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Archive for the ‘Alpha’ Category

Check out the WOWJUSTWOW face on this broad (at 4:02) after Gavin McInnes drops a steaming deuce on a Feminist First Principle.

He’s basically right. Most women (read: non-reptiles) are happier raising kids than they are raising profit margins. Most men are happier in the office than they are at home changing diapers. Men and women are different to their cores, and feminism is a project of lies with the goal of eradicating those core differences. And if they can’t succeed at erasing biological reality, they’ll take their consolation prize by mangling public policy and laws until all men and women are miserable.

We need more hardcore pushback against feminism, and more WOWJUSTWOW faces wrested from the wretched witches.

Related: Sheryl Sandberg’s “Lean In” book more likely to hurt women than to help them.

Ms. Sandberg goes clueless on science throughout her book…

Heh.

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Although CH prefers the more direct means of measuring a man’s degree of alphatude, there are proxy methods for coming up with a ballpark figure for the Alpha Within. One such proxy is the amount of shit a woman will put up with from her man. The more crap she happily tolerates, the higher her man’s alpha male rating.

As commenter WillBest explains,

Women are far and away more pragmatic about men’s affairs. I know of several couples that have survived a man’s affair and none that have survived a woman’s affair.

You could probably plot your relative alphaness against what your wife will tolerate.

brothel outside country < … < discrete mistress < rumored affair < open mistress < claiming bastards < having your wife assist in selection of your harem (as seen on Marco Polo).

It’s funny ’cause it’s cruel.

A marriage can survive a husband’s infidelity because the real risk, from the wife’s gene’s POV, is the redistribution of his resources (of which love is a proxy indicator) to the other woman. As long as the husband remains primarily devoted to his immediate family’s finances, his oat-sowing won’t much affect the future of his children or the guarantee of the mother’s “maternity assurance”.

But a wife’s infidelity is much more dangerous to her family’s cohesion. She could get pregnant on one of her slutcations, and saddle her husband with another man’s spawn. (And this would’ve been more likely in the contraception-free environment of evolutionary adaptation.) This is the worst thing that can befall a husband from his genes’ POV. And if he finds out, the whole family may be nuked from orbit.

Naturally, a man’s affair isn’t automatically forgivable. Women aren’t totally inhuman; they will feel the sting of romantic rejection. But it’s true that the more alpha the man, the more tractable his woman. Hell hath no fury like a scorned wife… if her husband is a beta male. Heaven hath no angelic forgiveness like a scorned wife of an alpha male.

This post cries out for a handy dandy chart.

There’s a reason for the exponential trajectory. Observe closely, and you’ll notice most married men are betas whose wives won’t even tolerate their wandering eye without stirring up a storm of martyrdom. But once a man begins taking on the penumbras and emanations of alphaness, his woman’s toleration curve skyrockets. Each increment of alphatude results in a drastic expansion of the scope of caddish misbehavior that a wife or girlfriend will tolerate. At the extremes of male alphatude, their women are complicit in helping their men achieve the limits of sexual and romantic pleasure that are particular to the male domain of desire.

I hope this post has been instructive. May it guide you to better days in your own relationships.

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Everyday Jesus. Discuss.

Nobutferreals, the AOTM is this faceless, orchestrating German man from the years 1969-1970 whose candid photos of his mistress (who is also married at the time of the affair), along with notes he wrote about the affair, were recently discovered hiding in an old abandoned suitcase (zehr romantic!).

We know this because Günter meticulously documented the affair like a compulsive accountant.

Ethnic stereotypes — they don’t materialize out of thin air.

The story would be dull—clichéd even—without the voyeuristic thrill that comes with the intimate details: a married German businessman and his married secretary, Margret, have a brief affair from 1969 to 1970. Everything you see here came from a suitcase purchased at an estate auction 30 years after the affair, and it’s an utterly engrossing collection of artifacts.

So far, so alpha. But what elevates this man from garden variety loverJunge to alpha male of the month is the following detail tucked in the recesses of his l’affaire journal.

At one point, the man’s wife confronts [mistress] Margret, accusing her of disrupting a happy marriage. Margret is furious, and so the businessman then forces his wife to apologize to her.

