The Ideology Of Powerlessness

In a post over at GLPiggy about “The Soapboxroom” and Aaron Sorkin’s deliberate distortion of gun control statistics, a thought occurs about the mentality of the type of people whose natural reflex is to default to excusing thugs and disarming potential victims.

This mentality is the ideology of powerlessness. When faced with a threat, a person with this child-like psychological profile instinctually resorts to finding ways to strip power from himself and others, and to elevate helplessness to a noble virtue. People who think this way share commonalities with equalists, some liberals, leftists and women. Stockholm Syndrome is an extreme manifestation of the powerlessness ideology.

Those pointing to statistics purporting to demonstrate the downsides of power — in this case, the power inherent in owning a gun and its implication in accidental shootings — miss the point: the downsides of power are still better than the downsides of powerlessness. Do you want to leave your fate in the hands of the powerful, who often don’t have your interests in heart, or do you want power for yourself so that you may exert a measure of control over your own life?

Anyone who wants more control and power over the trajectory and outcome of his life needs to avoid powerlessness peddlers like the plague.

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What Happens When Your Nation’s Men Are Emasculated

Supposedly, that is the Crips’ gang sign those Swedish handball team women are all flashing. It may as well be a gangbang sign, because odds are good Usain Bolt rammed home a 9.63 in each one of those broads’ Nordic pussies.

Now I know some (most) of you looking at this pic felt a blood pressure rise or, at the least, a stirring of disgust. That’s perfectly natural. Seeing women of your race (or tribe, or family) bang an outsider alpha male interloper, even going so far as adopting his cultural swagger and betraying their very essence as members of your shared tribe, and feeling emotions that would scandalize polite society, is a primal reaction that is evolved in all humans and has therefore likely served a beneficial role to our reproductive fitness. The id monster will not be reeducated.

It’s said that Swedish men are, arguably, the world’s most feminized men, bending backwards to feminist demands, rhythmically swaying to intone feminist boilerplate and flagellate themselves for their sin of being born men. It’s also said that Swedish women are among the most eager of the world’s women to sample the cock of the Other.

My purpose with this post is to proffer that the emasculation of Sweden’s men has a direct, causal effect on the willingness and ardor and shamelessness with which Sweden’s fully feminist women rush into the crotches of decidedly non-feminist, self-confident alien swashbucklers. When your women’s kinsmen — the men, lest the reminder be needed, who are the presumed benefactors of their women’s sex — are lickspittle, mincing betaboys who happily accede to every asinine feminist idea, it should be no surprise to scholars of female nature that the women who hold such ahistorically lopsided power over their countrymen would, unintentionally, geld them so thoroughly that they are reduced to anhedonic lumps the likes of which the male competitor Usain Bolts of the world could run over with impunity.

What this photo symbolizes better than anything is the age-old and unmitigable female paradox of insisting upon shit she does not really want. If you listen carefully and follow to the letter your women’s rambling feminist inanities, you get Sweden, land of the castrated men who repulse their own women. If, on the other hand, you dismiss and deride, in action as well as word, the feminists in your midst with the cocky assurance of the man who makes no excuses for his raw masculinity, you might piss off a few ugly manjaws, but you get to enjoy the continued admiration and carnal desire of your beautiful native women.

Game can save Sweden’s men from utter humiliation. Game at its most primitive is an illusion of power, but an illusion of power is still better than powerlessness.

This post gently massaged into Bill Bennett’s shoulders.

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Pregnant Pause Game

In reference to my “eye contact game” post, reader “Sword” demurs:

Not bad, only comment is your suggestion that after holding eye contact you come up and dont talk to her, kind of reeks of beta the ‘hey i sure hope she notices me!’

I hope that wasn’t the impression I left, because I agree, sidling up to the girl and waiting for her to say something first while you smile and raise your eyebrows inquisitively in her general direction is truly, epically beta.

No, what I meant was that you should allow a second or two to pass before opening your mouth. This pregnant pause builds tension, which is one of the godly pillars of the kingdom of tingle. When you have exchanged eyeplay with a girl and walked up to her, she will expect you to start introducing yourself right away. For example:

EYEPLAY!

{walk over, stand next to her}

Her: {oh boy oh boy he’s coming over. he’s here! i hope my hair looks ok}

You: Hey.

Her: Hey.

