Automation And Redundant Humans

There’s a lot of chatter from the internetsia and on various econ-centric and forward-looking culture blogs (i.e. mediums hosting most of the interesting ideas you won’t ever hear discussed in the increasingly self-discrediting MSM) that automation and computerization are leading to impressive productivity gains, mostly concentrated among the high IQ elite knowledge workers who feign disbelief in the relevance of IQ (and other inheritable personality traits that are useful in a high-tech, interwoven economy, like conscientiousness). The thinking goes, and trend line evidence supports the notion, that vast swaths of humans will be left unemployable by their inability to grasp the language of abstraction. Unemployment rates that dwarf Great Depression numbers could soon be the norm.

Pursuing this line of thought, these Cassandras theorize that the end result of a bifurcating economy into machine overseers and redundant humans meant only to consume the products produced by the machines and their management consultant handlers will be huge wealth residing in the hands of a few, while pittances will drop like bread crumbs from welfare-issuance offices upon the benighted masses.

I happen to believe, based on the growing dysfunction I see organically emerging in my estranged country, that the theory has merit.

So I have two questions for any economists reading:

1. How is the present automation and productivity conundrum qualitatively different than ones from the past (for example, the classic case of the auto replacing the horse and carriage)? If you do not believe it is qualitatively different, explain how we escape the “zero marginal productivity” worker trap, especially in an era when human capital is shrinking due to a combination of dysgenic birth rate differentials and mass migration of unskilled poor? Note: “Humans are fungible” is not an acceptable cop-out.

2. If, say, most of the profits go to the top 10% in society, while the bottom 90% are unemployed or marginally employed, how is it exactly that those top 10% will be able to extract profits from a customer base that doesn’t have the income stream to afford more than the basic necessities?

There must be some self-regulating rebalancing dynamic that comes into play past a certain egregious level of wealth and employment inequality. I figure this rebalancing will happen in one of two ways: One, the government will step up redistribution (virtually guaranteeing a livable “income” for the left side of the bell curve). This option, naturally, confronts a bit more difficulty in a multiethnic society. Two, the profit geyser will dry up as the world comes to be increasingly dominated by a few elite essentially bartering amongst themselves. What good are productivity gains if no one is left with the cash to buy your products?

There is a third, albeit unlikely, outcome: goods will be able to be manufactured and distributed so cheaply that no more than a meager income stream will be needed to adorn one’s lifestyle with a slew of creature comforts.

Of course, riot-quelling Danegeld or sufficiently inexpensive goods say nothing about the devastation to the human psyche that would occur in a world of relegated uselessness. Unlimited consuming has a way of eating itself to death.

Please, spare me the singularity crackpottery. That, or genetic reengineering, won’t happen in time, if it happens at all, to stave off mass calamity.

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Beta Males In The Wild

This is a photo of a first wedding anniversary.

Humans are naturally repulsed by certain objects in the state of nature. Rotting carcasses. Fetid water. Leprosy victims. Feminists. Manboobs. A steaming pile of poop triggers our disgust reflex. This reflex likely evolved to protect us from ingesting poops and then dying from infection during a time when modern medicine was a schizophrenic witch doctor.

Like fresh turds, we are instinctively repulsed by the above photo. It violates our preinstalled norms of sexual polarity. Men, and women too, have evolved limbic systems and higher order cerebrum that are groomed to respond positively to couples where the man looks to be in charge and self-possessed and the woman looks in his thrall and in need of his protection. When we see the opposite — like in this pic — we recoil as if we had just accidentally stepped in a mound of dog shit.

