Archive for the ‘Beta Of The Year Contest’ Category

2014 is in the history books, and that means it’s time to put the travails of the past year’s most pathetic beta males on display in a cleansing ritual of public humiliation.


BOTY Candidate #1 is Jason Stanford, a real shitlib who spends two pages excusing his wife’s decision to leave him forever for a one-way ticket to Mars, and snarking at internet commenters who, rightfully, question his wife’s commitment to him and their marriage.

More to the point was “buck,” whose keen insight resulted in this trenchant observation: “Going to Mars and abandoning your husband and children forever? Brave? Hardly. Selfish? Most definitely.”

Sonia had not learned the first rule of the Internet: never read the comments. Excited to see the reaction to the story, she read, aghast, as strangers sat in anonymous judgment of our marriage. What started as a brave woman claiming her ambition had become a public hazing.

“I want you to tell me honestly,” she said, tears welling in her eyes. “Am I being a bad wife?”

Neil Armstrong probably never had to ask his wife this.

That’s because Neil Armstrong had a return trip ticket which his wife expected him to punch. Oh, that and the fact that the sexes are psychologically different, and women can’t help but admire and romantically desire adventurous, risk-taking men.

If she goes the distance, I will evolve into a professional astronaut wife, […]

I’ll be Mr. Sonia Van Meter for the rest of my life, showing up to cut the ribbon at Sonia Van Meter High School and telling her story here on Earth. I joke about endorsing products (“While my wife is exploring Mars, I’m doing the laundry with new Cosmos Detergent. It’s out of this world!”)…

Beta males secretly wish they were born female, in the pre-feminist era.

And though remarrying isn’t an option

Scarcity mentality. Whatta brave Narrative Conformist.


BOTY Candidate #2 was submitted by reader trbowman. We’ll call this beta, “Sorry to bother” guy.

Hello. I’m a big fan of your site and I think I’ve learned a lot so far, and continue to peruse the archives in an effort to learn more. This gal I follow on twitter posted a screencap of this guy who asked her out via facebook message in pathetic fashion. Where does one began with this debacle? I quite literally cringed reading his side of the conversation. Could he be an OMEGA of the month candidate?


Overly logical? Check. Excessively deferential? Check. Effetely passive-aggressive? Check. Defensively cagey? Check. Socially awkward? Check. Self-sabotaging? Check.

“Sorry to bother” might be the clearest three words that describe the beta male psychology. It really says it all.

“I’m sorry to intrude into the shadow of your mile-high pedestal I have constructed out of roses and love poems with my insolent male protuberance. I shall endeavor to make my presence as unobtrusive and unremarkable as my desperate unslaked horniness will allow, and heaven forfend if my simple offer of an asexual chat should distress you in any way, but as I said, it’s all up to you, and by the way… haha?”


BOTY Candidate #3 is Michael Tolvo, a stalker niceguy with NO ULTERIOR MOTIVE who just likes to message birthday wishes to a girl he doesn’t know, year after year, because his penis is bursting with that much unspent semen his heart is bursting with that much love.

Ya know, if after four years your beta orbiter strategy isn’t working, you might want to consider trying something less cowardly. There are only so many hours in a life.


BOTY Candidate #4 is the skinnyfat masochist in this picture:

I understand that self-deprecation can occasionally work as a courtship tactic, along the lines of the Handicap Principle, but there are limits to just how shamelessly one can embarrass oneself before the girl starts to take him at his self-abnegating word. Indulging a fuggy fug’s sadistic urge to insult you, and taking it all in with a smarmy, self-satisfied grin on your face, crosses that line from charming ironic posturing to cringing loser groveling. Lena Dumpham approved.

This beta would have instantly elevated himself to alpha status had he been wearing a shirt that read, “I’m with Fatty”. But he didn’t, because character is destiny.


BOTY Candidate #5 is a beta male of incomparable cluelessness.

A common trait of the species betamaleicus menstruatius is a pronounced urge to assume the best of any woman, no matter the countervailing evidence, and to accept the worst about himself, no matter the insult to his manhood. Short of sitting in a corner and watching his girl take another dick in her hole, there is no evidence in the world that will cure a beta male of his scarcity mentality. He will find a way to reconcile his cuckolding, because he’s that hard up for pussy. (Or he believes pussy is that hard to acquire.) And so what you get is what you see here: A beta who believes his woman’s flimsiest lies and reinforces his infinite weakness with a clingy “I love you baby” coda.


The voting:

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We’ve got a trifecta of beta males this month vying for #1 Beta. You sit in judgment. It’s all good, sadistic fun, but remember, one of these betas could stumble across this site, read their demolition and experience a rebirth. You might just save a life today.

BOTM Candidate #1 is Nick Viall, the runner-up on that idiot box show “The Bachelorette”. Some slut born with her legs spread slept with both him and the eventual winner of her hand in marriage. She rejected Viall, and well, he reacted… poorly.

As fans saw on the Monday, July 28, finale of The Bachelorette, Andi Dorfman chose and got engaged to former baseball player Josh Murray in the Dominican Republic, leaving runner-up Nick Viall heartbroken and confused. Viall tried multiple times after their breakup to get back in touch with the woman he thought would be his wife—and he finally got his chance to confront her during the live post-finale sit-down.

Both of the bachelors — Viall and Murray — are handsome. You can look up their pics. Why is this relevant? Because there is a stubborn contingent of ignoramuses who cling to their belief that handsome man can’t possibly be beta and repel women.

Clearly still devastated, Viall began by telling host Chris Harrison that he just wanted to have an “honest conversation” with Dorfman about what went down between them. The conversation was honest, all right—but it was also awkward, uncomfortable, and rife with tension.

There are many tells of the beta male, but few so conspicuous as the butthurt yearning to have a “conversation” with the woman who inexplicably resisted his loving, responsive beta male charms.