And there it is. A greater beta male who finds himself balls-deep in an affair would cave instantly when his wife discovered his infidelity and confronted his lover. An alpha male has his scorned wife APOLOGIZE to his mistress for her accusatory insolence! That pivotal conversation as recounted by Günther:

Indeed, his notes reveal that his wife Leni is aware of the affair but chooses to endure the humiliation.

Maxim #50: The wife of an alpha male will stoically endure the worst humiliations while the wife of a beta male won’t tolerate his merest deviation from her impossible expectations.

In one of the first long notes, typed on a page from a calendar, Günther describes a confrontation between Margret and his wife:

[Roughly translated from German]

Monday 7.9.1970: At lunch Leni (Günthers wife) says to Margret: Madame, you are a lesser character, you are disrupting a good marriage.

Tuesday 8.9.1970: Around 10 a clock Margret says to me: You let this insult from your wife against me pass? No more sex, you can jump on your own wife. Whatever you do, you are not allowed to jump on me anymore. [ed: classy lady]

Later, my wife has to apologize to her at lunch on 8.9.1970.

That afternoon they go upstairs again to make love and the note ends with:

Devil salad is eaten. Everything is okay again. 

Before you think this alpha male has oneitis, or is led by the dick by Margret, read on:

He gets involved with other women at the request of Margret who wants him to go on dates with other women, presumably to quell suspicion from her own husband.

There is Giesela, who Günther describes as “sexually starving”, and Ursula, a “big and skinny” 21 year-old who “looks really good. White boots, green dress, black hair.” Günther reveals Margret’s subsequent panicked jealousy, begging him not to fall in love with Ursula. He also mentions that despite him still being involved with Ursula, Margret fights with her husband and asks for a divorce.

When your wife apologizes to your mistress, and your mistress gets jealous of your other mistresses, you might be an alpha male.

And the questions linger. What makes a man document his affair so meticulously? Did he want to preserve the relationship to relive it later? Was this industrial businessman searching for a creative platform to express his love? Or merely the confirmation of his control over the situation, as he mastered the art of adultery?

All of the above. A man’s memories of his lovers and his sexual pleasures will be his most vividly recalled, right into old age. More easily recalled than even the names and ages of his children. A man is roused to creativity by youthful, beautiful women. And a man takes pride in his seductive prowess. This is the way of a man. Yes, a real man.

During one of their “business trips”, Günther makes a list of all the times they made love….

Wednesday 12 Aug. 1970: 17 18.15  1x

Beginning of her period (tampon) Initiation party anyways.

Tuesday 18 Aug. 1970: 15.15 -15. 20.

Yellow chair in front of the aquarium (sitting) 1x

Wednesday 2 Sept. 1970: 17. 05-18.00 1x

With beautiful music, resting afterwards

Günther wasn’t about to let the Red Army stop his initiation party advance. Now, if his mistress hadn’t been a sweet piece of ass, you can bet Günther wouldn’t have thrown propriety to the wind and pressed into the bloody breach, undaunted.

Günther’s testimony proved one of the CH maxims about the power of female youthnbeauty:

Maxim #40: A young, pretty girl is nature’s viagra, capable of exciting an old man who hasn’t seen action in forty years to perform on command.

Postscript: The photos of Margret the Mistress are poetic in their own right. Günther had an eye for fleeting beauty, and doomed romance. Look at these candid snaps. Overlook her dated hairdo for the full impact. Margret has hot little minx face, if ever a woman had it.

PPS No obesity here!

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A reader passed along a screenshot of a text exchange he had with a girl he was trying to bang. He wanted to show how bratty this girl was behaving, tossing shit test after shit test his way, and wondered how he could eventually subdue her, wrest the brat from its chokehold on her id, and get her softly purring like a kitten.

Nick starts weakly. If you know the girl is a nuclear bitch, you’ve gotta make your first swing count. That pimp hand has to make an appearance early to set the tone of the conversation. Nick began like a normal human being, and quickly found out his politeness was ineffective. All his nod to courtesy did was incite Jessica to amazing feats of brattitude.

Right away she calls him Olga. For this reason, I call the style of game designed to tame tankgrrls, Olga Game.

