June 2009 Beta Of The Month

June coughed up a bevy of magnificent betas! There were so many good choices, I’ve expanded this month’s voting to a three-way contest.

Before we get to the reader submitted June candidates, it’s time to announce the May 2009 BOTM winner:

Congratulations, Edmund Andrews, reporter for the New York Beta Times (AKA “All The Lies That’re Fit To Foist”), you are our May 2009 BOTM winner! You, sir, are a beta. Hang your head proud, shuffle your feet with joy, you represent the worst of what it means to be a man. May your aged Argentine wife’s future boob job drive you into bankruptcy a second time. May her yoga instructor avoid eye contact with you.

June 2009 BOTM Candidate #1 was submitted by reader cz. It’s a news report about an heir to a billion dollar media empire in Australia who gets publicly humiliated over and over and over again by Australia’s version of the DC lawyer cunt. A photo of the loving couple practically tells the story:

Ever notice how some women just *look* like bitches, before they’ve said one word? Is it her arrogant, smug mug? Her fuel-injected chin? Her severe hairstyle? Hmm, who does she remind me of… who could it be now?

So what makes Ryan Stokes, the billionaire heir in this story, a contender for betatude above and beyond the call of pity? Is it the fact that his girlfriend snorts coke with a badboy biker and, if I were a betting man, likely has taken his kickstand long and hard up her ass?

MEDIA heir Ryan Stokes has remained in Broome while his troubled girlfriend Jodi Gordon tried to avoid the limelight after she was linked to a cocaine-fuelled bender with a Kings Cross bikie. […]

Police found her in the unit of the suspected Rebel bikie member [Mark Judge], said to be allegedly suffering from the effects of illegal drugs. […]

Judge, a tattooed hard man said to be a member of the Rebels, is serving a two-year suspended jail sentence after pleading guilty to the 2005 assault of a Newcastle man. He faces sentencing on further charges (detaining and occasioning bodily harm on a Llandilo man) later this month in Penrith District Court.

Or is it the fact that his lovely girlfriend has a history of slutting it up and rubbing his high society face in it?

It is not the first time Gordon’s public behaviour is said to have affected her relationship witStokes. In February, The Sunday Telegraph reported the pair had argued after Gordon wanted to continue partying “beyond her curfew” on her 24th birthday.

Last year at the Ivy Gordon was allegedly seen crying before “knocking back” shots and openly flirting with men and women.

Or perhaps it’s that he’s engaged to a whore who has a penchant for hanging out with shady underworld figures?

Gordon is a regular on the Kings Cross circuit, friendly with club owners Dave Evans and Julian Tobias among others.

She often frequents Darlinghurst Rd club The Piano Room, a notorious hang-out for celebrities and underworld figures, where she met with Judge before returning to his apartment.

A Seven spokeswoman denied Stokes and Gordon were engaged, despite Gordon sporting a diamond ring on her wedding finger last Friday.

…and then in typical amoral female fashion, absolving herself via testimonials from friends of any personal responsibility:

“Jodi’s holding up: she’s a strong, stoic girl, but she is also acutely aware of the damage she’s done,” a friend of Gordon said.

“She’s devastated that she’s caused so much turmoil. (She’s) honestly appalled by what’s happened.”

Translation: “I feel bad that people are freaking out about this. It was out of my hands. What was I supposed to do? My gina tingled!”

No, it’s none of those things that catapults Mr. Stokes to BOTM nominee. Dirty, soulless, ballchopping sluts are a dime a dozen. What pushes Stokes into the rarefied atmosphere of truly mythical betas is the fact that he’s a FUCKING BILLIONAIRE HEIR WHO COULD GET HIMSELF A BETTER BITCH TOMORROW if he had ANY BALLS AT ALL. Instead, he suffers his cheating, whoring, lying, floozy girlfriend’s humiliation and begs for more. If you are a man with options, there is only one thing you say to a Jodi Gordon after you discover she’s been in the company of an ex-con biker:

Get the fuck out.

***

June 2009 BOTM Candidate #2 was submitted by reader db. Drum roll please…

It’s droning commenter cuntrag’s Italian eunuch ex who serves as her personal chef and babysitter!

No I don’t have to cook, one of my exes comes over and cooks enough for me and my son for the whole week. (He’s Italian and loves to cook). As for the cleaning, he does the things I hate like dishes and sweeping but the rest I do myself because I have OCD and am VERY particular about the way things are in my home.