Viall told Dorfman he would always be grateful to her for opening his eyes and his heart to the possibility of romance. She responded, in turn, by saying that he would find love again, and that he deserved someone who would reciprocate his feelings 100 percent.

Women are so sweetly patronizing to beta males. This is why you never want to be on the receiving end of a woman’s cooing pity. She’s telling you the sound of your voice makes her vagina seal tight like a clam exposed on the beach.

“The hard part is…feeling like you did,” he said. Then, referencing the night they spent together in the Fantasy Suite, he added, “If you knew how in love with you I was, why did you make love with me?”

Beta males “make love”. Alpha males “fuck”. (Or bang.) Most men believe women want the former, or want to hear about the former, because that’s what women say they want when asked. So much ignorance. Rule Number One:


(repeat after me)



His comment stunned both Dorfman and the audience, who let out a collective gasp at the remark. “That’s below the belt,” she said coolly, chiding him for revealing personal information on national TV.

Yes, women don’t want to be reminded of their sexual natures. And who can blame them? Female sexual desire, stripped of its pleasant accoutrements, is quite wild and depraved.

She then proceeded to defend herself and her actions, telling him she respected him enough to let him know before the rose ceremony that they didn’t have a future together. “I didn’t have you pick out a ring. I didn’t have you walk down there and think you were gonna propose to somebody,” she said. “I did that out of respect for you.”

More likely, she avoided unnecessary cruelty toward him because she didn’t want to risk a beta blow-up.

Playing devil’s advocate, if Viall’s mewling plea was an actorly ploy to publicize Dorfman’s sluttery, (and in the so doing reveal a side of women that is largely hidden from viewer masses), it was brilliant. I think the odds of that are very low, so I included him in this month’s BOTM.

He then sent Viall backstage before reuniting the Bachelorette with her newly minted fiance.

Things were much more lighthearted after that.

The magic of that alpha male attitude!

Dorfman and Murray openly cuddled on the couch, giggling together and kissing between questions. “We’re in love!” she gushed when Harrison pointed out that they couldn’t keep their hands off each other.

I guess he’s OK with this television-cum-real life whore fucking another man at the same time he was courting her?

Her groom-to-be even joked that he was trying to get her pregnant.

Gotta hurry and push that tepid beta male seed outta the way.

Moral of the shiv: If you think you’ve completely won over a slutty woman’s heart by “making love” to her once, you might be a beta male.


BOTM Candidate #2 is a Reddit cuckold whose mysteriously low libido asexual girlfriend went on vacation without him, and…. (I bet the suspense is killing you)

My GF and i have been dating for 5 months now. This lady and i have have never had intercourse.

Around a month or so ago she went on vacation with a close friend of hers and her friends family. They come back, everything seems hunky dory. Fast forward to yesterday. She informs me that one night on vacation she was black out drunk after a long day of heavy drinking on the beach, wakes up in her hotel later that night and her friend tells her that she went off with a pair of guys.

Why did his girlfriend so readily confess her party slut sins to him? One, she has so little respect or desire for his manhood that she neither fears his retribution nor cares for his psychic pain. Two, the “blackout drunk” plot device is a helpful bit of plausible deniability meant to keep a hopeful, irrepressibly loyal beta male strung along for further provision and emotional support extraction. Yeah, she may have been drunk, but who chose to pour drinks down her throat? Vlad Putin?

Now her friend assumed she had sex, my GF is in denial (being blacked out).

“I’m a beta male and I believe her 100%!”

She thought nothing of it. Turns out she is pregnant.

Her slutcation fling didn’t have to wait five months. Don’t expect a beta male to ponder the discrepancy. That would ruin the shine on his whore’s pedestal.

Shes absolutely scared to death, shaking, sobbing, apologizing profusely saying “you don’t deserve this, you deserve better”.

She’s scared her faithful lapdog “boyfriend” will abandon her and not foot her abortion bill… or the 18-year-blood-from-a-beta bill.

I’ve never thought she is the type to go out and have a random hook up especially being that at that point we decided to be exclusive.

How do you decide to be exclusive to a girl you haven’t fucked once in the five months you’ve known her? “Hey babe, from this point onward you can’t cocktease any other men besides me.”

Her family, with whom she is very close to, being very religious and conservative, lose shit on her because she is seriously considering an abortion.

I hope her pro-life parents are prepared for the possibility of a… vibrant… gift from God.

I ask if she honestly wants to be with me to which she replies yes, most definitely.

Subtext: “Who else will stick around to wipe the shit off my bastard child’s bottom and suffer in silence as I get my cunt scoured by more exciting men?”

I feel the same way. i propose that we can work through this and that no matter what she decides i will back her 100%.

This is what a man with limited options, or a perception of limited options, sounds like.

We speak awhile and leave on okay terms. She decides to stay with her friend for awhile.

“Aww, he’s so sweet”: Heard about fifty times at her friend’s place.

my reaction. I’m stunned.

It’s time to stop being stunned. Come visit Le Chateau. Leave an informed consumer.

I know that shes a good girl, not the most responsible person ever but has a good heart

“has a good heart”?! She got hammered, hammered, and wants to hammer this tool into cuckold submission. Fuckin a, does a girl have to leave a body in the basement before her beta sycophant will question her virtue?

and never wants to hurt anyone. At the same time i cant help but to think about all the possibilities of what happened on that vacation. Was she raped? Drugged? Did she want a hook up?

No, no, yes. Answers that he’ll tell himself to quiet the inner rage: Yes, yes, no.

My personal opinion is that abortion is the best option, i haven’t told her that in fear of swaying her decision one way or the other but i feel like her family will guilt her into keeping the child. i really don’t know what to do at this point. Did i do the right thing? Any opinion or advice would be greatly appreciated.