You: I’m Cornholio. {extends hand}

Boring. Sure, she already likes you, so you can afford to be a little predictable. But why fulfill her expectations so patently? Do you know what alpha males never do? Fulfill girls’ expectations! A desirable man demonstrates his higher status by making girls just a leeeetle bit uncomfortable in his presence. You want to get a girl thinking, “What the hell is this sculpted block of manhood going to do next?” For example:

EYEPLAY!

{walk over, stand next to her}

Her: {oh boy oh boy he’s coming over. he’s here! i hope my vaj doesn’t stink}

You: {look at her. smile. bring your drink up to your lips. sip slowly. put drink down. look down. look back at her}

Her: {what’s this? Is he going to speak? criminy, my clit just buzzed. i feel so judgified}

You: They don’t make old fashioneds the way they used to. Oh, almost forgot… hi.

Her: HI! {ORGASM}

See the difference? The pregnant pause, coupled with the unexpected opener, are two of the macronutrients of the female romantic fantasy diet. Recommended daily allowance? Infinity percent!

Besides building welcome tension into a pickup by fucking with a girl’s expectations, the pregnant pause also serves as an underhanded tactic for gauging her running interest in you. If you’re the type of guy who likes to talk a lot, you might have a hard time accurately judging just how much a girl is really into you. You might be too busy yapping to read her body language signals. Plus, the less a girl talks, the less data you have to go on to assess her interest level. The calculated pregnant pause, which you can drop in a conversation at any time, allows you to judge a girl’s interest level by the quickness with which she restarts the conversation. A girl who likes you won’t feel comfortable letting the convo fall silent for very long; she will reinitiate because your silence will be read by her as your declining interest. A girl who is bored with you will use your pregnant pause as a chance to excuse herself.

Finally, the incontrovertible fact is that pregnant pauses are self-evidently ALPHA. Watch what betas do when they run out of things to say. They flail. They say stupid shit. Their voice pitch rises. They look around nervously. They pull at their shirt sleeves and do other sorts of insecurity revealing body language mistakes. THEY are the ones who get uncomfortable.

Then watch an alpha male when he wants to take a breather from talking. He stops. He smiles. He slowly exhales. He lets the silence waft over him and the girl like a perfumed veil. He doesn’t force the issue. He doesn’t tug at his clothes, or scratch some body part that doesn’t need scratching. SHE is the one who gets uncomfortable. Her discomfort translates into your perceived higher status, and nudges her into the chaser role where she inevitably feels compelled to reengage you. And from there, it’s like taking pellets from a hamster.

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Fat Chicks Flaunt It, Expose Themselves To Everlasting Torment

Fat chicks are getting uppity lately. You’ve got your NAAFA (National Association for the Advancement of Fat Assery). Your fatkinis. Your slut pride parades aka fat slut pride parades. Your proud fatties wearing clothes made for thin girls. And pretty much an entire media industrial complex allied, in word if not in deed, with the fat pride/acceptance/delusion movement.

I, for one, welcome our new fat flaunting underlords. Putting themselves out there in showy, ritualistic displays of unmerited pride, their bulbous folds cresting like wind-whipped seas and their triple chins held aloft like war banners, makes for a tempting array of overinflated egos. Proud and loud fat chicks are the morbidly obese equivalent of the Iraqi soldiers fleeing from Kuwait: plump targets for my GPS-guided jeering.

As long as I’m here to protect the earth from the assault against beauty by the horde army of gaping pieholes, the fattie who dares to stand tall and jiggle her blubber indignantly will face the point blank precision of my cruelest ridicule. Sweep the cankle.

Exhibit A: This monster formerly known as a human being, who happily informs the world of her “sexercise” program for shedding imaginary fractions of a pound off her 600 pound frame.

Why is this Jabba given media airtime? Why does it feel comfortable talking about its disgusting sex life with the general public? In a saner time, beasts like it had a sense of humility, and self-preservation, even an understanding that they were frightening to children and had a duty to keep out of the public eye. They sequestered themselves in steel reinforced bedrooms, blinds drawn, until they either died alone or dieted down to a reasonably presentable weight. Now we get this:

“I sweat off loads of calories,” 600-pound Pauline Potter revealed in an interview with UK magazine Closer this month. “I call it ‘sexercise.’”

Potter, 47, became the Guiness World Record holder for heaviest woman last year when she weighed in at 700 pounds, but she’s managed to lose nearly 100 pounds in the last year by rekindling her romance with her ex-husband Alex.