Nick’s reply comes four hours later (he makes her wait as punishment for the ‘tude). He lifts a line straight from CH: “lol bratty mcbrattster”. So far so good.

She plays ball. Another five hours later, she replies “don’t question it hahaha” This chick has squared off with alphas before. I bet she has a clit piercing.

Nick answers two hours later, and amps the asshole a couple of degrees. He pulls out another classic CH line, “littlespoon doesn’t make the rules”. Too little, too late? We’ll see.

Jessica strikes back hard. She thinks she’s being funny, but her last text is tinged with cunty spite. Now I’m convinced that not only does she have a clit piercing, she has taken it up the ass.

I lost the original source for this reader submission, so I don’t know what happened next, or if there was an informative follow-up to this shiv-shaped badinage. All I can tell Nick is that he’s dealing with a hellion, which is bad and good. Bad, because she’ll eat you alive if you show a flicker of beta weakness. Good because if you get through her defenses with your pride intact, she will be the dirtiest slut in bed for you.

Olga Game is essentially script flipping. Girls like Jessica will expect you to continue your hard teasing banter, (and they’ll continue returning equally caustic parries); therefore, the way to win this battle… is to refuse to fight it. Take her mental hamster script and rewrite it. When she expects another emotionally arid jest, respond instead with a faux pose of sincerity, laced with a judgmental pique aimed at her inability to connect like a normal healthy woman.

Jessica Rabid: “no no I think you need to go put on a nice dress blah blah…”

Nick the Iron Dick: “sure, i’ll get on that as soon as you drop the act and be real”

This is thermonuclear script-flipping intended for a very specific audience and context. Gauge wisely. If a girl is a broken record with her endless bitch barrages of return fire, that’s the moment to think about deploying Olga Game. It’s shocking, and for the girl who is used to being shocked by assholes of varying degrees of state control, the “be real” plot change to the stale book of her dating life could be the shock that finally tames her.

Sometimes these sassy chicks get trapped by their own “I’m a tough broad” expectations, and lose the capacity to be emotionally vulnerable around men. Their hearts are as scarred as their vaginas. If you meet one of these girls, think about using that pair of high hearts you have up your sleeve. Make a feint toward vulnerability, however expertly faked, and the hardened trollop may soften up just enough for your penetrating id busters.

Just don’t be stupid about it. Don’t profess your attraction like some warrior poet. A little step back can mean a big leap forward. If she takes the Olga Game bait and backs off a little, you’ve got a chance with her. Now you’re no longer some “fun guy” she feels free to fuck around with because you’re “just another player like all the rest.” Proceed in this manner, extracting genuine emotions, but return to the previous script at inopportune times, like when there’s a sense that the conversation is veering close to sap. Unpredictability will slowly but inevitably switch the chaser-chasee roles into an alignment more favorable for the man’s romantic goals.

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The enduring romance of ’80s icons –  Cars rockstar Ric Ocasek and supermodel Paulina Porizkova — is one of history’s greatest lessons in the power of fame and game to help a man overcome his ugly looks and snag a real beauty.

Reader JCclimber provides background,

following the links back to 2011, I read again your post on Paulina Porizkova being the elusive 10 by voting.

10s do exists, rare though they are. Because of a few freak contrarians wedged in the id gears, there will never be uniform agreement about female 10s among men, but you will find that large majorities of men agree strongly with which women embody physical perfection, or come closest to it.

Bing images of Paulina from her prime. She was a hard softnlovely 10, with a killer body to match her heavenly face. (I believe she was an SI Swimsuit model, ostensibly during a time when SI wasn’t squeezing fat chicks in fatkinis between its pages.) The radiant beauty of 10s is so magnificent that these women can still look bangable 20-30 years after their prime nubility.

As with many others, she was my favorite hot model then, throughout the 80’s. She was in a couple movies. Took me years to track down the foreign magazine where she posed topless. blah blah blah. let me cut to the chase.

Ya want to know how Ric Okasec of the Cars rock band got her? His fame and fortune wasn’t enough to bag THE top supermodel of that time. Nope. He had to overcome that face of his. He needed a little something called “game”.

They met filming the music video “Drive”. The director Timothy Hutton wanted to show the various aspects of a relationship and breakup. To get the scene of her crying, he had Ric and her yelling and cursing and screaming at each other, over and over to get the take correct. Interspersed with the happier scenes.