Just think, in the not-too-distant sexual market of the past when contraceptive cop-outs were rare and beta males were tougher men than they are now, this princess would have had to think twice before happily stumbling onto a vacation cock carousel.

tl;dr: GF of five months goes on vaca, has sex, tells me yesterday she is pregnant and considering abortion. Please help! Need advice!

Thank your savior for small blessings: You aren’t married to the manipulative bitch. Toss her a razor blade, suggest she slice lengthwise, and leave her for good. You won’t do this, but if you did you’d be a better man instantly. And it would change the sad trajectory of your pathetic life forever.


BOTM Candidate #3 is this responsive boyfriend:

There’s more wrong with this picture than what immediately arrests the eye. Yes, she’s a grotesque tub of lard, and beta males are often reduced to settling for these swine pieces to get any action. More revealingly, this fupa queen shits all over her boyfriend’s (or beta orbiter’s?) honor by making a spectacle of herself to the jeers of gawkers.

Judging by the hats, this shot was taken in America.

American woman, lay your gut on me.
American woman, mama jump on me.
Beta dog gonna lift you up
So all the men see your wee A cups.


The voting:

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Not to gloat over my prowess at uncovering the world’s cringeworthiest beta males, but I think you readers will find it particularly difficult in this edition of Beta of the Month to stare at these train wrecks without averting your eyes.

BOTM Candidate #1 is a Rainman Jr. looking guy who earned his FIRST HUG (after four years dating) on the day he proposed to his girlfriend. Aww. Slow down, Romeo!

6/10, would hug. She’s wearing sunglasses to hide her shame and contempt.

In the interest of fair and balanced shivving, maybe the guy is sniggering like a retard because he’s already boffed this chick and he likes the feeling of getting one over on her oblivious dad. But judging by that disrespectful boner protruding in his pants, I’m guessing this tiny amount of physical contact is the first he’s received since his umbilical cord caressed his neck. So for the sake of BOTM continuity, let’s just call it and state unequivocally that this beta is loping into marriage on the basis of a platonic side hug. And is that a wallet he’s holding? At least he knows he’s gonna have to pay up to get a hug on the other side that maybe, if he’s lucky!, includes a brief tit brush, tastefully clothed.

Poor bastard. He has no idea the hell matrix that awaits him.

It takes a special kind of beta male delusion to conduct one’s personal affairs in the belief that marriage will open the pearled pink gates of sex. If your girlfriend can successfully parry your irresistible betaboy charms for FOUR FUCKING YEARS and reward you with a hardcore side hug the second you promise her an early retirement plan option, then it’s a good bet she can easily glide through another twenty years of sexless (that is, sexless with you) marriage once she has a ring on it and any incentive for good behavior from her has been removed from her consideration.

A young(ish) woman saving herself for marriage is not necessarily a bad thing in the big civilizational scheme of things, but she should at least be showing signs of sweating hard to restrain her base impulses while in your company. If it looks like she’s happy parceling out tidbits of affection you can get from your mom with less effort, you had better not think that marriage to her is somehow going to magically cause her desire for you to erupt like Mount Vaginius. Marriage is just a dotted line and the smoking barrel of the state apparatus pointed at your head; it’s not an aphrodisiac that can make a woman suddenly tingle for the timid twig of a beta male.


BOTM Candidate #2, submitted by reader Matt, is a manlet who… um… well… yeah, I’m having trouble typing this out. The mere motion of tapping my fingers into legible patterns that describe this hapless creature might transmogrify my hands into clawed, chronically fap-worn vestiges of scalzification syndrome. But, I soldier on. The dude is on his knees begging for forgiveness from his girlfriend in public, who can’t stop slapping him in the face in front of gawking onlookers. The craven puling he vomits defies every tenet of manhood, not to mention good taste.


The video is too grotesque to be staged. Yes, this guy is really on his knees, in the public square getting slapped around by his frail Asian girlfriend for some transgression that may or may not involve another woman or perhaps a Pokemon hug pillow, and bawling like a baby. What’s going on with the other girl standing next to her? Is she keeping away good samaritans? Providing color commentary? Moral support?

“You hit him real now, You no exist to him. You take that? Harder, hit harder! I want… I mean you want to see his shame burn in his face like a three day sake bender.”

Asians are weird.

We laugh at stuff like this because it helps ease our discomfort. You see, beta males and their antics are inherently discomfiting to the human senses. This is why we cringe when we see a beta male profusely apologize to his battle-axe girlfriend for some minor mistake, or a beta suck-up who wears “This is what a feminist looks like” t-shirts, or a beta orbiter who listens attentively while his unknowing dreamgirl dumps her problems with her boyfriend on him. The behavior of the beta male violates some universal law, or some deeply ingrained neurological module that goes code red when an expected sex role is turned on its head. It’s the same feeling one might get seeing an everyday and familiar object that would exist in the state of nature deformed into a monstrous aberration.

Conversely, when we see a charismatic alpha male handle his woman with expert care, and refuse to bow and scrape for scraps of female approval (or for stays of female punishment) when he has done her wrong, or not quite done her right enough, we relax. We exhale. We smile contentedly. We do this because such a scene means that everything is right with the world. Everything is cool. This is normal and the sun will not explode tomorrow.

I propose a new emoticon for sackless beta males:


Note the micropeen and vague vaginal evocation.

The voting:

For those wondering why it’s not more correct to label these two candidates omega males rather than beta males, take stock that they at least have slender girls in their lives, in however limited a capacity. The typical omega male is either an involuntary celibate or a wiping implement for a blubbery land whale. The beta male has not reached the depths of loserdom that the omega male occupies. The problem with the beta male is that the prize he has managed to acquire keeps threatening to slip from his grasp. He lives in a constant state of fear and horror that his tenuous hold on his girl will fray, and she’ll sail into the arms of a better man.