Fucking ugh. You read this stuff and try as you might, your brain can’t help meandering to visualizing what shoggoth sex must look like. Is the fupa lifted and propped with a cane before penetration? Does the stank from cheesy crevices cause temporary blindness and retching? Does a hobbit make its home in her vagina? Just HOW BIG must this guy’s dick be to plow through feet of blubber to reach the wet spot? Speaking of him, how does he get it up? At sufficient levels of grossness, a man’s penis will actually retract into a protective shell behind the pubic bone. A male porn star jacked on viagra and yohimbe and fluffed by a team of sugar-lipped supermodels would shrivel to the size of a speck at the first sight of this gelatinous cube.

“I hadn’t had sex in three years, but we did it six times!” she told the magazine, adding they now make love between two and seven times per day. “He took charge as I couldn’t move much, but he was so attentive.”

He took charge. “Honey, be a dear and roll to your right so I can dislodge this pot roast from your thighs.”

“My bed is strengthened and, although I can’t buy sexy lingerie, I drape a nice sheet over me.”

😆

Though she already weighed 400 pounds by the time she gave birth to her son, Potter said she binge ate when she and her husband divorced and ended up packing on the pounds.

Her son:

But Alex still thought her size was sexy – despite the occasional logistical issue.

“It’s hard to position her and find her pleasure spots as she has a lot of fat in the pelvic area,” he told the magazine. “But it turns me on knowing she’s satisfied. Although once, when she got on top, I couldn’t breathe.”

😆 😆

What kind of “man” would find this sexy?

A middle-aged lesbian!

Exhibit B: A blog by two fat chicks who videotape themselves eating mass quantities of food to ostensibly piss off healthy thin people.

You’d be mad at the world too, if everyone vomited when they saw you naked.

Exhibit C: Fat chick wails about, get this, “thin privilege”. The yuks just keep on coming.

Thin privilege is turning down the air conditioning without ever thinking of the fatter people in the room who aren’t nearly as cold as you are.

Thin privilege is assuming yours is the default body: your comforts and discomforts are default; your width and weight are the defaults.

Dear fattie,

There’s a reason why thin, healthy people are privileged over disgusting fat fucks like yourself.

Yours in rendering soap from your lard,

Tyler Durden

ps would you like a wafer thin mint to go with your bison on a stick?

Fatties, like their loser feminist cousins, are stuck in a matrix of pure, distilled self-delusion. They know how people look at them with derision and disgust. They know how men ignore them and thin women pity them. They know how unhealthy they are and how gross they look, even to other fatties. But instead of doing what it takes to slim down and become normal, they choose to rail against normalcy, to elevate the ugly and denigrate the beautiful, and to try to retrofit reality and human nature to accommodate their weakness and repulsiveness.

You see, fatties, your pain is self-inflicted. Your sloth and gluttony, vices which are within your control to tame, are your ruin. You have no one else to blame for your miserable existences than yourselves. Concocting feelgood fantasies of overbearing patriarchies and thin privilege isn’t gonna save you from your real enemy — your own disfigured souls.

And, FYI, plastering your porcine carcasses with tattoos, piercings, and Sharpie ink isn’t going to distract people from your ugliness, an ugliness that is objective and real because it violates ancient evolutionary preferences for healthy, slender, fertile women. Fat is the physical embodiment of a flawed character, and your twisted, self-annihilating mentality is on display to be gawked at by the whole world. A gawking which I will assist with incalculable sadism, until you and your false pride skulk ignominiously back to the hovel from whence you erupted.

Think I’m exaggerating? Or that I’m a demon who doesn’t speak for the majority of humanity? Think again. Those polite commuters you see avoiding your gaze very day on the train are thinking this:

Strangers on a bus: Study reveals lengths commuters go to avoid each other

Kim found that race, class, gender and other background characteristics were not key concerns for commuters when they discovered someone had to sit next them. They all just wanted to avoid the ‘crazy person.’

“One rider told me the objective is just ‘getting through the ride’, and that I should avoid fat people who may sweat more and so may be more likely to smell,” said Kim. “Motivating this nonsocial behavior is the fact that one’s own comfort level is the rider’s key concern, rather than the backgrounds of fellow passengers.”

No one cares about your feelings, fatties. They just want to get away, far away, from your undulating rolls of blubber and your smell. Your campaigns and blogs and tumblrs and pride walks will never…

ever…

no, not even a tiny little bit…

alter this universal fact of human nature.

The only choice you have to win acceptance, real acceptance, is to put down the pride and push away from the table. That means living not by lies. But if lies are your stock in trade and your cultural weapon leading others down your benighted path of ugliness, then don’t be surprised when a stone cold bastard calls you out on them. The battlefield is total war and the frontline is everywhere. Whose side will you be on? Truth and beauty? Or lies and ugliness?