Hm. I see. So let me get this straight. Your ex comes over to cook a week’s worth of meals for you and your bastard child, sweeps your fucking house and does the dishes because those are the chores you hate the most, has to deal with your fucked up OCD issues and Teutonically grating, unfeminine personality, and gets…

NO PUSSY IN RETURN.

Skittles Man laughs at your Italian ex.

Cuntrag, you attract second-rate men into your life. SECOND RATE. Say it to yourself. You are a prematurely aging, BMX biker banging, single mother who has her pick of SECOND RATE low self esteem loser betas.

You’re a winner!

Now of course you will probably protest that your Italian ex is handsome, caring, assists you of his own free will, and can fuck you like a champ, if you so choose to let him. Unfortunately for you, none of that is relevant. All that matters is the fact that Antonio Eunuchio does slave work for you and gets nothing in return but your annoying flapping gums. This instantly puts him in the running for BOTM.

I’m feeling in a generous mood, so I will leave you once again with some valuable advice I gave you in the comments of my blog not too long ago (which, naturally, I don’t expect you to heed):

you [cuntrag] claim you are OK with an assortment of random short term pump and dumps and loveless flings, as long as you have your LIFE and your HOBBIES and your bastard SON and your YOU GO GIRL amen chorus of eunuch omegas and low class allentown high school dropout girlfriends to keep you occupied, but i guarantee that in a few years when your looks have completely cratered and you can’t even find a halfway decent man who isn’t a total beta loser willing to spend the minimal effort to fuck you for a few nights, nevermind willing to stay with you and your unfortunate spawn from a DUI-collecting loser badboy, and when the prospect of love from a good man — deep true amazing soul-nourishing love — is lost to you forever, you WILL feel the cold shadow of desperation trace its gnarled finger down the back of your neck and spine.
and you will shiver, remembering my words.

and as for your breathless contention that as a woman you don’t have to worry that you’ll never get laid again, i have two words for you: quality matters. an aging single mom can get laid, but she’ll only be able to do so by gradually lowering her standards. most single moms manage something like this by lying to themselves and to blog audiences about the steadily declining quality of men they are bagging. i’ve no doubt an arrogant cunt so completely lacking in self-awareness like yourself with do exactly that. right now, it’s low SES bikers and italian eunuchs who orbit your shriveling vagina. soon, it will be urine-soaked homeless bums and david alexander clones.

of course, one day not too far in the future, 5 years or so, your standards will have been forced to bottom out so low that you find it easier on your ego to abdicate men altogether instead of suffering the indignity of laying listlessly through awkward, arid rutting with weaselly sycophantic suckup betas or suffering the shame of spreading for yet another 50-ish drunken lout with a boob tattoo on his chest and a penchant for expressing his rage through cigarette burns on your arm. and then you will tell everyone here how happy you are that you don’t need a man in your life. you are an INDEPENDENT WOMAN.
and no one will believe you.
and when the pain and horror of your life begins to pile up on your psyche like a staten island landfill or the waiting list at the allentown battered wife shelter, not even you will believe yourself.

now, you could follow my advice and do the smart thing before it’s too late:
LEARN TO SETTLE.
but i don’t think you’re that smart, so i’ll just laugh at your pain instead as i twist the shiv of reality deeper into your overtanned prematurely wrinkled patent leather husk.

oh and here’s a very special ps just for you: in fifteen years, when you are 43 and looking 103, you WON’T EVEN BE ABLE TO GET LAID without paying for it or frantically flirting like a sad mangy cougar with the absolute lowest of CHUD-like, shambling losers and male detritus. you can pretty much give up on your dream of forever banging younger betas who worship the floor-length dangle of your labia.

Cuntrag, you once asked why I give you a hard time. The answer is this: I enjoy making an example of you. It amuses me.