In some way, the beta male is worse off than the omega male. Many omegas learn to accept their invisibility to women, and find contentment in dropping out of the mate race to pursue more readily available pleasures, like food or hobbies. Betas, in contrast, can see the ass ring dangling inches from their reach. So close, they are taunted constantly with plump juicy rewards, if they just try harder. And that is why they fail.

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Occasionally, CH showcases truly abhorrent beta males as “teachable moments” for the gathered readership, with the hope that readers will learn what kinds of behavior to avoid in their dealings with women (and men). This edition of Beta Of The Month (BOTM) features a smashmuff vagina-off between not two, not three, but FIVE detestable beta males for the honor of the bestest beta forever (BBF).


BOTM Candidate #1 was submitted by an anonymous emailer. A loosely-termed man does a poetry slam (faggot SWPL manboob alert) about his travails getting friendzoned all through high school. Instead of learning from his excruciatingly recollected misery, he instead chooses more of the same self-flagellation that got him nothing. (The stomach-turning point is at 2:09):

The psychological similarity between the liberal supine beta male and the liberal feminist fat apologist is striking. Both prefer to indict the boogeyman of inegalitarian societal expectation rather than admit their miserable outcomes in life are brought on by their own actions. Admitting their agency would mean admitting the power to improve their romantic lives is in their own hands, and that’s a power that is frightening to those types who wallow in the phantom freedom of powerlessness. Admitting that their romantic failure makes them miserable would mean admitting there is an intractable biological directive which cannot be disobeyed without inviting unhappy consequences, and that’s an ugly truth the ideologically bound equalist can’t handle.

Accepting power into one’s life means surrendering the martyr’s podium. Like any addict, that martyr’s podium is the only thing keeping the self-abnegating status whores tethered to sanity. Withdrawal is a bitch.

(Buttonhole Poetry, amirite?)


BOTM Candidate #2 was submitted by el chief. You have to wonder about a man who would agree to having this photo taken:

The cake icing reads, “Sorry about the divorce.” The crazy-eyed chihuahua lady is divorcing our intrepid beta, and rubbing his face in that fact. Now whether she’s just a sperg who didn’t mean no harm, or a sadist who likes to drive home the humiliation, is hard to say. Either way, he’s a huge beta for 1) letting their marriage decay to the point where she felt comfortable pulling this stunt on him and 2) standing there like a goof proudly displaying her heel mark on his face.


BOTM Candidate #3 was submitted by another anonymous acolyte of the lord of the flies. A divorced man gives advice to still-married men. His checklist reads like a rectal ring history of how many ass rammings he suffered at the hands of women pegging his delicate flower ego over the course of his stillborn life. See for yourself:

1. Never stop courting. – “Never forget that, as the husband, you are a second-class citizen who can lose it all in a second.”
2. Protect your own heart. – Meaningless pabulum, given the contradicting advice directly above it.
3. Fall in love over and over again. –  Kind of hard to do when your wife gets fat and bitchy.
4. Always see the best in her. – What if she just took a dump on your jazz LP collection?
5. It’s not your job to change or fix her. – So it’s not her job to change or fix you, either, right? Right?
6. Take full accountability for your own emotions. – “If you’re mad she cheated, that’s your problem. Deal with it.”
7. Never blame your wife if you get frustrated or angry. – “I’m sorry I made you cheat on me, honey.”
8. Allow your woman to just be. – “You want to screw a mandingo while I watch? I love it when you’re just being you!”
9. Be silly. – Easier than being dominant.
10. Fill her soul everyday. – May as well, since you won’t be filling anything else of hers.
11. Be present. – Because you don’t have a life outside of her incessant chatter.
12. Be willing to take her sexually. – This is the only good piece of advice in the whole list.
13. Don’t be an idiot. – Better yet, don’t be a beta pushover.
14. Give her space. – …to eat, pray, love.
15. Be vulnerable. – Cause you know how much those sexy babes love sensitive new age men!
16. Be fully transparent. – “I really want to stick my dick in the neighbor’s teenage daughter.”
17. Never stop growing together. – Not a problem in America.
18. Don’t worry about money. – If you’re a beta male, money is about the only leverage you have. Deleverage yourself at your peril.
19. Forgive immediately. – “I forgive you for withholding sex from me for five years.”
20. Always choose love. – You know what they call men who always choose love, no matter what? Stalkers.

Fuckin A, I feel dirty.


BOTM Candidate #4 was submitted by… well, by the universe. His name is: John Scalzi. *boom* And the mic gets dropped.

John Scalzi, for those of you who don’t know, is some kind of pulp sci-fi writer and avowed male feminist icon, two things which ought not go together, and which probably explains the dire condition of modern sci-fi. He recently was the unwilling subject of a funny male feminist meme when a prankster, (not CH, for the record, though if Scalzi wants to publicize his humiliation, why stop him?), grabbed a photo of him in his Sunday finest and hoisted him by his own retard.

First thing that comes to mind when I look at that pic is whether he stuffs his bra, or if that’s natural. Next thing I wonder is if he’s pregnant. And, finally, if the dog ate his inflated blog stats.

Scalzi was so butthurt by this misappropriation of his militant male effeminacy, that he struck back with a resounding declaration of how little he cared that people were calling him a feminist. I mean, come on, the guy’s got 20,000 acres to sow his domesticated oats. How many acres do you own?

(How faggoty do you have to be to use a term like “dudebro”?)