The masculinization of Western women and the feminization of Western men continues apace, with no bottom to the depths to which this depravity will sink. Point by repugnant point, let’s examine the bizarro world inversion illustrated in the photo:

– Lap sitting, male on female. INVERSION
– Smothering neck vise, male on female. INVERSION
– Cross-legged male, open-legged female. INVERSION
– Stupidly grinning male, grimacing female trying hard to hide it. INVERSION
– Wraparound koala bear hug, male on female. INVERSION
– Closed body language and clenched fist, female on male. INVERSION
– Micropenis, male. Acromegalic clit, female. (speculative) INVERSION
– Being OK with having this picture taken and the moment memorialized for all time, male over female objection. INVERSION

The question, as always: What does this have to do with game? Gentlemen, you will have no success with game if you first don’t exorcise the sin of anti-game from your mortal soul. This means not behaving like a woman would behave when she is in the company of an exciting alpha male.

The good news is that recognizing, and discarding, bad anti-game habits is easier than learning pro-game techniques, especially if you are a natural introvert for whom cold approaches and crutch-like helpful scripts give you the hives. You’re 50% of the way there once you’ve stopped acting in ways that make girls feel like they just stepped in dog shit.

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Omega Male Hall Of Shame: What Women Mean By Creepy

A reader forwarded this email as an example of what not to say to a girl whom you “admire from afar”.

I’ve attached an email sent to one of my co-workers from a former co-worker who had the reputation of being ‘creepy’ towards most of the women in my office.

Anyway, I thought you’d get a kick out of this tripe.

****

Fw: U light up a room.

Hey – sorry if you catch me starring at you from time to time. I bet that it’s probably uncomfortable. You are very beautiful and continue to evolutionize your look at times so drastically that it;s intriguing. It also reveals the many levels, the rainbow of emotions within you. Most people have a collage of personalities that make them up into an individual, but struggle in finding a good, fun, kind balance between them. You are bless to be able to have such a capacity to be you and enjoy it. You are special. I have been around for a minute now (38 years) and seen and been in many adverse and awesome situations. Through it all I have met many people and few ( a handful)  have I ever felt like expressing what my spirit tells me to remind you of.

Today you look so Q, you can easily be thought off as a 23 year old. No harm intended in my comments young lady – it’s just that you light up a room. I also choose to e-mail you, rather than verbally tell you because I truly do not wish to make you uncomfortable, and if I do [name redacted] –  all you have to do is let me know and I will never comment again.

Anyhoo – you place a smile in my heart and I am just trying to place a smile in your face. There are folks with toxic attitudes around us at times do not get contaminated by them – instead – edify them.

:0)

Chao!

****

That’s one ugly mess. I nominate this yearning missive for inclusion into the Omega/Beta Hall of Shame. It’s a sterling representative of the genre.

A brief analysis of the points in the email at which the writer crossed the creep threshold are in order. Sometimes, it helps to spell these things out for the short bus contingent.

U light up a room.

Poetically flattering a woman you have not had one date with is like getting LOW VALUE MALE tattooed on your forehead. Because that’s how (modern) women are going to perceive your gallant efforts at a love connection.

“Hi, Jenny! You look really pretty.”

“Hi, Low Value Male! I can deduce by your forehead tattoo that your compliment is expected and honorably consistent with your low ranking on the male totem pole.”

“So you’re saying I have a chance?”

“Turn that LMV into an HMV, and we’ll talk!”

Also, there’s a beta and an alpha way to ignore punctuation. If your first word in an email is “U”, you’re starting off on the wrong foot. Generally, aloof alpha punctuation — where periods and capital letters are dropped in favor of mysterious cut-off sentences — is best reserved for text messages. Doing the same in email risks making you look like a remedial class teenager.

Hey – 

If he had begun his email with this, and ended it with this, he would have been on much firmer ground.

sorry if you catch me starring at you from time to time.

If you’re a desperate omega, the last thing you want to do is draw attention to your stalkerish omegatude. (This email is so bad, it better qualifies as the effortlust of an omega male than the tentative mincing of a beta.)

I bet that it’s probably uncomfortable.

A cool, funny chick would write back, “You bet correctly, sir!”

You are very beautiful and continue to evolutionize your look at times so drastically that it;s intriguing.

