’m urinating freely

aaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhh…………….

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The Story Of A Man Who Refused To Buy A Girl A Drink

Reader Matt forwarded me the following Craigslist posting:

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Why I Didn’t Buy You a Drink – m4w – 22 (Downtown)

You: Cute girl at the bar.
Me: The guy you chatted with while waiting for our drinks.
The Topic: Why I didn’t buy you a drink.
The Audience: Women everywhere, please read this. I know it’s long, but I feel the length is expedient to truly illustrating and arguing my point.

I was waiting to order right as things were getting crazy. It was obvious that it would be a long wait. What can I say? I can’t compete with all the douches yelling for jager bombs. It was then that you appeared. A cute, petite, slightly hipster-ish girl standing next to me, waiting to order as well. The conversation began in the typical manner, simply relating on how frustrating it is when you spend half a night out just waiting for a drink. It then evolved into a true conversation. I spent the next twenty minutes finding out you have great taste in music, movies and literature. You laughed at my jokes, and that’s a big deal to average-looking guys like me.
Unfortunately, after we’d both finished our respective drinks, but were still immersed in discussion, you dropped a bomb that sent shrapnel into my heart.

“So are you gonna buy me a drink or what?”

I had been dreading this moment. I’ve learned from hard experience that any prolonged conversation with a girl at a club or a bar inevitably requires a fee of rum and coke, vodka tonic, or God forbid, a cosmo. As cute as you were, I felt obligated to retain my self-respect.

“Sorry, I don’t buy girls drinks. Just kind of my policy.”

You looked at me like I told you I was going to rape your dog Charlie (yes, I remember his name). Your face morphed from a beautiful smile into a twisted caricature of shock, revulsion, and utter disbelief.

“Seriously, you’re not gonna buy me a drink? What’s your problem?”

Well sweetheart, let me explain to you in detail my logic regarding this decision that you found so unbelievable:

1. I’ve been going to bars for a couple of years now. I enjoy meeting people when I do. I enjoy meeting attractive girls like yourself. I have, however, learned that buying girls drinks is a sucker’s game. Yes, it has developed into sharing my bed for the night a couple times, but 90% of the time, all it does is give me a higher bar tab. Now you might say I’m a prick for expecting a girl to sleep with me just because I buy her a drink. I agree an $8 cocktail does not and should not equal a sexual encounter. However, I believe spending time and money on a girl when I could be having a good night out with my friends does entitle me at least one of the following things: You reciprocating by buying me a drink, you giving me your phone number and/or going out on a date with me, where once again I will be spending time and money on you. Notice that sex is not a requirement or expectation that is coupled with any of these options. Now, of course, if I had offered to buy you a drink, and you accepted, you are not obligated to any of these things. The big distinction here is that you asked me to buy you a drink, and were shocked that I wouldn’t do so. This brings me to my second point.

2. You know exactly what you’re doing. You’re an attractive girl, and when you go out there is no shortage of guys offering to buy you drinks. You know that they are all doing so with the hope that it will lead to sex with you. You know that it’s not going to happen, but you will accept the free drinks anyway. I don’t hold this against you. If they’re dumb enough to think that buying you a drink is the key to your heart and that they are somehow different from the other Ed Hardy-wearing frat-bros then it’s their own damn fault. You’re using your god-given assets to get free alcohol, nothing wrong with that. But it is precisely because I know that you do this that I will not be another douche who thinks he can get into your pants with a mixed drink. It’s insulting to my dignity as a man and your honor as a woman. I noticed you when you first walked in. I saw you dancing with that hopeless collar-popper. I saw him go to the bar and bring a drink back to you on the dancefloor. I saw how the second the glass was in your hand, you gave him the “Thanks for the drink, it was really nice meeting you” treatment complete with the obligatory pat on the chest. I saw the pathetic, defeated look on his face as you walked away. He will enter the next round of bar hopping a little wiser I hope.