Scalzi’s nom for BOTM was the result of his life’s work in support of a national gelding project for white men. Here, for instance, is Scalzi declaiming that anyone who mocks his milquetoast feminist orthodoxy is a “woman-fearing moron”. And here is his infamous “anti-racism” Yankee Poodle status-whoring heretic-hunting gibberish comparing life as a white man to a video game on the lowest difficulty setting. (Anyone know the racial composition of Scalzi’s neighborhood?)

Regarding that last linked post, if you plan to communicate with a eunuch nerd such as Scalzi, you have to speak the language of the eunuch nerd. Now it’s been a long time since I tapped a video game for love, but I recall that playing an RPG-style game on the easiest setting meant that you would earn experience points more slowly than a player playing at a higher difficulty setting. You would also earn less treasure, and less valuable treasure. So I suppose what our eunuch nerd is trying to say is that non-whites advance faster in their careers and make more money.

Of course, Scalzi’s whole premise is garbage of the smelliest kind, but that’s to be expected from a PC-drenched eunuch nerd who refuses to acknowledge that races differ biologically and thus that any resulting “privilege” one race has over another in a culture full of vibrant diversity is an organically emergent phenomenon necessarily caused by differing innate abilities. Never mind the broader implications undermining this “anti-privilege” moral posturing that nations are, almost by definition, political structures designed to privilege its citizens over non-citizens. And that, as families and individuals, we all are trying our best to privilege us and ours over everyone else. To do otherwise would be folly. Scalzi, perhaps you’d like to forfeit your privileged 20 acres for a mule?

Some may recall that Scalzi was the inspiration for this term of art coined by yours truly, (although King A has his crackpot legal team assembled to prove he deserves equal coinage credit):

Scalzied is similar to being afflicted with palsy. The body and mind contort to accommodate delusional pabulum.

Instead of picking one nauseatingly trademark example of Scalzi’s betatude from among the mountain of betatudination he has amassed, a feat which would require an immense amount of man hours, (a concept with which Scalzi, as a lurching nerd member in slouched standing of the Ascended Testes Society, would have no familiarity), the entire oeuvre of his betatude is here presented for consideration of his rightful place on the Throne of Manboobs. May he wear his crown of tampons well.


BOTM Candidate #5 was submitted by too many readers to count. A Polish woman of questionable allure wants to get into the Guinness Book of World Records for the ignominy of sleeping with 100,000 men. But since this contest is Beta of the Month, and not Mentally Deranged Slut of the Month, we have to read into the story a bit deeper to find our corrupted soul of a broken beta male.

Ania Lisewska, 21, is allegedly attempting to travel to every city in the world so she can have sex with at least 100,000 men for 20 minutes each.

A reader calculated this honorable goal to work out to 28 men per day, for ten pre-wall years, (that number will have to come down considerably, post-wall). About 9 hours of sex per day at 20 minutes per man.

“I want men from Poland, Europe and all around the world. I love sex, fun and men,” she said, according to the Austrian Times. “In Poland the subject of sex is still taboo and anyone who wants to fulfill their sexual fantasies is considered a deviant, a whore or mentally ill.”

A working definition of mentally ill is: Are you the only woman out of one million women who has this need?

The supposed sex marathon allegedly began last month in Warsaw, according to her Facebook page, and she hopes to have her way across Poland before moving to other countries.

So far, she’s had sex with 284 men, according to Fakt.pl and didn’t let the fact she has a serious boyfriend stop her.

He told the Polish language website he was “not thrilled” with her unusual hobby, but had no choice and “had to come to terms” with it.

There’s our beta.

The problem with stories like this one is the likelihood it’s a scam or a troll. However, if real, you have to give standing O beta props to this boyfriend who has “come to terms” with his girlfriend getting drilled like a Saudi oil field. And you can bet, despite subconscious misgivings, that feminists and their manboy lackeys, like “dudebro” above, will praise such a feeble, crooked specimen of manhood for his nonjudgmentalism and refusal to abide horrible double standards based in discredited biology.

I think that’s enough mucking around in filth for a day. To the vote…

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Is it really good for the children to see their father so pathetically emasculated on a daily basis? That’s the question that swirls around July’s Beta of the Month candidate, a broken man who continues living under the same roof (for which he likely foots the full bill) with his happy ex-wife in a refitted “divorce house” that’s partitioned down the middle.

Monica McGrath and Kent Kirkland are divorced parents of two young children. They live in one house with their children, call themselves friends and borrow sugar from one another.

The Edmonton family gained Canada-wide recognition this month after media attention turned to their family set-up and living arrangements. Part of this attention was due to their custom-built “transporter” house, with two separate sides and a hallway connecting them, but also because they’re doing what many separated couples say they want to do; put the kids first. […]

Their family model is a version of a “bird’s nest” arrangement where children stay in the house, while separated or divorced parents come to them. Some see this as a model that helps minimize disruption for children. It means they don’t have to be uprooted, trekking from one parent’s house to another’s on a regular basis. Although this model is still rare, experts say it has become increasingly common over the last 10 years. […]

The adults live on separate sides of the house with a wall between them. Their children’s bedrooms are at one end of the house and connect to both sides through a hallway with a door to mom’s side and a door to dad’s side. The parents alternate childcare week by week. When it’s one parent’s week, the other locks their hallway door.

“They’re both a lot happier now,” Mr. Kirkland says of their children. “Now if they want to see mom, it’s really easy for them to do it.”

Everyone in this family is smiling except for the house eunuch:

Details of his lurid soul castration follow.

They separated in 2010 and have already crossed the hurdle of dating other people, though both are currently single. Ms. McGrath and Mr. Kirkland say that their family arrangement takes priority and that a new partner would need to respect this.

Nine times out of ten in similar situations it’s the ex-wife who’s doing the banging with newly acquired pump and dumpers while the ex-husband has to stuff his ears with pillows to block the thumping moans of sex emanating through the walls.

But as might be expected, there are cons that come with living next door to your ex.