Great example of a mediocrity straining to sound smoother and smarter than he is. Paging Oswald Bates…

It also reveals the many levels, the rainbow of emotions within you.

You know when girls are down for this “I can appreciate all your levels” bullshit? When they have already been fucked by you at least 150 times. If you’re trying to make an impression on a girl by implying that you’re different than all the other guys who can’t see the real person inside of her, the time to do that is when it actually means something; like when it’s one year into a relationship and she’s still struggling to get you to agree on exclusivity. Also, no man should ever use the word “rainbow”, unless it’s to ridicule another man using the word “rainbow”. In today’s rapidly degenerating culture, the word too easily conjures scenes of bronies mutually fellating each other in a giant ponyjerk. With velvety plush headgear on.

You are bless to be able to have such a capacity to be you and enjoy it.

This is anti-game. He’s basically excused her from the burden of treating him kindly, let alone as a sexual prospect.

You are special.

When you’re in a hole, the first thing you do is stop digging. This guy’s gunning for China.

I have been around for a minute now (38 years) and seen and been in many adverse and awesome situations.

Worst DHV ever.

Through it all I have met many people and few ( a handful)  have I ever felt like expressing what my spirit tells me to remind you of.

What’s going through the girl’s head when she reads this: “He feels inspired to pour his heart out to me because he gets a chub every time he sees me over the cubicle walls?”

Well, that’s not actually what goes through her head. It’s more like this: “Creep, creep, creeper, creep. Ew.” Which amounts to saying the same thing as above.

No harm intended in my comments young lady – 

If you’re an older man hitting on a younger woman, the LAST thing you want to call her is “young lady”. Epic omega fail. And if you truly intend no harm, the last thing you want to say is that you intend no harm. There’s that rule in advertising that simply mentioning a negative is enough to plant it in a customer’s head and associate it with your product/personhood.

I also choose to e-mail you, rather than verbally tell you because I truly do not wish to make you uncomfortable

A seduction without discomfort is called idle chit chat. All seductions must contain a stirring of discomfort. Otherwise, every lame omega and beta male with sensitivity to spare and teardrops on command will be able to swoop femme fatales with ease.

all you have to do is let me know and I will never comment again.

Attainably attractive girls who have experience dealing with the fumbling come-ons of betas know this isn’t true. The minute a loser says he will “never comment/call/write again”, the girl knows he will do just that. Which is why girls will rarely reply to these sorts of queries; it only encourages the loser. (I once knew of a total omega male in high school who got a rejection message delivered personally from the girl friend of a girl he had a crush on for two years. The sad sack proceeded to pursue the girl for two more years, hoping to get a clarification.)

Anyhoo – 

Nerd alert.

you place a smile in my heart and I am just trying to place a smile in your face.

Let’s run this line through the Alpha Reformulator (a device which alters dorky beta droolings into coolbreeze alpha charmbullets): “my heart was smiling thinking about you until you microwaved that noxious curry lunch. thanks for killing the romance i was about to lay down on your day.”

There are folks with toxic attitudes around us

aka jerks who always take the girls.

at times do not get contaminated by them – instead – edify them.

What happens when a dumbass tries for profound and winds up writing gibberish.

:0)

No emoticons! What’s an emoticon doing in this email when I told you no EMOTICONS EVER!

and, oh dear lord, he added the o-nose. I bet he thinks women fart anime characters.

Chao!

You know what would’ve been funny? And less beta? If he had signed off deliberately misspelling “ciao” as “chow”. Unfortunately, his stupidity is of the unintentional variety.

Well, I hope that expedition through the thickets of the omega male psychological landscape was as painful for you as it was for me. Lessons learned:

1. Guys like this make it easy for guys with game.

2. There are shadowy realms beyond which even my considerable powers of instruction cannot penetrate. Introducing a lost cause like this dude to game will only provoke a defensive reaction and further turtling into his self-perpetuating misery. I think we all know a few guys who fall into that category.