3. You took my unwillingness to fall into such a trap as an insult. You accused me of being stuck-up. You then said that I had a chance at fucking you, but that I’d ruined it by being an asshole. What exactly are you trying to tell me? That the asinine idea that getting a girl a drink will get you in her pants is actually true? That your decision of whether or not to sleep with a guy is based on him liquoring you up? We had a good conversation, and maybe you were actually interested in me. But the fact that any rapport we built was destroyed when I wouldn’t buy you a gin and tonic means that I am no longer interested in you. Not all guys are desperate sperm donors. Some of us actually value a good conversation, and we value girls who have enough respect for themselves that they don’t view sex as a transaction.

4. We established during our conversation that we are both broke-ass fine arts students. Why then would you expect that I, someone who shares your financial woes, would want to spend money on you, a girl I just met? I don’t believe that chivalry is dead. I’ll hold a door for you, I’ll pull out your chair or take your coat. I’ll help you change a flat tire, carry you over deep puddles, figure out the remote, reset your modem. I’ll even help you move when I know you a little better. Why? Because I’m a gentleman. I will not, however, buy you a drink under the pretense that it is what a gentleman does, because I simply cannot afford it. If you want a guy who can afford to buy you whatever you want, find a fifty year-old sugar daddy. There was no shortage of potentials at the bar the other night.

I hope this illustrated my thought-process clearly enough. I hope you realize that you seemed amazing at first, and that declining to buy you a drink was in no way an insult. Your reaction, however, revealed the self-entitled, game-playing she-devil that was lurking underneath. I thank god for the out that he provided at that moment though. Just after you finished your little rant on what I dick I was for not boozing you up, a group of girls emerged at the bar right behind you. Two of these girls were thin and pretty. They immediately got the attention of some bros and had free drinks within minutes. The third girl was overweight and out of place. She had clearly spent a great deal of time and effort on her appearance, but alas, she was once again forsaken by her prettier friends and left to stand by herself, looking miserable. Luckily, I know when the universe has given me a profound gift. There were two incredible moments that filled me with an elation that could not be rivaled by the orgasm I would have had while fucking you. The first was the sincere, excited smile that the chubby girl gave me when I moved past you and asked what she wanted to drink. The second was turning back and seeing the look of horror on your face. You pathetic “have fun with the fatty” remark as you walked away was priceless. I may be broke, but I was willing to go into the red to make this girl’s night and to piss you off. I’m sure as soon as you left you got plenty of free drinks and plenty of idiots drooling over you. I just hope that I got under your skin enough to prevent any enjoyment of those things.

I had a great night. I introduced the big girl to an open-minded friend, and as I write this they are across the hall having loud sex. Normally going to bed alone, subjected to the sounds of raucous lovemaking across the hall would be a serious downer. But tonight, as I crawl into my lonely bed, I will go to sleep comforted by the fact that I have retained my self-respect. Having encountered more than a few spoiled bimbos, I infer that sex with you would have consisted of you lying on your back expecting me to be so grateful that I’m seeing your “hot” naked bod makes up for the fact that you are putting absolutely no effort into this sexual experience. This may just be me trying to justify going to bed alone tonight, but hey, what can you do?

The moral: Ladies, accept drinks if they are offered. Do not expect them. And if you’re feeling particularly wild on a given night, offer to buy the guy a drink. He will be instantly smitten.

***

I applaud this man for sticking to his principles. There is no doubt now about the uselessness of buying girls you haven’t yet slept with *anything* at all, let alone drinks. The knowledge is out there, and only a very foolish or deluded man would ignore this sage advice.

A few things to note about the drink-buying problem:

1. Look at it as a shit test. If a girl is asking you to buy her a drink she is hoping to get you to reveal your inner beta and thus make her job of deciding whether to sleep with you much easier. Girls are designed by Mother Gaia to root out a man’s hidden beta as quickly as possible so that they may then move on to locating and banging genuine alpha males. After all, to a woman, time is the enemy. Those burgeoning wrinkles don’t wait for anyone.

2. If your game is good enough, you can afford to buy a girl a drink without incurring a sexual cost. I have occasionally bought girls drinks when I knew they were already attracted to me. This is personal preference, and dependent upon how likely you think a few drinks will loosen her up for sex that same night.