It’s funny, but I sometimes get neophytes ambling in this happy hunting ground wondering why I’m so relentlessly cruel to the losers in our midst. They never see the precipitating events. My sadism is not haphazard. The fattie who makes real efforts to lose weight, who doesn’t make excuses for her condition, and who doesn’t advocate for acceptance of her less than ideal shape, gets no shit from me. I gladly give words of encouragement to those who are making real efforts to slim down and better themselves.

It’s the liars and the deliberately delusional that I hate with a passion. The lords of lies. The traffickers of untruths. The propagandizers of poison. The ones who would take the beauty and truth that makes life worth living, and shit on it out of spite. If an equalist or a feminist or a fattie wants to come here and engage this proprietorship in good faith, with an open mind, she will earn my two minutes of mercy and polite indulgence. But if she comes in here, screeching and screaming and slandering in her first comment, like so many have done before, because she can’t believe what she is reading it so violates the PC norm she’s used to regurgitating, she should not be surprised when I unleash the wrath of a thousand hellhounds to tear at the tatters of her misshapen soul.

At the very least, she is made example of for the others. Plus, it amuses me.

Fat pride advocates would be wise to reflect on the sympathies that normal people give them when they know their place. The fattie who doesn’t flaunt her monstrousness and demand approval from her betters earns a measure of tolerance. People don’t hound fatties who keep their mouths shut and their bodies tastefully covered until dieting and exercise make them presentable again for public viewing. Humility, a virtue understood well by a much better people than our current crop of loser pride degenerates, is a lost art in the modern West. It’s high time it was rediscovered, and the waddles of the ululating tormented humbled as befits their decrepit station. A dose of humility might even motivate these sick freaks to improve their lives and rejoin the community of happy people.

ps:

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Eye Contact Game

“In need of advice” asks:

What is the right move to make when you and a girl hold eye contact from a distance across the room? I’m thinking of some type of direct approach, but what type of line should I open with? Of course the target is generally in a small group, but…

Put yourself in a girl’s shoes. (You sperg types and psychopaths can sit this one out; I understand how difficult empathy is for you.) You are scanning the room, discreetly, hoping to catch an alpha male’s eyes. He sees you. (Or, rather, he sees your pulpeous lips, your sultry eyes, and your bodacious tatas. Thank god for objectification, otherwise you’d never get a date!)

He holds your eye contact for a split second longer than the average beta bear, triggering your discomfort and tingle reflexes simultaneously. You shift a little in your chair to make room for your engorging labia. What happens next will either maintain your state of intrigued arousal, or return you to the previous indifferent baseline.

If the man lowers and raises his gaze repeatedly to confirm that you are, indeed, returning it, you will lose interest fast. What kind of alpha male dawdles while life, and pussy prospects, zoom past him?

If he smiles while holding your eye contact, and then returns to talking to his friends, ignoring you, you are curiouser. Will he rendezvous later to strike up a conversation? Or is he toying with you?

If he waits, steely-eyed, for you to break eye contact (and you are surprised to find yourself always looking away first when a man confidently holds your gaze), then disappears from view, only to reappear at your side ordering a drink for himself (but not for you), you can barely contain your excitement.

If he holds your eye contact without smiling, without frowning, with just the expressionless blankness of a man contemplating the cracks in a sidewalk, and then calmly, slowly moves directly toward you, your anticipation grows and your nerves electrify. You know what he wants, but still you can’t wait to hear how he goes about getting what he wants.

If he looks away and pokes his friend, pointing at you while talking to him, then looks back at you and smiles, you lose interest. You feel your vagina prancing out of the room.

If he bends over and speaks to you through his ass cheeks, Ace Ventura style, you realize he is unattainable and lament that you will have to settle for a more predictable man this night.

I hope you are getting the drift of this exercise in imagined pickup scenarios. There are alpha ways and beta ways to initiate verbal contact after eye contact has been established, and there are multiple and varyingly effective ways for each. Getting strong eye contact from a girl before approaching — an approach I would NOT classify as a cold approach — is something many beta males rely upon because it is, in fact, one of the easiest approaches to execute. It’s the closest thing to a sure thing in non-social circle pickup that there exists.

(Try approaching a girl who doesn’t even notice you, or, worse, who looks away to the side when you try to catch her eye. It’s a whole other beast.)