I imagine every female reader who read that email had the word “creep” flash through her head. It’s a catch-all term that women generally use to describe men who exhibit the characteristics, mannerisms, self-negating attitude and social retardation that typically accompany involuntary celibacy and a lack of facility navigating the psychological peculiarities of women. Men need not necessarily be intrinsically low value to get slapped with the creep label; a man who could get lots of attention from women, but who evinces the attitude of the needy creep (much to the chagrin of the women who win an audience with him), is thrown into the same untouchables pile as our forlorn emailer inducted into the Chateau Hall of Beta Shame.

In short, “creeper” = “needy beta”. The slang may change, but the nature stays the same.

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Do Fat Girls Get More Sex?

A reader whose contributions carry more weight than the offerings from the rabble emailed the following about fat chicks and the amount of sex they do, or do not, get:

[I]t is a consistent finding that fat women tend to have more, not less, sexual partners than thinner women.  Poor impulse control etc. So, that explanation for late female virginity seems totally implausible.

The reader is referring to a speculation I made in this post that higher virginity rates among educated women may be skewed by the ENLARGING population of fat chicks who have a harder time convincing men to rut with them. The study he links to finds evidence that fat girls have more “sexual encounters with men than [do] normal-weight women.”

I find this interesting because it contradicts other studies I have read that concluded the opposite. For instance, here’s one that found obese French women were 30% less likely than thin women to have had a sexual partner in the last year. (Maybe French men have more dignity? Or fat French women more shame? Either way, it proves the French are superior to Americans on at least one moral metric.)

So, are fat chicks getting laid more or less than sexier slender babes? Evolutionary theory regarding the evolved mating preferences of the sexes actually offers plausible explanations for both assertions to be true. On the one hand, we have plenty of evidence that men prefer fucking and dating young, slim, BMI 17-23, 0.7 waste-hip ratio women because these attributes signal that the women are maximally fertile, and thus more likely to pass on a man’s genes. Since men prefer these kinds of women, it stands to reason that fat chicks would attract less sexual interest from men, and experience greater rates of involuntary celibacy.

On the other hand, we can presuppose, using evo-psych theory, that fat women are more likely to put out quickly and to offer more sexual access (read: orifices) to men because that’s the only way they can compete with the better-looking thin women who tend to leverage their beauty by making men demonstrate more signs of investment before being permitted to tap that ass.

Of course, both mating market dynamics could be at work, but one more efficiently than the other. If, say, there are more fat women willing to go all the way right away than there are men unwilling to ever bang a fat chick, the overall trend will be towards fat chicks getting laid more than thin chicks. Plus, throw in the fact that the obese population of American women is nearing 50%, at which point the planet earth begins to wobble out of its orbit, and you could make a strong case that American men have highly constrained choices in the sexual market and are thus forced to choose between masturbation with their height-weight proportionate hands and dumping a shameful fuck in a smegma-ringed porkhole.

Another way a skewed desirable female market could affect the sexual encounter ratio between fat women and thin women is by making thin women so spectacularly high value that they are able to pretty much command the price at which they reward their sex. In practice, this means the few thin chicks will hold out for a long time until they find the alpha male willing to wait and buy and wait for a life-giving gulp from the oasis of their sexiness. In a roomful of slutty fat chicks, the cockteasing hourglass-shaped girl is queen.

Finally, a sexual market that is filled with fatties will tend to lessen the shame that each individual fatty feels about her grossness; c.f. the fatkini “revolution”. When you are one fatty in a sea of hotties, you will know the excruciating feeling of being an outcast and, at best, invisible to men; at worst, cruelly mocked by them. But when you are one fatty amongst many fatties, and the sexy chicks are in the minority, you won’t be an outcast. Your friends and those around you will be just like you. Strength in numbers means you will hold your triple chin high, and your gorilla gut out proudly, giving desperate men who, in a normal functioning market, wouldn’t deign to speak to you for a second, an unreasonable amount of shitty, entitled attitude. You will imagine your blubber is attractive to men because Cleon the methhead got really drunk and horny one night and wooed you with a compliment about your “big, beautiful titties.” You will feel no shame undressing before a man with the lights on.