3. Even if you are rich and an $8 drink does not bother you, in general practice you should refrain from throwing your money around on free drinks for inquisitive women. One, it does not get you any closer to your goal (in fact, it probably pulls you farther away), and two, it poisons the pussy well for future men when the self-entitled princess you just created with your freewheeling spending lives her days out expecting free drinks from every other man she meets. If you are filthy rich, then go ahead and buy her an island and forget about learning game… until she hires Antonio the poolboy.

4. If a girl you just met is bold enough to ask you “So are you gonna buy me a drink or what?”, it means she is not attracted to you and does not respect you as a man. A woman who is attracted in a sexual way to you will also have feelings of respect for you. She will not risk blowing up the rapport and possible future dates by uttering a clumsy, socially retarded question like that.

The man in the above story answered the girl in an effective manner. He was straightforward and lacking in any anger. His fortuitous followup with the fat chick was also a nice touch, though it would have been better for him had he done the same thing with a hotter girl. That way, he could have humiliated the first girl while giving himself a shot at scoring with an even hotter chick. The problem with using a fat chick as a drink-buying prop is that you then have to deal with entertaining her because she thinks you like her. Notice how our intrepid hero wrote that he quickly introduced the fat girl to an “open-minded friend”. I know he was trying to make a valiant reframe in the off chance that the first girl would read his CL posting, but let’s face it, open-mindedness is not the air traffic controller for the boner. To fat chicks everywhere: If you are banging a man who is seemingly out of your league, it’s not because he’s open-minded, it’s because he’s scared to shoot for better looking girls. Or he’s slumming it until something better comes along. Those last ten dates were indoors, out of the public eye, correct?

One other thing. If a girl for whom you refuse to buy a drink says to you “You had a chance at fucking me, but you ruined it by being an asshole” a good response is “Who said you had a chance with me?” Another good one: “Are you the lotto?”

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Better A Bold Jerk Than A Diplomatic Niceguy

Scene: You’re at a bar with your girlfriend and one of her female friends. It’s just past dusk and the crowd is small. Your girlfriend is animatedly talking with her friend while you are holding court with some cute girl sitting across the bar, shouting jokes back and forth at each other and with the bartender. You are mentally and groinally stimulated by the sight of the new girl and the fleeting thoughts that pollute your brain of seeing her naked. An hour later, the new girl walks over and sits right beside you on an adjacent bar stool, on the side of you that is facing away from your girlfriend and her friend. The new girl leans into your ear and quietly asks if the girl you came with is your girlfriend. You are able to answer her out of earshot of your girlfriend.

Which of the following answers is most likely to earn the respect of the new girl?

a. “Yes, she is my girlfriend.” Firmly said.

b. “No, she’s not my girlfriend.” A lie, but still firmly said.

c. “Um, yeah sorta, we’ve been dating. Not sure how serious it is.” You hesitate for a pregnant second before answering somewhat sheepishly, hoping that your diffidence will leave the door open for further pursuit and possible hooking up with the new girl.

Second question. Which of the above answers is most likely to earn the gina tingle of the new girl?

First, the answer to the second question is the same as the answer to the first question. A woman’s respect is identical to her sexuality, for a woman will feel no lust for a man she does not respect, and she will feel no respect, in anything but the most abstractly and pointlessly arid way, for a man she does not desire.

Even if (c) is the closest answer to the truth, it is the farthest answer from what you think will help you fulfill your goal. If it is clandestine banging with fresh meat* you want, you will have more success answering (a) or (b) than you would equivocating your way through answer (c). For it is not the truth value of a statement that alerts a woman’s nether furrow that she is in the company of a man with an RSVP to her womb, but rather the boldness with which the statement is delivered.

The above sounds counterintuitive to some of you. I know, because for the longest while, it did to me. How can telling an interested and curious new girl that your company is your lover move you any closer to a tryst than hinting to her that your company knows you in a complicated way but you are essentially open to cheating?

Maxim #856: Swear by the HipandCooter oath: First, use no logic.

Please set aside your woefully inadequate male logic when attempting to predict the direction of a woman’s rationalization hamster. That little critter will always razzle dazzle your feeble efforts. You must think like the hamster if you want to influence the hamster. Be the hamster. The wheel is waiting.

Let’s examine each answer in detail.

a. “Yes, she is my girlfriend.”