“The emotional side of things…” says Mr. Kirkland. “As Monica put it, there are still feelings and not all of them positive feelings.”

The only sure cure for an ex-wife is moving out of the country and covering all your tracks. Or, you can be all the beta you wanna be and share an exquisitely demarcated home with an ex-wife who loves taking photos of your hang-dog face to show the world how much she has your balls in a vise.

In related news, the West is still collapsing. Event horizon endgame should be any day now.

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The readers squalled, and their demands were answered: Beta of the Month is back in a big way. And why not? There’s nothing like a real life story ripped from the headlines to illuminate the reality of female hypergamy for strong and desirable alpha males, and the dire self-inflicted powerlessness of beta males which pushes their women into the waiting arms of lovers or divorce lawyers. Let us hie to the Betadome!


March 2013 BOTM Candidate #1 was submitted by a reader who requested anonymity. The reader pulled this first candidate from an online forum for Catholics, and he writes:

You must teach Catholic/Christian men to rule their wives. Save Christianity, save Western civilization. Or something like that.

If you don’t, who will?

Could it be…… Satan?

Ok, then. Class is now in session. And what group is more in need of an education in the reality of the sexual marketplace than gullible white knights and mincing betaboy men of the Church? Like most Western institutions, the Church has succumbed to the grinding feminization of its traditions and ideals. BOTM Candidate #1 weeps his plaintive wail to his Lord and the flock:


My wife of 12 years and mother of 4 told me she wants a divorce because she has “fallen out of love” with me and can “never love me again. “

Where have we heard this before… oh yeah, everywhere.

Last night she explained her life plan, that I would buy her a car and two condos so we could be divorced and neighbors. She said her online friends are doing it that way.

Ballsy bitch. This “life plan” is a tidy encapsulation of the desire of women to extract emotional and financial resources from doting beta males while being free to pursue sexual resources from sexy alpha males. I love the “all our friends are doing it” appeal to popularity. Men use arguments to win the crowd. Women use the crowd to win arguments.

I don’t want a divorce but I do want to separate our finances. She’s been running up secret debts and taking out “loans” for her Etsy shop, and I don’t know of a way to stop her from driving me into a second bankruptcy so long as she is my legal spouse.

Marriage is a sucker’s bet for men. Western women simply know how to play this game better. The best way for men to play is to not play at all. At least not until there are significant legal and cultural reforms that level the playing field away from the direction toward wives that it has tilted for a few generations.

She’s been hinting that she has a long-distance boyfriend, and announcing that she wants to convert to the LDS church. I think she’s only saying that to try to get under my skin, but if true I wouldn’t want her as my wife and mother of my kids respectively.

When women fall out of love, they become as stone cold ruthless as the best trained warriors. If the man sticks around instead of freeing her, she will rapidly turn from cold to icily cruel.

I would enjoy life more without her, and I can’t imagine that divorce could possibly be more expensive than marriage to her thus far. I would really like getting to make it to mass (which she is absolutely against in practice, if not in word. )

Most women aren’t thinking about the financial angle when they want out from a marriage to a mewling beta. They’re thinking about getting away from the stench of his nauseating seed.

I don’t know. I bought her a bouquet of flowers last night and gave her more money, but I don’t think that marriage is a viable long term solution.

Systemic beta failure.

My mother was hospitalized yesterday and is facing possible death and almost certain permanent disability. And I haven’t slept much. So, I might be missing something obvious.

You can say that again.

I don’t know what to do. I turned to the rosary and felt prompted to buy a dozen roses. I talked to my priest, he was very kind and offered to prey for me.

Has a more fitting typo ever been seen in print?

My wife wants to keep this secret from everyone. I’m of two minds about that, on one hand the privacy might give her the leeway to back down. But on the other hand I think that divorce is a public problem. She said in response that we could separate and be married too.

By nature I like to let things blow over,

And that is why you fail.

but I fear that my serenity is foolishness or cowardice.

Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me ten thousand times, I’m a beta.

She refuses to go to marriage counseling.

It’s amazing how much smarter than the average man women are about evaluating relationship health and prognoses for remediation. Hopefulness is cowardice and cowardice is beta.

Anyway, I could really use some wisdom. In out of my field of expertise.

Poor bastard. Can anyone deny that this is a good man? He loves his wife. He’s emotionally close to her. He’s generous with his time and attention and money. But he has a fatal flaw. He’s a beta male. And that beta groveling he thinks is the key to winning the renewed love of his wife is JUST THE FAILURE that will ensure her loathing.


March 2013 BOTM Candidate #2 was submitted by reader dorsey47. It’s a video by a creativity class SWPL (aka try-hard beta) of his ELABORATE proposal to his rather plain-looking girlfriend who sports a *danger* male digit ratio *danger*.

Overproduced schlock. Any man who spends this much energy producing a film school highlight reel of his proposal to his girlfriend is a beta. Any man who constructs a proposal that requires the participation of twelve indie drummers and gifts and prizes spread out over twelve days is a master beta.

Look, I’m a romantic as much as the next hedonistic whore. But there’s an alpha way to romance a lady, and a beta way. Showering a girl with presents over two weeks and honoring her with a movie documenting the whole deranged process that took 1,300 man hours to complete is the beta way.

The overproduced and overdone film festival proposal is a sign of the times. That sign screams loud and clear: BETA MALE MUST GIVE IT HIS ALL TO SECURE FIDELITY FROM CHUBBY FRUMP. PRIME DIRECTIVE: SPIT SHINE WOMAN’S PEDESTAL.

Do women love this kind of stuff? Yes, in the abstract. Do they respect it? Unsure. Do they get aroused by it? No.