Years later, after they were married, she still gushes about those few days of filming during interviews. Does this remind you of any particular seduction technique? Anyone? Bueller?

You think a red hot supermodel who showed up for her first major modeling gig at age 14, while wearing a t-shirt that read “Too drunk to fuck” hadn’t encountered some alphas? Some fame and fortune? You think she emotionally bonded to any of those alphas?

Ric should send a thank you card every year to Timothy Hutton.

Very interesting backstory, JC. Push-pull, hot-cold, asshole-niceguy, ftw. Ric didn’t just snag Paulina; he owned her. And every woman secretly dreams of falling in love with a man psychologically strong enough to own her.

That’s the beauty of… game! Even when a man’s display of game is artificially stimulated by a third party it still exerts an arousing influence on a woman’s high and low love lobes. Think of game as the equivalent of good lighting, makeup, and a skin-tight cocktail dress. A woman has to work hard to get all those beauty-enhancing cues working for her, but when she does (and given she exceeds a natural cuteness threshold), men respond like dogs to the sound of a clattering dinner bowl.

Likewise, a man who practices the crimson arts to enhance his sexiness will trigger autonomic lust in the women blessed with his company. If he has concomitant fame, emotional range, and game-less competition that pales in contrast, the most beautiful women in the world will do more than give their sex… they’ll give their hearts, a much more precious commodity women guard like Fort Knockers.

A comment by PA pulled from that archived post linked by JC:

Ocasek has a total of six sons, two from each of his three marriages.

Even more proof that he’s alpha. When the girl loves you, her body chemistry favors XY sperm because she want to have a child that is a replica of her man.

But when she’s ‘meh’ about you, the chemistry is biased toward XX sperm, just so she can get a girl, or a copy of herself.

I know the ¡SCIENCE! for my supposition about to follow is lacking, but I’ll assert it anyway. It’s been my observation that more masculine looking or acting fathers have more sons. (And vice versa. The most beautiful girl I loved growing up had a father who was a Betamax Prime.) Maybe the reason is super sperm. Maybe it’s what PA says. Whatever it is, there’s something to the idea that women’s congenital solipsism flourishes alongside the feeble tutelage of beta males and happily retreats under the psychological leadership of alpha males. And that this id-shaped process may even extend down deep, beneath subconsciousness, to the chromosomal level.

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Asshole Game Week: Day One is here. Day Two here. Day Three here. Day Four here.

The Chateau has plenty of readers already in relationships and (lucifer help you) marriage. Many of them would like to know how to apply asshole game to the women they love and are afraid to drive into boredom because of legal ramifications.

The rules of the Game don’t change when you decide to keep a woman around for longer than a few nights. All that changes is the frequency and intensity of your tactical assault. Instead of “shock and awe”, it’s more like “surprise and delight”.

On that dulcet note, reader Sentient demonstrates by example,

A few notes on asshole game from the confines of a marriage/LTR. Now while these may not have the the same storytelling value of asking a single girl to hold your drink while fucking another girl in front of her, they do render the desired nuclear effect on a fully pampered princess bride, who has grown accustomed to her beta lackey hubby:

1. She asks you to fill her water glass with a whiney “i’m thirsty… and a wiggle of a raised glass” and you say “No thanks”.

2. She asks you to run downstairs and get her xxxx from yyyy and you say “I think you can manage that, it’s good for your glutes too”.

3. She informs you that her BFF has arranged a play date for the kids and you and her an hour away from home at some place you have zero desire to go to, and she expects you to be the driver, as always and you say “Have a good time, not interested”.

4. You make a move for sex at 10 PM on a Wednesday night, she gives you the cold shoulder and something like “we just had sex [fill in the blank] days ago”, and you say “Ok, have a good night”, kiss her on the head and leave the house “not sleepy, going out for a bit” your departing words… a furious litany of hamsterese lighting up your phone for the next hour, which you ignore.

5. and the coup de grace, when she wants to have a BIG TALK ABOUT THE RELATIONSHIP and she says “I don’t like how you have been acting the last [fill in the blank]…” and you look her square in the eye and shrug “you don’t have to”.