Don’t for a minute think this closes the door to a future rendezvous. Since when have proclamations of fidelity by an alpha male, on their own, ever stopped a woman from pursuing her desire for him? No, the man himself, by his actions, must stay her hand and steady her flirtations. See: Tiger Woods. A man must, in other words, direct and lead not only his own actions, but the actions of the women in his orbit. A simple declaration that he has a girlfriend, curt and perfunctory, will only fuel a woman’s desire for him if his words are belied by his seductively charming warm smile and teasing banter. As all good seducers know, such unspoken mixed signals are the match to a woman’s tinderbox. Hypocrisy is the tribute vice pays to virtue, and rationalization is the tribute guilty ginas pay to alpha cock.

b. “No, she’s not my girlfriend.”

Girls don’t like men who lie. Except when they do like them. Moral of the story? Don’t worry so much about not lying. Concern yourself first with winning a woman’s attraction. She’ll rationalize away the lies in the post-coital glow. If, after you have lied, you are later caught snuggling with your girlfriend in the bar, you have just upped your chances of bedding the inquisitive new girl.

c. “Um, yeah sorta, we’ve been dating. Not sure how serious it is.”

And here we arrive at the most beta answer. What you think she hears: “Hey, I’m dating someone super casual-like but I’m not sure she’s ‘the one’. Which means I’m totally available for dating you.” Sounds like a winning answer, eh Lothario? What she actually hears: “I’m a wishy-washy beta who’s dating a girl out of convenience and I’m hoping you could be the next girl I date out of convenience.”

It is said of blind patriots that they follow “my country, right or wrong.” Well, for women, it’s “my alpha, right or wrong.” And what is a defining characteristic of alphaness? Boldness. Women love bold men, right or wrong. Women hate squirrelly men, like a man who would hesitate before weakly and apologetically confirming that the girl sitting right next to him is indeed his girlfriend. Boldness does not necessarily mean abandoning those other alpha traits that women so love, such as sly ambiguity and evocative mystery. But it does mean making sure you are never caught with the cat firmly holding your tongue.

*Diablo reference.

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The 2009 Beta Of The Year Vote

The twelve ignominious betas for each month of 2009 have been declared by popular vote and now it is time for you, the readers, to vote for a final winner from among those twelve for the Beta of the Year contest. Consider carefully the candidates below before casting your vote for the one man to mewl them all, because the 2009 BOTY will represent in one ingloriously distilled beta everything that is most loathsome about the current configuration of modern man — the white knighters, the wool pullers, the self-deluding, the pedestalers, the manginas, the herbs, the nancyboys, the castrati, the party line platitudinizers, the phony equalists, and the oneitis chumps. He will serve as a warning to other men and a valuable lesson for boys on their way into manhood, and through his example will guide them away from the path of self-immolation and into the light of the truth about not only the nature of women, but the nature of their own behavior in the company of women. Not to mention, the BOTY is a handy touchstone for future scholars searching for reasons why the West fell into ruin so suddenly and catastrophically.

If you want to read the individual stories behind each of the BOTM winners, just click on the “Beta of the Year Contest” link under the “Select Category” pull-down menu in the righthand column.

I’ve included the names of the readers who submitted the winning BOTMs in parentheses in the voting choices. The winning submission for 2009 BOTY will be announced in the coming days.

On to the final vote:

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December 2009 Beta Of The Month

The final candidate of 2009! Tomorrow we reveal the contest for the Beta of the Year.

Last month’s winner, by a healthy margin, was a cuckold who asked his cheating girlfriend on a call-in radio program how he could “make her love him more”. She told him, in essence, to grow a pair, but he proved unable to escape his beta hell vortex. Congratulations to reader Patrick for submitting that vomitous entry.

December coughed up a bumper crop of holiday betas. Must be those long winter nights.

***

December 2009 BOTM Candidate #1 was submitted by reader Marko. Fittingly for the times, our featured beta is the cuckold of one of Tiger Woods’ many mistresses. What astounds about this man was how willfully blind he was when his girlfriend informed him that Tiger had given her his number. Just how little does a woman have to respect a man to decide it’s perfectly harmless to tell him a really famous billionaire jock gave her his number? She probably figured he was such a rabid fan of Mr. Woods’ talent for driving to the hole that he wouldn’t put two and two together. She was right.