If you are a beta male thinking about drawing up schematics for a truly awe-inspiring proposal to your girlfriend, might I humbly suggest you instead divert that energy into more satisfying and personally advantageous pursuits, like a job promotion or an update to your herbish wardrobe? She’ll still love you, and you’ll have increased your options among prettier women. Win, win!


March 2013 BOTM Candidate #3 was submitted by reader Larry. Take some Tums, because this story is revolting. If you don’t feel a gag reflex, your stomach is stronger than mine.

A Staten Island woman went the full EatPrayLove on her beta hubby, and was predictably killed by some swarthy roustabout in Turkey. Ho hum, right? Well, it gets worse. To appreciate the glorious soul-imploding banality of this particular beta male husband, you have to read his words. Reporters found a treasure trove of Instagram messages from the husband that were posted a few weeks before his wife left on her self-actualization sabbatical.

“Don’t cheat in relationship [sic],” reads Steven Sierra’s Instagram posting dated Dec. 28. “If you’re unhappy then just leave.”

He put up another message later the same day, adding, “A real relationship is where you can tell each other anything and everything. No secrets, no lies.”

My guess is that the wife is the one who cheated. Cheating men rarely confess their sins in this manner. Neither do cheating women, but cheated on betas DO confess their helplessness to any who will listen.

“Good relationship [sic] don’t just happen,” the post reads. “They take time, patience and two people who truly want to be together.”

The wife is spinning out of the beta’s control, and he is desperate for answers. The flail is strong in this one. As is the martyrdom.

“People are to be LOVED. Things are to be USED. The reason why the world is in chaos is because THINGS are being LOVED and PEOPLE are being used,” the message declares.

That’s actually pretty fucking poetic. Is there hope for this beta? HA.

Turkish media have also reported that Sarai’s brother, David, warned his sister against cheating on Steven and encouraged her to simply leave him.

Yup, she cheated.

In an interview with Turkish paper Hürriyet, Steven [the jilted husband] said that his wife had insisted on going to Turkey and that he accepted her wishes. He has been mum on the rumblings of infidelity.

Never…. NEVER… allow your wife to travel overseas without you if there is even a hint of trouble in your relationship. You may as well give her a one-way ticket to cockalopolis.

“I had to permit her to go,” he said. “She was very insistent on going. In such situations. you have to support your wife.”

“I had to permit her to go… In such situations, you have to support your wife.” The rallying cry of the beta male. Wife cheated, wants to go to Turkey by herself? She’s BEGGING you to put your foot down and be a man for once in your pathetic life. She doesn’t want your permission. She doesn’t want your suppoooooort. She wants your strength. She wants you to take what is yours. She wants to feel your POWER. The alpha male POWER that is the only known force in the universe that can rend vaginas sealed shut by the weak solicitations of mincing beta males.

And if she still disobeys you, at least you have your dignity, you fucking faggot. You can walk away from her with your balls intact.

Sheltered numbskulls who fervently latch onto the belief that emotionally distant husbands are the primary reason women fly the coop have no goddamned clue how much women despise weak, emotionally available men. Beta men. They need to get out more.


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You’ve got to have a strong stomach to make it through this edition of BOTM. This segment will hit a lot of buttons, as well it should. In a Slate “Dear Prudence” mailbag, a woman writes for advice from Prudie (Emily Yoffe) on how to break the news of her cheating whoreishness to her kids and neighbors.

Q. Where Do I Tell My Son His Sister Came From?: A few years ago I cheated on my husband, got pregnant, and decided to keep the child. Because my husband and I had a 2-year-old son together we decided that we could keep our marriage together for his sake. The thing that really complicates things is that my husband, son, and I are white, while my lover was black, and so my daughter is mixed race. Naturally my son has begun questioning why his sister looks so different from the rest of us, and my mother-in-law took it upon herself to tell him she was adopted. I’m at a loss for what to do. For now my husband has told MIL that the topic is verboten, but we haven’t decided if we should correct her error. Until now I’ve been happy to just let people assume what they want about where my children’s origins are, but now that a story is getting around, I’m not sure what to say or how to handle it.

We’re a long ways from Normal Rockwell’s America.

As I’m sure you’ve noticed, the husband surrendered to his wife’s crazy-eyed demands shrunk from risking the certainty of a divorce industrial complex ass-ramming politely discussed and agreed with his wife to keep the marriage going “for the sake of the children”.

Gotta love those children — the perfect leverage for whores and the state to use against wronged men.

Femcunt: “How can you POSSIBLY think of leaving your wife and hurting your children just because she had an unfortunate and fleeting five-year dalliance with an underprivileged but incredibly confident and masculine black man who also happens to be a doctor?”

Beta Herb: “But, I thought single moms are a light unto the world, and their children are successful in every way?”

Femcunt: “Oh, that’s rich. Using white male logic on me. Check your privilege, herbling!”

Beta Herb: “I’m so sorry. Please don’t yell at me. I’m a nice guy.”

Femcunt: “Nice guys are really jerks! You would know that if you weren’t such a jerk.”

Beta Herb: “Should I just off myself?”

Femcunt: “There’s an idea.”

Please, did you expect a feminist to comprehend dual mate strategy? Or to dabble in rationality?

Is this hubby a beta for staying with his wife when it’s so obvious to anyone with eyes that the mocha child in tow is living proof the whore wife cuckolded him in the arms of a five-point buck? Yes, he is. There’s simply no way a man can retain the heft of his balls — whatever he’s carrying — or any shred of honor, sticking by the side of an unfaithful wife who so ostentatiously gelded him, a mixed-race living reminder of his emasculation total yapping at his heels. There are just some indignities a man should not ever tolerate, especially when alternatives exist, such as beating a middle-of-the-night escape to another country to avoid punitive extractive alimony and child-support payments.