***

June 2009 BOTM Candidate #3 was submitted by reader Thursday. It’s an article written by Rod Dreher, syndicated columnist, one-time National Review contributor, and self-described “crunchy con” (read: religious, Luddite hippie social conservative). Rod writes about adultery. His words betray the soul of a beta:

I’ve been thinking a lot over the past day about why I have such intensely strong emotional reactions to news about adultery, comparable to my fierce reactions to news about child abuse. It’s perhaps a bit odd, because I grew up in a family in which no one committed adultery, and no children were abused (a friend of mine, though, suffered through his father’s abandoning his mother and him when he was a boy, and is far more emotional on the topic than I am). The best explanation I can come up with is that I am a papa bear about my wife and kids. I really am. I would give up my life without a second thought for any of them, and I struggle every day to be worthy of them. If my wife ever committed adultery, under most circumstances (i.e., true contrition and repentance), I would hasten to forgive her, not only because I love her that strongly, but also because I would see it as my duty, in love, to do whatever I could to make our marriage whole again, for the sake of the children. That said, I honestly don’t know if I could live with myself if I were unfaithful to my wife, nor do I imagine myself capable of receiving her forgiveness. I know that is disordered, but were I to betray her, I’d also be betraying my children, and the thought that I had done such a thing to my wife and kids is one of the worst things I can imagine.

“Struggle every day to be worthy of them.” “I would hasten to forgive her.” “… my duty, in love,… for the sake of the children.”

These beliefs reveal a rotten, fearful beta core. Yes, I said rotten. Rotten because they show a man who would sooner betray his masculine essence than face up to the truth of human nature, and in particular the amoral nature of women. Fearful because they expose his lack of faith in himself that he could go out and find another woman who would respect his sexual and emotional desires. Rod, here’s a news flash: There is no God, your wife is not a saint sanctified by your love, and she’s not worth your abject forgiveness no matter what she does. What Would Doormats Do? They would do like you say.

Rod, know this: If you discover your wife has cheated once, that means she has cheated hundreds of times. And she LOVED it. She LOVED taking the other man’s cock deep into her pussy, all the way up to the cervix, where the tip brushed with the depths of her womanhood and sent shock waves of pleasure through every inch of her body. Are you visualizing this yet, Rod? Good. Now that you have that image burning your retinas, let me explain to you what a real man does when he experiences the ultimate betrayal:

He dumps the whoring bitch.

No ifs, ands or buts. No appeals to your better angel. No clinging like a barnacle to societally useful concepts like duty, honor and forgiveness. No last ditch leaning on a supernatural being to credit your sacrifice with points toward fast tracking through the pearly gates.

You dump the whoring bitch.

Do you think it helps women… do you think it helps SO-CI-ETY… if all men acted in the honorable fashion you prescribe and forgive their cheating wives? What happens when you REWARD bad behavior? As a conservative, you should know. You get more of it.

And if it’s the children you’re worried about, there are alternatives to handing over your BALLS to a whore in utter, daily humiliation. You could work to change the ri-fucking-diculous divorce laws in this country so that when a wife cheats the children are automatically removed from her and remanded to your custody. Then guess what, Rod? You get the kids AND you get to be single again and chase some new, fresh skirt at Bible study. Trust me on this, Rod, new pussy is AMAZING.

That said, I honestly don’t know if I could live with myself if I were unfaithful to my wife, nor do I imagine myself capable of receiving her forgiveness. I know that is disordered, but were I to betray her, I’d also be betraying my children, and the thought that I had done such a thing to my wife and kids is one of the worst things I can imagine.

Words to projectile vomit to. So Rod would forgive his wife’s cheating, but he might kill himself if he ever cheated. Rod, go back to the visualization exercise I wrote just above. Read it again. Still think that the worst thing you can imagine is yourself cheating?

Jesus Castrati Christ, the main problem with the postmodern West is that so many men have forgotten they have a sack between their legs. And so many more, like Rod, are telling men with any sack left to lop it off for the Lord.

That said, I really don’t feel the least compelled to give up my high view of marriage and family.

That’s OK, with the sanction of the anti-male state, plenty will give it up for you.

We live in a time and place in which the integrity of the family is under constant assault, not least by an egotistical culture that exalts sexual pleasure and self-fulfillment, and casts aside ideals of fidelity and self-sacrifice for the greater good.

Hey Rod, who do you think is assaulting the integrity of the family?

I want my sons to grow up knowing that it is both good and honorable to see women as worthy of utmost respect, and the women they pledge fidelity to before God in the sacrament of marriage to be worth dying for, which is to say, worth living fully for.

What if the woman fucks around? Some women aren’t worthy of respect, either yours or your sons.