None of this says anything about the *quality* of the relationships that fat chicks get. As the first study states:

“These are very objective measures,” she said of the current data. “It probably begs for more qualitative studies … to better understand the quality of relationships.”

That’s a nice way of putting it. Fat chicks might be getting a lot of sex, but they are probably not getting a lot of love, if we measure love by signs of male investment and length and intensity of commitment. And for women, happiness and a feeling of success at life is found in love, not sex, the latter of which holds hardly any value for women because it is so easy for them to get, relative to the hoops men have to jump through to get laid.

The question of whether fat chicks get more or less sex than slim chicks remains an open one. Unfortunately, I cannot contribute much in the way of anecdotal support for either hypothesis, because my interactions with fat chicks have been extremely limited. By choice. And isn’t that the crux of the whole debate? In a world of real options — real, attainable choice — 99 out of 100 men are going to choose the slender babe over the shambling she-hog

EVERY

TIME.

That’s how you put a self-professed, proud fatty fucker to the test. Forget what he says. If he is approached for sex by two girls, one fat and one thin, and no one’s watching him, he’ll bang the thin one. Naturally, in real life, he won’t have that choice, because most fatty fuckers are losers who have no chance with slender girls. The exceedingly few men who would choose the fatty over the slim girl are freak outliers that serve to prove the rule rather than discredit it.

What does this all have to do with game? In countries with more fat women, your game will have to be very tight indeed, if you don’t want to be put in a position of choosing between porn and beast mounting.

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The Curse Of The Player

Beware the blessings of gratification.

The relationship. The long-term relationship. The Holy Grail for some. Purgatory for others. Serene limbo for most.

The relationship — aka marriage, when in its most loathsome permutation — is supposed to be the culmination of romantic transcendence. It moves lovers beyond lust into the realm of silent covalent bond. But this bond, unspoken and understood, can’t form out of any primordial soup; it requires the presence, and the absence, of specific ingredients. The rarity of the founding broth is the reason why poets elevate inviolate love to the sublime. One isn’t liable to effuse about the commonplace or the trite, which can spring like weeds from the craggiest soil.

In every relationship, there is a transition period; that window of time when a man senses he has crossed a boundary from experimental abandon to tribute paid in increments of freedom. A man stands at the Gates of Pudenda and makes his decision for Eros: to step through, committing himself to a revised moral code etched with broad brushstrokes of obligation and the peculiar rewards accrued therein, or to turn back to gallivant another day.

The decision at the moment of transition is not the same for every man. If you haven’t experienced multiple lovers, your transition into an LTR will be easier. You won’t sacrifice much in leaving behind your life of infrequent elation for the rhythmic reassurance of content stability. Players with a lurid, technicolor memory plate filled with many women will find it harder to accede to the straitjacketing of an LTR because of an acute sense of something missing, of what could still be had for the taking, and of withdrawal from the thrill of the hunt. The man who has bedded in his lifetime more than two or three lovers (the average number for the typical beta male) has a feature length film of past and present conquests running in a continuous loop, instantly evoked, as H.H. would say, on the “dark innerside of his eyelids”, in perfect optical replication, to effortlessly remind him of the incomprehensible pleasure of vulvic variety and of all the women waiting in oblivious anticipation for the arrival of his plunderprong.

The memory and the knowledge are the curse of the player. Memory stokes the wanderlust with insistent, torrential recall of scores of curvaceous bodies and rippled vulvae. Though in theory one vagina is no different than the rest, in a man’s mind each furrow is an ecological feature etched into strange planets across the galaxy. Every vagina is a new world to a man, some more exotic than others, and the unbridled enthusiasm he will feel planting his flag on fresh colonizations is no accident of evolution. Contrary to feminized misappraisal, this is not the pretentious joy of shame or escape; it is the sincere joy of pleasure that needs no reason.

