Archive for the ‘Alpha’ Category

Spot The Alpha

The evidence:

Man in the back left can hardly contain his joy. Or his perforated ulcer. His fingers grip his super-sized prize like a rock climber dangling from a cliff face with no rope. He’s not about to let her tip over and capsize into her friend. After all, what is better in life than a fat chick with no tits?

Man in the back right is more composed, and maintains a firmer grip on his ballast. He seems fairly aware of the load capacity of his lumberjack arms and cornfed quads, and glows with the inner peace of a zen master who has touched the face of a semi-cute chick with his peen without ever having to touch her porky wet hole with it.

Girl in the front left is straining under the weight (heh) of her phony smile. She despises her reproductive partner, her grotesque starch bomb body, her life. But she loves her BBBFF who always makes her feel special and loved and free to be Princess Gluttony. Her dress sparkles because she knows how to attract the attention of horny military boys with alcoholic astigmatism.

Girl in the front right smiles naturally, smokes and drinks from a red solo cup. She has stuffed her carcass into a slinky cocktail dress meant for women half her size. She exudes self-confidence. Clearly, she is American. She likes her man and has taken many of his loads betwixt her fat girl ta tas. She is destined to cheat on him with a black man.

The conclusion:

The girl in the front right is the alpha male. Remember what the alpha male signifies: He is the man with options, who is dating “out of his league”, according to conventional metrics of date worthiness. Judging by this photo, the man who has made out like a bandit happens to be a woman.

And isn’t that modern society in a nutless-shell? An alpha male woman smothering the life out of a man who can do better, but won’t.

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This reader is very proud of his text game,

I just had a text exchange I am so proud of that I couldn’t help but share it with you. Feel free to post it if you’d like, but please don’t use my name. Thanks.

Girl: Level of disappointment from a scale of 1 to 10 with 10 being the break up of the beatles and and 1 being the break up of the spice girls

Girl: …of me possibly rescheduling our rendezvous to next week

Me: Is this a trick question? I loved the spice girls

Girl: Nevermind.  Ill see you Thursday

How alpha is this reader’s text reply? On a scale of 1 to 10, with 10 being STEVE MOTHERFUCKIN MCQUEEN alpha, and 1 being Hugo Schwyzer situational alpha which fails the second he walks out of a roomful of deranged feminist coeds, I would rate his reply an 8.

An 8 means the reply is more than serviceable; it actually boosts his alpha cred a little. But what prevents the reply from reaching the exalted heights of 10dom is the springboard from which it was launched. You see, a truly alpha text message is one that careens out of nowhere, takes a girl by surprise, and instantly moistens her cortical ham for further romantic interaction. But this reader’s reply came on the heel of a very turgid message from the girl; a message so long-winded and carefully constructed that a third party reading it would come to the easy conclusion that she already harbored strong feelings for this reader.

Evidence shows the reader was operating from a position of prior alphatude, a fact which docks a couple points from the alpha score of his text reply. It was a fine reply sir, but like virtue free of the temptation of vice, alphaness is easy when it isn’t being tested by female aloofness.

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AMOG Tit Grab

A reader passes along a quickie anecdote that you don’t hear everyday:

I would like your take on this situation that arose with my GF. Been together about a month.

Went to a pub, I brought a friend, its kind of her turf so she runs into coworkers and friends there a lot. Two dudes she used to work with come in, she hugs them. She is pretty bad for introducing me to people…often she says hello to a group, I wait a minute then introduce myself. She follows up by saying I’m her BF, etc, but she leaves it to me to break the ice.

Once again no intro, this time I didn’t care much to say hi, so me and my friend went for a drink. At last call, her and I are chatting, I see another friend and go say hi, she sees these two coworkers again. I come up to do the introduction, and one of the dudes grabs her tit when she moves in for a hug. She shoves his hand away but laughs and hugs him. I’m literally over this dudes shoulder, she knows I saw it.