Derek, 28, a golf fan who used to idolise Woods, said: “I was a massive Tiger fan. I had Tiger Woods memorabilia all over my house and even collected Tiger Woods videos.

“On the night Jamie met him for the first time, I had just bought the new Tiger Woods computer game. The following morning she told me she had met Tiger Woods and he gave her his number – and like an idiot I got really excited about it.

“I even asked her if she could call him so I could get my computer game signed.

“I knew Tiger had come on to her and asked for her number. I knew that he called her whenever he came to Las Vegas.

But she insisted that nothing was going on.”

Self-delusion is likely an evolved trait in humans, but in some people it seems to have evolved beyond the point of usefulness.

Derek said: “She told me she got called over by a ­bouncer who said someone ­important wanted to meet her in the VIP room.

“She said she did not know it was Tiger Woods until she was brought to his table. He ­immediately started ­hitting on her and telling her she was ­beautiful. She told me he asked for her number and gave her his.

“I was surprised because I knew he was married and I didn’t think he was that type of guy. But I trusted Jamie. We had been engaged for over a year then – having first started dating in 2002 – and were head over heels in love.”

The only thing preventing most men from being “that type of guy” is 1. lack of options and 2. violence from aggrieved parties. In modern Western society, number 1 is the primary brake on expressions of pure love. Sure, religion plays some role in curbing the basest instincts of men and women, but the old school hardcore precepts of religion are on the way out, Walmart-ized evangelical fervor notwithstanding to the contrary.

As for the issue of trust, as Reagan so memorably put it, “Trust but verify.” (Commie pinkos and women, more in common than you’d imagine.) I’m no cynic. I bet that Derek and Jamie were head over heels in love when she had her fortuitous encounter with Woods. But, you know, a better deal has a way of putting the vice to virtue.

My favorite quote is the last:

Derek, who is now engaged to another woman, said: “I think Tiger is a great ­competitor on the golf course, but away from it he is a horrible person.

“He should have more respect for himself and his family. I am certainly not a fan of his any more.”

Now that’s alpha. Tear down that life-sized poster of Tiger Woods, Mister Derek!

What saves this guy from the pit of omegatude is his (putatively) wise decision to cut Jamie out of his life and start fresh with a new woman. Or maybe Jamie dumped him after Derek refused to get cross with her for her philandering? The mind reels at the excruciating possibilities.

On a related note, reader Cannon’s Canon wrote:

derek schmidt definitely got played, but really though, what was his alpha move? i don’t think the party line of amused mastery is gonna cut it against a billionaire athlete that she knows you already jock. the only thing i can think of is deleting the number from her phone yourself with a strongarm move, then initiating two hours of domineering jackhammer sex, perhaps in an unconventional room to drill it into her memory. enough to knock her out of commission for a day or so, numbing those gina tingles. this may also have to become standard fare for a while.

so how do you AMOG tiger woods? start playing fight night instead??

Good points. When the AMOG is light years above you in status, and is in fact someone you practically worship, amused mastery won’t save you. A cocky smirk is not going to keep, let’s say, George Clooney, were he so inclined, from seducing and bedding your loyal girl. My advice for handling this  presumably rare scenario, given that you want to run some game on the girl to see if you can turn it around, is to hit her up with a straight shot of the truth:

“Tiger Woods gave you his number last night? Unless proven otherwise, you are a cheater. Here’s the deal. You delete his number and change your phone number so he can never contact you again, or I leave. Before you make your deicsion, let me remind you that should you choose Woods, he will fuck you a few more times then tire of you as he moves onto another concubine in his rotation of regulars. He will never marry you. He will never make you a princess. You will never be more than a whore in his parade of whores. I, on the other hand, once gone am gone for good. I’ll give you fifteen mintues alone to make your deicsion.”

But really, phone number exchange with a celebrity should be instant grounds for dumping a chick. Even if she didn’t cheat with him (unlikely), visions of his celebuface will be dancing in her head every time you two make love.