In my personal experience, a consistently effective approach after strong eye contact — that is, eye contact which you determine is evidence the girl really likes your look and vibe — is to wait for her to unlock eyeplay first, and then simply walk towards her, slowly and deliberately. Usually, she will look up again and see your mighty visage coming toward her, and this will make her nervous. This is good, because a nervous girl is a girl who already perceives you as having higher value, and thus you will have prequalified hand in the seduction.

Once you have reached her side, look away from her momentarily, toward the bar or the crowd. Stand shoulder to shoulder. Allow a few seconds of uncomfortable silence to pass. Now this next step is key: do NOT say anything about liking her, or her liking you. She will be expecting that. An alpha male is rarely one to satisfy women’s expectations. You may go direct with your opener — “you really should work on your distance flirting technique”, “if you wanted to talk to me, you could have just come over and said hi”, “your friends are annoyed that you’re paying more attention to me than to them” — or indirect: address her friends if she’s with a group and act like you only came over to get a drink and socialize. Ask her what she thinks of girls who drink manly drinks. Inform her you made a bet with your friends that you would limit yourself to flirting with only one girl this night.

Whatever you do — and there are plenty of opener tactics in the archives — know that extended eyeplay with a girl makes your job a lot easier. She’s practically announced that she’s ready and willing to give you a chance. Attraction is yours to lose, so all you really need to do is avoid typical anti-game mistakes and know how and when to transition into more intimate rapport.

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When Beta Male Strategies Can Work

Beta male sexual market strategies are not always doomed to failure. They can work under certain conditions. The two primary scenarios in which the beta male strategy is workable (if not necessarily optimal) are:

1. As a “softening agent” to improve your attainability, or your “long term lover” potential, if your alpha male traits have pushed a woman too far into feeling unloved and unneeded.

2. As a self-advertisement for long term relationship suitability, given preexisting sufficiently compensatory alpha male traits.

Number one is a game corrective. Number two is a specific game strategy designed to screen out girls who would make bad long term relationship prospects, and attract women who are looking to settle down.

Note that the common denominator in all successful beta male mating strategies is the assumption of some degree of preexisting alpha male characteristics, or an already present alpha male dynamic within a relationship. Beta male strategies, in other words, are meant as adjuncts to alpha male, or high value male, game.

The reverse — adjunct alpha male strategies to complement low value beta male game — is hardly ever an effective strategy for attracting and bedding the women you want. But it can be a decent way of life for beta providers who wish to spice up their marriages as a preventative against wifely infidelity or bitchiness.

In very unusual circumstances, an extreme form of beta male game — the loathsome male feminist orbiter — can occasionally redound in rare, ungainly and passionless sexual favors from the manipulative, flabby wymyn to whom this execrable species (hello hugo!) ingratiates himself. But it is not a strategy any man who understood women would recommend, for the cost in investment, time and psychological health far outweighs the meager sexual payout. And yet, this seems to be the strategy most (Western) men naturally gravitate toward, owing partly to the enfeebled state of mind of the modern man and partly to the low risk-low reward structure of such a strategy, a structure which appeals to large swaths of humanity unwilling to leave their bubbles of comfort.

Conveniently, there is a fantastically laughable Yahoo/Match article highlighting reader emails from people who describe how they “won their sweeties back”. Most of the confessions are nauseatingly beta, and students of game may well wonder how such tactics could possibly work on women.

Assuming for purposes of this post that all these emails aren’t just made up by bored Yahoo staff, we can use them as illustrations of what sorts of compensatory alpha dynamics have to be in place for hardcore beta male game to work. Reading the subtext opens a window to hidden alpha game that buttresses the beta male supplicating, and allows the latter to flourish, however temporarily.

He rapped his way back into her good graces
“I had a fight with a girl I was dating, and to try and get over it, I went out with the guys, and one thing led to another. Eventually, the phone got pulled out and I called her. She phoned me the next day and said I’d left her the sweetest, funniest voicemail ever. Apparently, I apologized and told her how much I cared about her all in the form of a freestyle rap! I couldn’t believe it, and neither could she. I can’t rap to save my life, but she said she hadn’t smiled that big in awhile.”
— Marty, 31

Creating a rap song about how much you care about a girl sounds awfully beta, but check the context: he had a fight with his girl and fled the scene to chill with buds. Fighting is typically a demonstration of alphaness. Beta males tend to get passive-aggressive, sulky or apologetic. A real fight excites women because they crave drama. Put a fist through the wall and you have just opened the vaginal floodgates. Also, framing your “apology” in the form of a song is not only a signal of creativity — an alpha trait women love — but also a clever way of not really saying you’re sorry as it has come to be conventionally understood and expected. So what we have here is a facsimile of beta male game wrapped in the bear hug of alpha male context.