What’s the alpha play here? (I walked away, she chased after me asking why i was running away…fully aware of the reason)

1. One month is not long enough to call any girl your “girlfriend”. Not even if you’re banging her six ways to Sunday. Already I sense your mentality is beta, for only a beta male would count his chicks before they’ve latched.

2. It’s a very bad tell when your “GF” doesn’t introduce you to people she knows. She either doesn’t want them to know the full extent of your relationship with her, or she’s not sufficiently attached to you and easily forgets you exist. Third option: She’s a sperg with naturally bad social skills. But that’s a low probability option.

3. The AMOG dude obviously felt comfortable enough to grab her tit without fearing retribution, from either her or you. Therefore, he either knows, through her, that she’s not that into you, or he’s actually fucking her on the downlow. Her reaction — or rather, her barely concealed joy — strongly hints at the latter.

4. The alpha play is to never talk to her again. Seriously. She’s a lost cause, even if she didn’t technically “cheat”. Yet.

5. But if you just want to keep the sex going for as long as possible, give it two weeks, then re-engage. Treat her like absolute dirt. I figure this strategy will net you three more months of hungry blowjobs.

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Nigel Havers, a British TV actor, has some choice comments about the nature of female sexuality.

TV heart-throb Nigel Havers says women ‘never learn’ when it comes to men – because they cannot stop pursuing ‘cads’. […]

[Havers] finds out that his maternal great-great-grandfather, David Couch, had an illegitimate daughter with a 19-year-old servant girl.

Havers, 61, told the Radio Times: ‘You can’t help but think you’ve inherited some of their qualities. David was a bit of a cad, which is the sort of part I’ve played.

‘I made The Charmer in 1987, which was dangerous for me because I didn’t think viewers would warm to such a ghastly character. And yet the opposite happened. However evil he was, people liked him.

More precisely, men wanted to be him, women wanted him.

‘Throughout history women tend to like cads. They want to mother and change them. It’s exciting, but always ends in tears.

‘They don’t learn, do they? I don’t mean that in a sexist way. Some women prefer a stable life, but others love danger.’

He goes on to say that men love dangerous women, too, but that’s just CYA equalist squid ink, meant to appease feminist shrike censors. Men love hot women, and if they happen to be bitches, well… men won’t turn down a romp in the sack with them, though they will think twice about committing to them, and they certainly won’t rationalize their bitchiness like so many women rationalize the caddishness and assholery of jerks and terrorist bombers.

Women go out of their way to locate, identify and seduce jerks. Men do not go out of their way to locate, identify and seduce bitches. (Men will go out of their way to target sluts, nice or not.) Women love jerks *because* they’re jerks. Men will occasionally love hot bitches *despite* their bitchiness. If you need scientific evidence to corroborate everyone’s personal observation and age-old wisdom, the CH archives are filled with links to relevant studies.

What about the theory that women want to mother and change cads? There is something to this, but it’s not the primary urge that drvies women into the arms of unsavory men. The female love for jerks is, translated, a love for dominant men who, in the state of nature (and equally in the state of modern society), can protect them from invaders and sire sons who will inherit the same badboy pussy-collecting genes.

It’s helical imperatives all the way down.

But women also possess a compulsion to domesticate men who fall within their long-term seductive purview. It makes sense from an evolutionary perspective that women would serve their fitness-enhancing interests by cutting the nutsack off their conquests, lest valuable testosterone-y goodness is diverted to the project of further pussy plunder and away from amassing resources for her growing family.

But betas don’t inspire this womanly desire to geld, because betas already come packaged with nuts sold separately. Only cads and d-bags, nuts present and accounted for, send women swooning alternately between depths and heights of ecstatic submissive lust and egocentric lion taming. The lesson for the inveterate womanizer with love in his heart should be clear: Let her change only that about you with which you were already willing to part.