***

December 2009 BOTM Candidate #2 was submitted by reader Ninja Duck. We’ve had a few stories like this one before, but none were as over the top beta as this guy. Ugly, cheating wife drugs, stabs and slits the throat of peabody puffboy husband, then goes to jail. Annnnnd… wait for it… he still loves her. Is it possible to have standards below zero?

A husband whose wife tried to kill him by slitting his throat after plying him with a sex drug said today he still loved her and wanted her freed from prison.

Peter Hale, 43, spoke out after seeing his wife, Joanne, sentenced to six years’ jail after being found guilty of attempted murder.

Hale, 39, was having an ‘affair’ with a married man when she gave Peter a sex drug called ‘Horny Goat Weed’ and lured him to woodland in Bristol. There she cut his throat and stabbed him in the chest before running off.

There is so much wrong with this article. Check out this quote:

Mr Hale was present in court today and was thanked by the judge for supporting his wife.

Maybe I’m missing some important legal precedent here, but why is the judge thanking Hale for “supporting” his deranged, fugly, homicidal whoring wife? Shouldn’t the judge be admonishing Hale to sack up and stop giving aid and comfort to someone who tried to kill him? To go find himself a better woman instead of white knighting like a chump for a waste of flesh? To stop loving someone who so obviously despises him? I guess I’m just not that enlightened in the emanations and penumbras of society’s progressive jurisprudence.

Or maybe there are too many milquetoast manginas in the legal profession.

After the case, Mr Hale said: ‘I hope that she is out as soon as possible. My evidence was very confused and I hope that we have grounds for an appeal. I still love her very much.

‘I am pleased with the comments of the judge and the sentence is probably the best we could have hoped for.’

The court heard that Hale, who has been in custody for 239 days, had made two attempts on her life since being arrested.

Mr Hale had written numerous letters to the court in which he repeated that the incident was not his wife’s fault and that he was willing to forgive her.

He also said his life without her was terrible and he was still deeply in love with her.

“My evidence was very confused”? It’s worse than I thought. So not only does he continue to love his would-be killer, he is working hard to reduce her sentence so that he can sooner leap into her flabby arms to deliver a comforting hug of forgiveness. I can almost hear his words now, as he struggles to allay her guilt for slitting his throat: “No really, honeybunny, I understand you were under a lot of stress. I wasn’t keeping up my end of the chores, or taking you out on romantic dinners. But that’s all going to change now. And let me just add how beautiful it is the way the moonlight sparkles in your pig-like eyes.”

A number of letters from friends handed to the court said Hale was ‘a kind and caring person who would do anything for anyone’.

There’s your problem right there, buddy.

***

December 2009 BOTM Candidate #3 was submitted by reader Hitbids. Remember my early post about envisioning all your communications with a girl on a giant Jumbotron screen for mass public viewing? The idea is a simple one. If your words of love would elicit cringes from a studio audience, you are probably doing it wrong. If, on the other hand, you would not be embarrassed by a public viewing of your emails or phone convos or text messages with a girl you are trying to bed, you can be assured she is getting turned on. Well, this candidate failed the Jumbotron test spectacularly. It’s long so I won’t quote it here (I can’t seem to copy/paste from that site anyhow), but you can read the whole thing over here. Quaff an antacid before diving in. It’s a text exchange between a recently dumped man and the ex with whom he’s trying to reinitiate sex. I liked the part when he texted her a random message about the weather forecast. Maybe you ladies are unaware, but when a man texts completely random shit about stuff you know he can’t possibly care about, he’s just worming his way onto your attention radar for eventual sex.

Here’s my favorite line from the dude:

Have you felt the need of getting intimate again? Im at that stage where I feel I can do almost anything! I can be between your legs for as long as you want.

How about 50 years? Because, you know, he’s the kind of guy who won’t have anything else going on.

The chick does not go without blame. She strings him along when she could have simply not responded to any of his attempts at contact. Women like to cry victim in these situations, but the truth is that a lot of them love the attention and power tripping they can get from toying with a needy beta. They’re simultaneously repulsed and addicted to the clumsy pursuits of the sex starved man. Regardless of her complicity, he should know better than to feed her ego, so he earns a spot at the BOTM table.