He went to great lengths to tell her how he felt
“My girlfriend and I had been taking a break from dating for about a week. Things were all good until we ran into each other one day. We both pretended like nothing was wrong, but I couldn’t take it anymore and I called her shortly after. Right in the middle of a fairly deep conversation, tears and everything, my cell phone died. I needed to see her, so I walked seven miles to her house in the rain (what can I say? I had transportation issues that day) and showed up shivering, coughing, and barefoot on her front steps. We agreed the fight was over — and that I was stupid for not having a land line.”
— Matt, 24

Getting dumped: beta. Taking a mutual break: alpha. Again, context matters. This guy was already in a position of alphaness when he called his girlfriend to reconnect. Perception is all that matters in women’s hearts and in seduction, and the perception of him here would have worked to his benefit. Bonus accidental alpha validation: cell phone death. Nothing says “alpha male” like cutting a girl off mid-conversation when she’s pouring out her heart.

His sneaky “sorry” proved to be fruitful
“I had a huge fight with my girlfriend. We decided we should talk things out and be civil before making any permanent decisions about our relationship. We met, and it turned out to be really awkward. But when she wasn’t looking, I slipped a picture of a banana in her bag. Across the top it said, ‘I’m still bananas for you.’ Corny, I know, but she called me when she found it and said it made her laugh. Things got better from there.”
— Ed, 26

Making light of a tense situation and playing around with a girl’s emotions demonstrates amused mastery; the banana photo was funny in a dorky way, but at least it wasn’t apologetic or cloying. He reframed this drama to his benefit, and in the process hit all her “unpredictable alpha male” buttons. Plus, the context was post-fight, which we know is a good context to be in if you want to spark a girl’s passionate desire.

His sincerity hit all the right (love) notes
“My girlfriend and I had a fight the day before Valentine’s Day. I got a hundred of those little kid Valentine cards with SpongeBob SquarePants and the Backstreet Boys on them and wrote different things I liked about her on each one. I put them all into a box wrapped with plain brown paper, and I drew a heart on the top that said ‘I’m sorry.’ She called me when she found them on her doorstep and forgave me.”
— John, 25

Alpha context: post-fight. Alpha trait: creativity. Execution: beta.

Very creative, but sickeningly beta, efforts at making up can work on some women (hint: fat or ugly women with few options), but the glow she feels will wear off much more quickly than would the glow from an expression of creativity that is alpha in nature and delivered with alpha insouciance.

He drew her back into his heart, though her neighbors were not amused
“I was totally in love with this woman, but we broke up because I got angry and jealous when she wanted to spend a day with a good guy friend of hers. Of course, I immediately realized how stupid I’d been. So, during the middle of the night, I snuck over and wrote ‘I’m sorry, please forgive me’ on the side of her neighbor’s house in sidewalk chalk so that she could see it from her bedroom. They were mad, but it washed off. And it worked.”
— Chris, 32

Did it really work, Chris? Or did she “go back” to you after she took “good guy friend’s” dick in her box. Never assume the best about a woman who is spending time with other men, no matter how much she insists she loves you.

But I’ll give you points for the chalk graffiti. Defacing property is kind of alpha.

Even girls can get in on the act of beta female game.

Their love story got a happy Hollywood ending after all
“I was head over heels for a guy and he dumped me. I thought if I could just remind him of our intense connection, he would see the light. I was working at a filmmaking company and used the editing facilities to splice classic movie breakup scenes together with disturbing scenes from Apocalypse Now. Anyone else would have probably gotten a restraining order, but I knew his sense of humor, and I knew he would think it was funny. He loved it, and we’re still together.”
— Amy, 34

“if I could just remind him of our intense connection…” Man oh man, is that not just a perfect archetypical hamster rationalization? “I know he loves me because we had an intense connection. He just dumped me because he got scared.” Goddamned priceless.

Anyhow, if this chick is telling the truth, she must be really REALLY hot. Because, in reality, that’s the only sort of “game” that works for women, especially women who do weird stalkerish shit like she did.

That’s enough for this post. Sometimes beta male game can win an attractive woman over if it’s executed with extreme creativity, whimsy, ballsiness or unpredictability, and is reinforced by a preexisting alpha male context. “Sometimes” being the key word here, because if you think that this sort of rom-com sappy beta male suckuppery is the ticket to poon paradise or marital bliss, you will be sorely reminded of the squalid nature of female sexuality in short order. Beta male game should be the seasoning to your alpha male main course. When betaness becomes the main course, women get their fill of your starchy sycophancy not long after the appreciative smile leaves their faces.