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Dan readied his stick and plunked a ball in a side pocket. Relishing his fleeting achievement, he raised his eyes to check if Nadine had bore witness to his excellence. She hadn’t. Gruff, caustic Robert, his misshapen nose and squirrel’s nest hair coaxing annoyed leers, was directing to a general audience of three girls a crack about drunkenly seeing twelve holes and the improvement to his game that was sure to bring. Nadine was one of those girls, and Dan squelched a perturbation of despondency when he saw Nadine’s eyes shine for Robert’s boisterous wit.

Nadine was Dan’s project. He met her, he welcomed her friends, he introduced them all to his friends, he slept luxuriously fitful nights imagining Nadine warming to him and reciprocating his feelings. Kind, pretty and, lately, eager to hang out with him and his buddies, Nadine was unassailable. Dan allowed renewed confidence in the value he offered her. Soon, he would ask her out. He just needed a private moment. They’d been out together as a group enough that Dan believed Nadine was hoping he would lurch at a pretext to corner her alone and deliver the magical words she’d been secretly anticipating. Dan occasionally wondered if the moment, when it came, would be so flush with spent resolve that they would seal the agreement with a passionate (but endearingly tentative) kiss.

Dan: “D’ja see that bank shot?”

Robert: “That bank shot wasn’t good…”


Robert: “…that bank shot was GREAT.”

Nadine: *laughs*

Dan: *smiles weakly*

Robert: *touches Nadine’s chunky girl friend with chalky side of stick*


Chunks: “Hey! Not nice!”

Robert: “Blame Dan. He bet me I wouldn’t do it.”

Dan: “No I didn’t.”

Robert: “Come on, Dan, you’re always causing trouble. Don’t try to hide it.”

Nadine: “He doesn’t look like the one causing trouble here.”

Dan: “Thanks, Nadine.”

Robert: “I knew there was something between you two!”

Dan had always taken to understand that he was a handsome, if aesthetically understated, man. He certainly saw nothing in Nadine’s limpid gaze to suggest extended exposure to his countenance irritated her. If Dan were to count up the hours spent in Nadine’s company, (an exercise which, in point of fact, he did one evening while nervously fiddling with the bracing decision to text her one mere day after they had spoken by phone, the nerve!), the sum of their unspoken love would add to a considerable investment of life energy.

And so it was with naive expectation that Dan foresaw no interference, nor any of the usual social rifts that erupt when the sexes mix, issuing from Nadine & company’s enfolding. He was therefore emotionally denuded when Nadine’s redirected attention usurped his blueprint of steady bonding. A sickening awareness jammed his guts as he recorded the mounting toll of Robert & Nadine’s wet glances, slithery torso feints, forearm grazing entreaties, and joyously faux indignations, each a sharper dagger than the last. He sunk his last shot, and excused himself to “make a call”, which no one heard, nor needed to hear.

Seven years later, Robert would be married to a svelte, head-turner blonde, and they would reside in a charming suburb. Dan would have moved to another corner of the country, met an uninspiring but trustworthy woman, and married as well, settling in a jurisdiction not known for its disruptive temptations, but not mattering anyway. Government statistics would show that Robert worked in a high-stress field and had one child with his comely wife, and that Dan was a productive contributor to state coffers and had two children by his wife.

Acquaintances who knew Dan would say if asked that he was a happy, well-adjusted man. A real stand-up guy, a normal guy. The sort of guy who had everything going for him.

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A reader passes along a screen capture of a text exchange he had with a girl who has a boyfriend she obviously worships as a king and duty-bound patriarch.

I thought you would get a kick out of this. Little background: this chick ended up doing facials, anal anything on demand. As of current I am in a relationship with her best friend who she introduced me to and she even endorsed me. They are no longer friends and she is on the rocks with her current bf bc he knows she still wants me. If i could change one thing I would’ve  left out the “Lol.”

The reader’s poetic musing are on the right.