But the ideal course of action for the grievously insulted beta provider hubby presumes a somewhat sane world envelops him, and will consider his case fairly. Unfortunately, thanks to the relentless moronic march of feminists and equalist filth, and their lethal infection of the media/entertainment/academia/bureacracy complexes which constitute the juggernaut known as the Western Cathedral, we are far from living in a sane world. Instead of receiving recompense from his ex-wife for cuckolding him, and full custody of his one biological child, plus the sympathy and support of his community and the state, he would likely receive for his trouble of separating himself from the bitch who metaphorically shit in his face an extorted, back-breaking retirement plan paid in full to her, plus two days per month visitation rights. And prison rape for any failure to comply with his dispossession.

Given this morbid reality, how fitting is it for us to label such a man a hopeless beta? Isn’t he just as much a victim of his circumstance and the world which is cruelly indifferent to him as he is of his own weak character? I’m loathe to come down too hard on this guy, who probably decided it was better to minimize the fallout from a really shitty situation than to seek the justice that was rightfully his from the insult of his wife’s awesome betrayal.

However, in the final analysis, he earns his BOTM nomination. The reason why is found in the wife’s decision to keep the bastard. She would not have entertained keeping the mixed-race issue if she had a modicum of respect for her husband. Instead, it is likely he is a beta male in his heart whom she despised, and that made the decision easy for her. What use is appeasing a husband you hardly respect, let alone desire or admire? Why care for the soul-ripping consequences your detestable actions will have on a husband who no longer, if he ever did, inspires your adherence to a moral calculus via the encouragement of wonderful twat tingles? She wanted this kid born, wanted this gaudy tri-hued mockery of her marriage to shoot out of her festering womb, because it was the kid of another man. A better man.

The hubby chump doesn’t even have the luxury of hiding his shame behind ego sparing lies. A white kid could plausibly be passed off as his. But a pint-sized frappuccino is a glossy mag ad situating his disgrace front and center for the entertainment of the studio audience of his life.

And every day, every goddamned minute of every day, this pitiful lackey, chained by law and habit and feebleness to the golem of his wife’s black soul, will suffer his humiliation anew. There will be no escape from the breaking wheel that cracks the bones and tears the sinew of his self-worth. No refuge from the material proof of his wife’s love for another man. No competing nightmare visceral enough to block out the constantly birthing image of his wife’s cunt stretching and ululating for another man’s dick, and her womb happily germinating the prize of another man’s seed. A prize made all the more demeaning by the context of the times, where an abortion clinic to solve untidy problems like this one exist on every street corner, and condoms are handed out like candy. This woman made her choice WHEN SO MANY OTHER CHOICES WERE READILY AVAILABLE that would have partly bandaged the immortal wound she knifed into her husband’s pride.

His world is the world of slaves. A spiked heel kicking in his nuts, forever.

What can be salvaged from this woeful cataclysm? Oh yes, there is something.

A word about the children. Sometimes, the children must suffer to right a horrible wrong. To rectify an impossible evil. And the world must make it known who, in actuality, is the cause of their suffering. Every day, the children must know it was Mommy, not Daddy, who royally fucked their lives.

For shits and giggles, I’ll post Emily Yoffe’s reply:

A: Despite continuing weekly evidence to the contrary, I will continue to believe that the vast majority of men who think they are the biological fathers of their children really did provide the sperm. If you get impregnated by a lover of another race, what you say to your children about this is something that needed to be discussed openly with your husband, preferably before the baby was born. Making the utterly obvious verboten is not a good strategy for anyone. I think what you need for your immediate family is a dose of the truth. But, for your children, it needs to be age appropriate. Since your daughter was born a few years ago, your son is old enough to know the basics of reproduction. He needs to be told that his sister has the same mother, but a different biological father. However, what’s really important is that both he and his sister are being raised by the same daddy. You can tell him families are made all sorts of ways, and yours is just a little bit special. If your son—and eventually your daughter—want to know why this is the case, it’s fair to tell them that it’s a complicated story, and they will probably understand it more when they’re older. Say they can talk about this subject any time, but if they can wait, you and their dad can fill in more details as they grow up. For outsiders, you don’t need to explain anything. You can just say you are blessed with two beautiful children. And your husband needs to tell his mother to stop telling the kids something that’s simply wrong.

She evinces a glimmer of sympathy for the husband, but of course her advice, such as it is, amounts to the usual pro forma feminist crap: suck it up, herbische kopf, for the good of the children.

(The only person who comes out seeming halfway decent is the mother-in-law — the husband’s mother — who wants to protect her son from shame by passing off his daughter as an adoptee. Can you blame her for this honorable lie? She acted with good intentions, even if her solution is unworkable in the long run.)

My advice to him would be: get the hell out of Dodge. And don’t look back, and never let her get her paws on one red cent of your bounty or one precious second of your time. Find yourself a better woman in another country. My alternate advice, if American law weren’t so egregiously stacked against men’s interests, would be to march into court, DNA paternity test results in hand, and punish her with the same everlasting torment she has bestowed him. Grab custody of the one kid that is yours, and send the ex-wife and her love child packing for the icy wastelands, where aging single moms with complicated spawnage have about as much success in the dating market as obese, neckbearded furries. If she winds up killing herself, or her kid graduates to juvie as a glue sniffer, all the better.

Too much? No. Cuckoldry — knowing cuckoldry, at that — is the greatest betrayal. The most horrible metadeath. It is the gleeful sham of a scheming Satan. The cosmic shiv driven deep into the chewy center of the soul. The ur-lie. The King Of All Lies. The one lie to rule them all.

There is only one other lie that comes close to the terrible power of the cuckold’s deception, and that is the fraternal betrayal of a solider against his buddy in the trenches. But that awful betrayal, bad as it is, at least does not rub salt in the wound for eighteen excruciating years.

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