The knowledge that the player possesses at his whim the skill to seduce women is the twin sabotage that undermines relationship endurance. A player will see the world of women lit from every angle, exposed to his exploration, if he knows, through experience, through the touch of a thousand fingertips, that he can bed women fairly consistently, and with manageable effort. The psychological emollient of knowing this power is his is enough to burden the heart of a man contemplating even a facsimile of fidelity. Bound to his lover by, in turns, conscience, social opprobrium, and legal sanction, the streams of waiting conquests slipping past like rivulets of glimmering intimacies, taunting his parched loin loosely moored to the ballast of loyalty, is the torture of a lifetime of short-circuited ejaculations.

In contrast, to be the grateful man with no history of sexual plenitude, for whom omnipresent sensual possibilities seem as remote as the twinkling stars in the heavens and thus unlikely to stir his ancient calling, is to be released with the gift of the constrained vision. Where possibility is dead, or unfathomable, so is dangerous yearning. He is now free to step back from the beautiful painting and dryly ponder its geometric contours. When this man falls in love with an accessible work of art, one he can call his own, he has little else to compare its grip on his imagination. He cherishes his chosen muse, blissfully ignorant of the carelessness and glibness with which he would succumb to, and love, the millions of competing muses were they to be more tangible to him than airbrushed magazine cover placeholders.

The curse of the player, then, is ultimately illumination, tactile and cerebral. His own success in love betrays his quest for the ultimate love. He has seen vistas he cannot unsee.

He is not a disbeliever in everlasting monogamous love, quite the contrary; but his eternal search for it has corrupted the destination. Each step of his journey lands like the heavy stamp of slash and burn machinery, decloaking the mystery of the source at the mouth of the tributary. He is as certain to destroy underfoot the elixir of redemption as he is to finally catch it, leached of its nutrients.

Ironically, the man (or woman) best situated to find divine love is the one whose efforts aren’t excessively profitable.

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Spot The Beta Male Tell

A “relationship advice” guy who writes for Yahoo/Match/Tyrell Corporation published letters from readers who described the crazy things they did for love. Now, there is an alpha way to do crazy-in-love, and there is a beta way. Read this first letter and see if you can identify the tells that mark the writer of this letter as a beta male.

I went to bat for her engagement ring 
“My girlfriend and I had been together for about three years, and I was sure she was the one I wanted to marry. Problem was, I didn’t exactly have enough money to get her a good engagement ring. So, in order to raise funds, I put my collection of baseball trading cards on eBay. We’re talking a collection that spanned, like, 20 years, thanks to some cards handed down by my dad. I was totally bummed to part with them because they were so important to me, but I really, really loved this girl. I ended up making more than enough money to pay for a ring. Problem was, when I got down on one knee, she told me that she couldn’t see spending the rest of her life with me. I should’ve stuck with Shoeless Joe Jackson.”
— Owen, 26, Chagrin Falls, OH

Chagrin Falls is appropriate. Often, when reading these sad sack stories, one has the nagging feeling that a better grasp of the market value of the players would clarify why this or that venality visited the protagonist. Discerning the sexual market value of a woman online, when no photo is available, is tricky; women will aggressively lead the reader to believe, absent hard visual evidence, that they are desired by most men. The sexual market value of men is a bit easier to root out in written, online mediums because I find that men are a little more careless about revealing their beta cores. Reading between the lines for male and female beta tells is a fun pastime that I heartily recommend.

Back to the letter: you might be tempted to think that getting a girl an engagement ring is pure beta male, but because so many men fall into the diamond industrial complex trap, it’s not quite the tell that it should be. Instead, the big tells are the writer’s baseball card collection, his willingness to trade one of his most valuable possessions for a rock to slip on a girl’s finger (betraying his father’s love in the process), and, worst of all, his bended knee proposal.