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A Little Pain Warms The Female Heart

As the Kristen Stewart affair (re)confirms, women, particularly young, slender women with high mate values, possess a seeming masochistic tendency to seek out relationship drama and wallow in it. All women have this urge, although the degree to which the urge expresses itself varies in its intensity among women. A very rough estimate by yours truly puts it at 1/3 women crave sadistic assholes (who may even beat them), 1/3 of women are drawn to men who provide non-thuggish but nonetheless insecurity-amplifying drama, and another 1/3 are put off by thuggishness and prolonged drama-inducement but who do enjoy some minimal amount of relationship tension, whether manufactured by the man or organically arising from his higher value relative to hers.

Furthermore, this craving for asshole men diminishes slowly with age, and with declining beauty. The elicited excitement and allure of the jerk tends to be strongest in very pretty, slender women aged 16-25, and weakest in ugly women over age 35. The reasons for this dynamic are obvious: very attractive and maximally fertile women — that is, those women with the most options in the sexual market — are best able to capture the attention of an asshole, and extract commitment from him. Older, uglier, fatter women are not even on assholes’ radars; their options are limited and their ability to extract commitment from men is kneecapped, so they tend to de-emphasize their longing for badboys and emphasize their appreciation for the secure reliability of lower value niceguys.

A few feminists are only now beginning to grapple with these hypergamous truths of female nature, not least in part because of the efforts of alternative blogs belched up from the bowels of hell, like this one, but they have yet to fully imbibe the meaning behind the evidence that confronts them. Many of them will attempt to scaffold their tattered ideology and hide the beast from their sights by making feeble assertions to the contrary, with no evidence in hand, that for instance, to pick a classic example of the genre, men “like drama-inducing bitches just as much as women like drama-inducing jerks”.

Well, ain’t that an ego salver! Too bad it isn’t true. There is very little real world evidence, either in the scientific literature or in anecdotal observation, that men crave relationship drama and the bitches who can give it nearly as much as women crave the badboys who can give them drama. Dark triad traits? Benefit men’s desirability; do nothing for women’s desirability, or even hurt it. Female groupies for male prisoners? So well-known that there are even websites devoted to letting women air their grievances with the prison system and detail their efforts to get conjugal visits with their killer lovers. And then of course, there are the women who, despite plenty of resources and peer pressure to guide them to better choices, freely opt to love and love again abusive men who turned their faces into mashed pulp.

Men do not share with women this masochistic compulsion for relationship drama. Men who are stuck with abusive women are often losers who know they couldn’t find another woman to save their lives. Men who have options will leave bitchy women without a second’s thought. Men, in fact, are the total opposite of women in this regard: the typical man will usually RUN AWAY FROM bitchy women in favor of sweet, feminine women, given equal looks. Even given unequal looks, most men will choose, for example, a sweet, caring 7 over a bitchy, sadistic 9, at least for long-term consideration. (For a one night stand or short term fling, men will put up with some shit in exchange for the pleasure of defiling exquisite beauty.)

So it is with this sex difference in drama-seeking in mind that the theme of this post emerges.

Maxim #19: Making a woman feel a little emotional pain will reward you a thousandfold in returned physical pleasure.

You don’t have to be fists-of-fury Chris Brown to pick up a Rihanna and make her fall in deep, profound love with you, but don’t let the lesson of their relationship be lost on you. If you are a beta male — and odds are you are — you can superglue your relationship bond by instilling in your woman a calculated level of discomfort and insecurity. You won’t feel bad about this, because you will know that the discomfort you create is subconsciously DESIRED by your girl. Despite her outward appearance of frustration and timorous appeasement, you will know that inside, she is lit up like a vagina tree, with a squirting orgasm shooting out of the star on top.

The more beta you are, and the hotter your girlfriend or wife, the more necessary will be the application of drama inducement game (DIG).

Reader David Collard comments:

I have written a poem about virginity and defloration, mainly to annoy skanky feminists:

http://davidcollard.wordpress.com/2012/04/16/first-draft/

As I have said before, deflowering my wife was unpleasant, and painful for her, but I am glad I got to do it, not some man before me. […]

I have seen a serious scientific (evol psych) argument that the pain of childbirth gets a woman to bond to her child, and the pain of defloration gets her to bond to a man. On the other hand, my wife says my deflowering her put her off sex for quite some time. She had a very tough hymen.