Also note the girl says she gets turned off by emoticons, something I have admonished against as well.

***

The voting:

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The Dark Lord

Damian called me for some advice.

Damian: So Mirabelle* [ed: no real names used] cancelled for Friday and said something came up, but she’d be OK with getting together on Sunday. Another girl playing hard to get. Any sage advice Senor StuffAMuff?

Me: You’ve been on one date and you’re already scheduling a weekend night? And she’s younger than you. And cute. She’s got prospects. You’re not going to get anywhere playing Don Juan whispering sweet nothings and amping up the romantic vibe. She’s only got a toe in the water. My advice… Like a fighter jet in a dive, pull back! Don’t try to impress her with your unstoppable silverback pursuit. You’ve gotta play the game my friend. With the especially valuable girls (young, pretty) it’s not enough to refrain from being beta; you must also fill the void with alpha. Breach the touch zone early, then stop touching her for a while. Be unpredictable in your unspoken, and spoken, intentions. Tease her more about “having to wine and dine you first” and how you like to take it slow because you’ve been burned before by girls who wound up having boring personalities. Put her on defense. Your goal is to have her working to impress you, not the other way around.

Damian: Excellent advice, a healthy reminder! Hold on, someone just texted me. [Damian checks his text message while I wait on the line] Whoa, Shana texted me. She wants me to come all the way out to [location X] to meet her and a couple of friends for drinks. More advice Poonmaster Prince!

Me: Isn’t she the sexually repressed woman who might be a virgin? The woman you haven’t banged yet? Let’s break this down. It’s 1 degree outside. It’s late. If you drive all the way out there you wil be doing so for a woman whose sweet nectar you have not yet tasted, and whose nectar may not be forthcoming at all. And to top it off, meeting her with friends so she can feel safe and snuggly in her chastity. Safe from your predations.

Damian: Oh, I wasn’t planning to go. She’s nuts if she thinks I jump like that.

Me: You know what? Call her bluff. Send her a text right now, while I’m on the phone. Tell her in plain, unaffected language that you’re not going to drive out there, and that she should come to your place tonight for drinks before it gets too late.

Damian: [Tapping out his text] Sent! Odds of her coming here are low. This doesn’t solve my horniness. I’ll need to acquire more prospects.

Me: True. But there is beauty in the short term solution as well. Send a booty call text to your ex right now.

Damian: Julie? Haha. A bold move! A booty call? That sounds so cheesy. Does that actually work? I haven’t seen her in months. I can’t imagine any woman responding well to a booty call.

Me: This is because you have the imagination of a man. You are incapable of imagining the wicked wiles that will work on women. Recall, you dumped her. This makes the booty call operational. Had she been the dumper, your booty call would be the plaintive wail of a lonely man on the corner. But since you were the dumper, rest assured she has thought of you in her dreams ever since. Send the text. Do it. Now. No punctuation. No excuses. No explanation. Type “Booty call” and nothing else. Trust me, she still has your alpha male number in her phone. Girls keep alpha numbers of asshole lovers long after their expiration.

Damian: [Typing his text while I wait on the phone. He is giggling like a schoolgirl.] I can’t believe I’m doing this! I feel like I’m starring in a rap video. I wonder if she’ll reply?

Me: I give it 70-30 she does.

Damian: Hold on… haha! She replied! Just like that. Five seconds! She wrote back “You’re funny.”

Me: That’s a yes.

Damian: You think so?

Me: Absolutely. In chicksperanto “that’s funny” translates as “I’m seriously thinking about doing this with you, as long as you don’t say anything to fuck up the rationalization hamster currently running in overdrive in my brain.” If she didn’t want to do it, she wouldn’t have replied so quickly, if at all.

Damian: What should I say to that?

Me: Write back “Yeah, I’m a comedian. Come over tonight, drinks are stirred.”

Damian: Good… OK, done.

Me: She may not come over tonight, but you’ve planted the seed for future booty calls. Water and watch it grow.

Damian: She texted again, hold on… She said she wants to hear my voice on the phone. Wow, it’s working.

Me: Godspeed.

Damian: You truly are the Dark Lord.

Me: And you, my mortal avatar.

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