Collections of the sort that are particularly unappealing to women are leading indicators of betaness, because a man who is good with women and able to get sex will not have the patience or motivation to amass piles of mostly useless junk that don’t add to his attractiveness to women. Baseball cards are the province of little boys and grown betas.

But it’s a forgivable tell. Alpha males have the systematizing instinct as well, and collections that can be categorized and subcategorized are addictive to all kinds of men. The bigger beta tell was this guy’s willingness to sever a holy bond, via baseball card, with his father to enrich his girlfriend. The man who sells off a bequeathed treasure from his dad to please his woman is an unprincipled cipher of beta provisioning. No woman with the least bit of character would, if known to her, allow her boyfriend to hock his pop’s heirloom for a blood diamond. Most American women don’t have the least bit of character.

Finally, the cringe-worthiest beta male tell was the bended knee beggary. If anything, since men give up more to get married, it’s women who should drop on bended knee thanking their boyfriends for making honest whores out of them. I don’t care how super alpha you are or how much self-handicapping you can endure without penalty, dropping to one knee is exquisitely, insufferably BETA. Ignore my advice to skip the nuptials for loving LTRs, but for the memory of millions of ancestors who harnessed the power of testicular fortitude to usher you into this world, don’t get down on your knees before a woman. You’re just asking to be treated like the dog who waits dutifully at the door with the leash in its mouth.

Three beta male tells, each worse than the last. The coda to this miserable letter should surprise no one, but I bet it surprised the letter writer. No woman wants to share her life with a man she has to look down at to see.

For shits and giggles, here’s another letter that represents the exact opposite of the one above.

I found out the hard way that our love wasn’t going to go the distance
“My boyfriend of a year and four months had to move for his job. It wasn’t dramatically far away, but it was still three states over. I was living in Ohio then, and he had to move to Maryland. We talked on the phone, wrote letters and all that, and I could tell that he was getting increasingly homesick. I decided to surprise him by ducking out of work early one Friday, driving over to see him — it’s about five or six hours by car — and cheering him up. Turns out I didn’t need to, though, because when I showed up at his apartment that night, I found him having dinner with a woman he met at work. At least I didn’t need to worry about staying awake on the long drive home — I was too upset to fall asleep.”
— Jackie, 27, Manhasset, NY

Spot the alpha male tell. Lessee… was it when he got himself a new woman who would be locally available for poundage sessions, so he wouldn’t have to spend months of his valuable life celibately pining for faraway pussy? Could be!

“Manhasset”, indeed.

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Game, Kino, Science: Choose Any Three

If you aren’t touching women early and often during a pickup attempt, you’re handicapping yourself.

Even non-sexual social contact can raise body temperature.

Researchers at the University of St Andrews found that non-sexual social interactions with men caused a noticeable rise in the temperature of a woman’s face, without them even noticing. […]

Lead author Amanda Hahn, explained, “We used a thermal camera to record skin temperature during a standard ‘social interaction’ where we measured participants’ skin colour at ‘non-personal’ (i.e. the arm and palm of the hand) and ‘personal’ (i.e. the face and chest) locations on the body. The thermal response was dramatic when the male experimenter made contact at ‘personal’ locations.”

While it may not be surprising that people have a physiological response to social contact, the size of the reaction was surprising. Hahn commented, “We observed some women whose facial temperature increased by an entire degree (Celsius) during interaction with the male experimenter.

“This thermal change was in response to simple social interaction, without any experimental change to emotion or arousal. Indeed our participants did not report feeling embarrassment or discomfort during the interaction.”

The study, published later this month in Biology Letters, shows that gender alone influenced the reaction of women, who showed no response to interaction with other women.

Sexual arousal and body temperature fluctuations (the literal manifestation of “buying temperature”) are intimately entwined, so much so that neglecting to elicit body temp spikes in women will make the process of seducing them more difficult. If your hands aren’t exploring a woman’s body while talking to her, you are flirting with the disaster of getting friend-zoned.