BOOOOM goes the dynamite. Relationship reset activated. #winning #welcomebacktestes #tingles

“Relationship Reset” is a good way of putting it. That’s precisely what you want to do. Reset your girlfriend’s or wife’s impression of you. And there’s no hotter button to push than the one that activates a tingle torrent. A million things about you can anger a woman, but if her anger is accompanied by a stirring in her snatch she’ll rationalize your flaws away as if they were puffs of girlish illusion.

Commenter newlyaloof adds a few more Relationship Reset strategies,

#6 Dress/eat differently (adding variety to your life). When wife notices the switch and comments about it, say, “Yeah, I’ve moved on.”

#7 Mention the young, cute girl at the office whenever possible (commute with her if possible too). Instant wife motivator.

#8 Can’t remember who stated this, but if your wife questions anything that you mention, say “Because the words left my mouth, that’s why.”

#6 is thermonuclear, and the blast radius enlarges the longer you can maintain an air of opacity concerning the meaning of your explanation.

I hope everyone enjoyed Asshole Game Week. If popular demand warrants, I may feature another week devoted to the craft of cleaving clefts by psychological axe.

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Asshole Game Week: Day One is here. Day Two here. Day Three here.

Pijama Wearing Ninja provides a clinic on how to pick up sexy girls at the gym with nothing but a devil-may-care recklessness and a honed talent for segueing every subject into one with sexual overtones.

I went to the gym today and the only girl in there with both a cute face and body was doing squats and I complimented her on not being a cardio girl and told her that soon she will squat as much as me. We talked about guys who don’t train legs for a minute and how they’re the equivalent of cardio girls in the gym. She asked me what happened to me (as in to my knee) and I told her penis reduction surgery. She laughed and asked me why is my scar on my knee then and I told her that the surgeon was very clumsy. She giggled so I told her that I don’t like girls who laugh at injured people. I told her I have to go and told her my name and she told me hers and extended her hand and I told her that she probably has calloused hands from all the squatting so kissed her cheek and took her number.

That was… fuckin poetry. There’s a lot going on. Let’s unpack it.

PWN’s opener is at once a fronthanded and a backhanded compliment. congrats for eschewing cardio in favor of squats… oh and soon you will have legs like strong masculine man.

He moves into humorously DLVing his competition. (this is pua jargon for “tearing other guys down”).

Then there’s his refusal to give a straight answer, opting instead for the flirty, sexualized tease of “penis reduction surgery”. (Beta males are notoriously bad at answering women’s questions with anything but logical, tingle-killing coherence.)

He punches up his momentum with a sterling disqualification: “I don’t like girls who laugh at injured people.” Push-pull is the metronome of seduction.

He exits the conversation first, but not before delivering a final, asshole-caliber taunt: “I told her she probably has calloused hands from all the squatting.”

And then, of course, the physical escalation at the end is a move no non-asshole would dare attempt.

PWN follows up:

I think I’ll invite her for some minigolf this weekend or next week and the loser would have to buy the winner an alcoholic drink of their choosing*. Mine will be a glass of wine. I like good wines so that will also give me something to DHV with and girls love wine. The minigolf place is really close to a winebar and both are 20 minutes away of walking from my place, which has a pretty good skyline. Too bad it’s winter and I can’t just have a walk with her due to the cold and the skyline will be blocked by the fog. FUCK WINTER!

Pickup during winter is probably the lamest, especially if the girls will bond to you and expect gifts on Valentines, another similar day we have here, 1st of March and 8th of March. Back in the days of abundance, I always fought with my girls on purpose and rekindled or found new ones after this month of financial carnage. I seriously prefer buying my mother lots of flowers than wasting my money on silly tarts. lol

*used to teach girls if I was beating them really bad, which was good excuse to kino. Rusty now so not sure I’ll get to do it.

What kind of man but an asshole would deliberately fight with girlfriends as a con to get out of buying V-Day gifts and dinners?

By Asshole Game standards, PWN’s gym pickup marginally qualifies, but inclusion into the world of sexxxy assssssholes is relative to the competition. The marching mass of mediocrities known affectionately as beta males wouldn’t talk this way to a girl even in their Casanova-conjuring dreams. And that is why they fail.

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