It is an intriguing theory that women are, in some primal sense, attracted to the freeing chains of pain. The pain — physical or emotional — seems to release in woman animal lusts, which then stampede beyond her control. This loss of control is something women secretly yearn to experience, and the alpha males who so delight them are the men most adept at stripping women of their superficial veneer of control.

David writes that childbirth and defloration are both major masochist milestones in a woman’s life that also represent pinnacles of pain. In the crucible of this pain (physical in these two instances), a bond so powerful, so unbreakable, is formed, that the woman will be forever merged in psyche, soul and snatch with the child and the man, respectively, who visited this pain upon her. I believe this is the best argument there is for beta males to actively seek out and deflower virgins, for the resultant bond will be so strong that they can then coast in their betaness for many years afterward without threat of cuckolding.

“Anonymous” writes:

Quoting Kristen Stewart: “I feel boring. I feel like, Why is everything so easy for me? I can’t wait for something crazy to fucking happen to me. Just life. I want someone to fuck me over! Do you know what I mean?”

So, she wants to play some Russian Roulette? Why are women so masochistic? You have a tenuous alpha/beta analysis when it isn’t even 100% clear that Alpha’s are better for survival or fitness then beta (why are there so many betas if alpha is the better gene)? I won’t quibble over this because your pop science has a much more serious problem. The central problem with female fitness in modernity has nothing to do with alpha/beta but is delayed pregnancy. What are the psychological consequences of going 15-20-35 years after menstruation and failing to get preggers? Ancient women were ALWAYS pregnant, like in stone age societies. Women are designed to be constantly knocked up and hauling 5 kids. How can their psychology pull the 180 to barren femcunt lawyer slut? Or barren and bored slut actress? You don’t think this makes them masochistic freaks? They are built for pain (pregnancy and hauling kids). Your Alpha/Beta analysis works, but the bigger issue is masochism and other psych problems from being chronically barren.

I understand anonymous’ wrenching repugnance at women’s callow and seemingly self-annihilating unimpeded sexual behavior, but that is a confusion remedied by a widening of perspective and a depth of experience. This odd drive by women for the powerful, charming, dominant men, even when it threatens a solid and secure relationship, must have served some benefit to our distant female ancestors, including the mothers of the infinite mothers of your mothers.

But then, as anonymous rightly states, there has always been, until relatively recently, a natural curb — an auto-pilot emergency brake — on this female hypergamous impulse, that would engage when the impulse became destructive. This natural curb was PREGNANCY. Ancestral women used to get knocked up quickly, at very young ages, and then be burdened with child after child until the wall removed from them the last hope of fulfilling a latent hypergamous urge. A Kristen Stewart, shorn of the props and rebar and condoms and abortifacents and Pills of modern society, would not, in the ancient times, have had the luxury of chasing down and fucking multiple alpha males to satisfy her id-shaped itch. In times bygone, her downlow would have meant the abandonment and eventual death of her child by her beta provider (Robert Pattinson) and the ostracization by her tribe’s women. Her alpha lover (the director) would not have agreed to help much in the raising of the children she had borne from previous men. There would not have been a media-savvy slut-excusing PR machine, aided and abetted by feminists and manboobed robots, to carry her through the ordeal to a safe landing ensconced in the lap of a replacement alpha male.

Instead, a modern Western Kristen Stewart gets to skip all that pain that would have been hers in prior eras, and indulge her hypergamy nearly free of consequence. Perhaps anonymous has a point; the mitigation to almost total irrelevance of this primal pain that was once the birthright of women has rendered their sex so psychologically scarred, so emotionally gutted, that they deliberately seek destructiveness in their relationships to feel anything at all. This destructiveness, once harnessed, feeds on itself, and there is no cure save sexual obsolescence, which must come, as it does for all women, sooner than they think.

The barren woman. The spinster. The pathetic partying cougar. The slutty alpha female. The delayed marriage and childbirth. The 0.5 child SWPL mother. Is it all coming together in a vortex of unhappiness and self-despoilment? Is the answer a reconnection with the animal spirits — and the animal dangers — that used to animate our free choices?

Kristen Stewart and millions of women in similar circumstances as hers will realize their fates too late. Worse for them, the Robert Pattinsons of the world are beginning to wake up and realize their fates as well. The interesting times are just beginning.

This post sealed with a kiss for Billyboy Bennett.

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