It’s already been demonstrated that touching a woman lightly on the arm will increase the odds that she will give you her number. Now we have scientific evidence that touching will dramatically raise a woman’s body temperature, especially in the facial region. Note that the women in the study did not respond to the touch of other women; it was only the wandering hands of men who got them flushed in the face. Note also that none of the women claimed to feel discomfort when the men touched them; their body temp rise was unrelated to any feeling that they were being threatened or their personal space was being invaded.

The difference in temperature rise between getting touched on the palm/arm and the chest/face was large, although there was a small rise elicited from simple arm touching. Game theory is very clear on the importance of kino and how it should progress (by “escalation”), so these studies are simply gravy on top of what is already experimentally proven by thousands of men running game in the field. To recap:

– It’s better to touch a girl more than you think is comfortable than to avoid touching too much because you think it would make a girl uncomfortable.

– Always touch sooner rather than later, and more often rather than too infrequently.

– Begin your touching on innocuous parts of a girl’s body, like the forearm and hand, and gradually move to more erogenous zones of her body, like the small of her back, the upper arm, the thigh and even her face. Also gradually increase the duration and pressure of your touching.

– The “slow boiling frog” principle is at work here. If you move too quickly from “safe zone” to erogenous zone, you might spook a girl. But more gradual kino escalation will allow you to touch “danger zones” with impunity.

– Don’t touch extremely charged body areas in public spaces. There’s too much risk of activating a girl’s anti-slut mechanism. Save the petting for private areas.

I’ve often wondered (well, not that often) why, if kino is critical to success with women, so many beta males (who, as a reminder, occupy the bulk of the male population) are so skittish about touching women? Now I have a theory. Lacking the confidence of their caddish convictions, it makes sense to betas to avoid boldness in action with women who are less likely to assume their impertinences. There is a real risk, in other words, of a crippling incongruency should the beta male decide to kino with a fury without the requisite overconfidence to sway the ladies and gird his fortitude.

From the female perspective, instinctively welcoming kino at a deep physiological level — that is, readying herself for sex in the most shamefully unfeminist manner — is actually a sub-subconscious biological shit test that signals to a girl who among the men hitting on her has the alpha goods. If her vestigial vellous hairs rise automatically at the touch of a man’s hand, any man’s hand, and her cheeks glow a rosy hue, then it’s a simple evolutionarily-greased leap of logic to be more open to the entreaties of men cocksure enough to touch her than to the hovering hands of “creepy” beta males. The act of touching — especially if exercised with devil-may-care élan — is sort of a preselection for alpha attitude that women use to screen men into despondent categories of desirable and undesirable.

As always, a jaunt through the female hamster brain is illuminating. We’ll compare what escapes like a hissing balloon out of a termagant feminist’s mouth to what the gentlehamster underneath it all actually thinks.

Asply-coiled feminist: “Unwanted touching ANYWHERE on my body is sexual harassment!!”

♥Hamster♥: “I can’t explain in socially approved turns of phrase why I feel closer to this guy.”

Misfiring pistoned-feminist: “You WILL respect my boundaries!”

♥Hamster♥: “This guy hasn’t touched me once in a half hour of talking to me. So much respect, but so little chemistry.”

Yoko Ono in a chokehold mid-warble feminist: “Check your male privilege at the door!”

♥Hamster♥: “This man is very comfortable touching me. That shows confidence. Which must mean he has a lot of experience with women. Which really turns me on.”

♥♥Hamster’s hamster♥♥: “…thus improving the odds that any son I have with this man will grow up to inherit the same pussy slaying skills, spreading my genes yonder and hither.”

As most of you are beta males, you should take this post to heart and begin training your reflexes away from automatic discomfort at the thought of touching women and toward taking liberties with their personal spaces. You may think you are disrespecting women, but in fact you are respecting their vaginas. Don’t be surprised if, after a few months of violating every known feminist taboo, you wind up not in a diversity seminar, but between the sheets with a very satisfied woman.

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