This is a thing of beauty. You’ve got a little bit of “Nah” game in there, lack of punctuation game, and all of it delivered with tingle titillating aloofness. This reader has expertly put into practice Poon Commandment V, always give less than you receive from a woman. If this text convo were displayed on a Jumbotron, he would feel no shame, for he would know the audience of millions understands he is getting plenty of action from this girl. And it is the audience that would feel ashamed that they intuitively know this, and will thus spend their whole lives embracing romantic platitudes as salve for their chafed soulholes.

The only question is, would the reader have achieved level A2M had he left off the “lol”?

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The Alpha Male Pose

hbdchick passes along a photo of her favorite alpha male pose (and favorite alpha male, Steve MOTHERFUCKIN McQueen). I looked at it and, accepting the risk that the following judgment might imbue perceptions with a certain je ne sais queer, I concur, this pose is superlatively alpha.

Let’s examine in as normal and non-spergy a manner as possible what it is exactly about this pose that declares ALPHA in a deep, masculine, gravelly, yet single malt smooth seductive voice.

– Only half his body is engaged with her. The other half is turned away, as if he’s debating whether to devote his attention to her, or to bolt for the horizon and limitless freedom. Chicks dig men who aren’t fully domesticated committed (or can’t be).

– He’s looking down at her paternalistically. Show of dominance.

– He’s draped his arm over her shoulder, but lightly instead of possessively. Show of dominance + arousing display of non-neediness.

– Tousled bedroom hair. Chicks dig dudes who look like they just shagged an army of fembots. Preselection ftw.

– Is that a wedding band on his finger? I can’t tell, but the fact that it might be is catnip to girls who love the thought of a man who is both desired by women and nuptially attainable. Plus there’s the ugly fact that women LOVE LOVE LOVE stealing taken men.

– Short shorts accentuate the groinal bulge. Believe you me, girls check out the package. And they aren’t very sly about it. Once you’re alerted to the reality of women’s degenerate desires, you start noticing how often their eyes travel to the tip of your genetic spear.

– You don’t see her face. Her focus is totally on him, and her breasts are pressed into his chest. Her pose is almost as crucial to the perception of his super alphaness as is his pose. Again, preselection ftw. But not just any old preselection. LOVE preselection.

– He’s bending one knee. A subtle play on perception that he’s contemplating leaving her and going his own way. Or, that he’s about to set off on high adventure and take her along for the ride of her life. Either unspoken assumption is attractive to women.

– He’s holding onto a wall? refrigerator? as if he wants to go but she’s pulling him back into her orbit by force of her femininity. Plays on the female love of taming a wild, wandering man.

– “I think I’ll just graze your ass with my fingertips instead of hungrily paw at it like a lifelong incel.” A man who has plenty of women in his life demonstrates his sexual satiety with aloof gestures of detached self-control.

– Black and white photos will make any man appear more alpha (hint for you Facebook whores).

– She’s not a fat slob. Obviously, any man who can seduce a thin babe has something on the ball.

– He has a slightly annoyed expression. Chicks love it when men look a little pissed off, like they could fly off the handle at any moment.

– The composition of light and dark and focal length is a factor. Note that blurry, rumpled bedroom(?) scene, shrouded in shadow, in the background. What the female viewer’s mind concocts: Ooh, a den of iniquity! Naughty man. *TINGLE*

– Overall, the pose subcommunicates, “I just anally destroyed this woman, and now I’m kinda bored and want to get the hell outta here and hang with my buds, but goddamn her eyes are pretty.” ALPHA.

So, fellow gentlemen readers, if you want to cop this alpha male pose for yourselves, find a pair of vintage Ocean Pacific shorts, Dippity Do your hair with your fingers, swagger around in public shirtless, grab any nearby refrigerator, and lean away from it into the heaving breasts of a height-weight proportionate lover. Bonus alpha points if there’s a creepy mask symbolizing the peeping tom celibate omega male staring at you with seething envy.


It should also be pointed out that it appears McQueen is standing in the contrapposto pose, which has been proven by science to be attractive to women.

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