I want my sons to carry in their hearts a natural repugnance at the thought of infidelity, not so much because it offends God (though it does), but because it is a defilement of a covenant made in love.

Grand words, but why stop at your sons? Shouldn’t a man hold a cheating wife to the same standard? Or is her cheating not quite as repugnant? I suppose if you take the modern warped view of Christianity you’d find it easier to forgive the dear darling pedestaled princess than to forgive yourself. You’re like one of those beaten cuckolded men who lash themselves mercilessly with the self-taunts “If only I had been there for her. It’s my fault she spread for another cock.”

And I want my daughter to think and feel the same way about marriage — that it requires sacrifice of one’s selfish passions, and the transformation of them into active love for one’s spouse and children — and not to settle for a man who has a lesser view.

The best way to teach your daughter this lesson is to leave your wife should she ever cheat on you. Oh, and it’s probably not a good idea to inculcate an aversion to settling. Family gatherings take on a dark pallor when your daughters and sisters attend as aging cougars.

By the way, don’t think for a minute your marriage will ever be the same after your wife is caught cheating. Unless you have the fortitude and willpower to dump your bad beta habits for a good alpha attitude adjustment, your wife, no matter how penitent, will never tingle in her gina for you ever again. And lest you nurse ignorance about this, a gina tingle is the only moral code that women subscribe to. So really, if you want to enjoy the pleasure of a loving, sexually avaialable wife into your dotage, you have only two options when confronted with infidelity: Leave her, or learn Game.

and how important it is to get it straight in your head from the beginning that once you marry, and especially once you marry and have children, your life is no longer your own.

Yet another reason to not get married.

But breaking a family through infidelity and divorce is a deep wound, and always an occasion of the most profound sorrow.

Admonitions of sorrow are such a beta giveaway.

That’s not how it is with us these days. To quote C.S. Lewis on our moral state, “We make men without chests and expect of them virtue and enterprise. We laugh at honor and are shocked to find traitors in our midst. We castrate and then bid the geldings to be fruitful.”

C.S. Lewis’ words are pointed like a dagger straight at your own beta heart, Rod.

What I can’t get straight in my head, when it comes to marital infidelity, especially when children are involved, is the difference between mercy and cheap grace.

Mercy is for closers.

***

The voting begins:

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May 2009 Beta Of The Month

The April 2009 BOTM contest was a runaway. Mr. “Don’t Judge an Alpha by His Cover” won with his stirring video loveletter to an ex. Has there been a more repugnant — or cheesier — case of oneitis? Congratulations to reader Ben for that submission.

And now, the reader submitted nominees for the May 2009 Beta of the Month contest. The envelope, please…

May 2009 BOTM Candidate #1 was submitted by a boatload of readers but el chief got there first. This story about a New York Beta Times economics (!) reporter who was driven into deep debt by the reckless spending habits of his washed-up, dumpy, twice-bankrupt 49 year old Argentinian second wife has made the blog rounds, and I’m pleased to see the concepts of beta and herb, thanks in no small part to the yeoman efforts of your narcissistic narrator, filtering into the public square like a much needed anti-PC colonic.

Edmund Andrews is the beta chump who wants to blame the easy lending of the predatory mortgage loan sharks for his financial despair (he’s writing a book about the ordeal, detailing his descent into the middle class) but the truth is that most of his woes can be laid directly at the feet of his high maintenance shrike of a wife who misspent him into oblivion. Andrews is, to put it succinctly, a victim of his own betatude. He had options which he didn’t have the sack to avail himself of: Avoid marrying the old broad, or lay down the law in his household and cut off her thousand dollar weekly allowance.

Here are some choice quotes shedding light on his Gollum-like shrivelled beta soul (“My preciooous wants the 10-ply strawberry scented toilet paper and Whole Foods organically grown rutebagas. My middle-aged pendulous-boobed preciooous gets everything she wants or no sex for meee!”):

Patty was brainy, regal, sexy, fiery and eclectic. She was one of my closest friends when we were both students at an American high school in Argentina. Back then, we would talk together about politics and books at a coffee shop every day after school. We were not romantic in those days and went our separate ways after high school. But each of us would go through bruising two-decade-long marriages, and we felt that sweet spark of remembrance and renewal upon meeting again in middle age.

LJBFed? Check. “Dates” were sexually arid conversations about politics and literature? Check. “Sweet spark of remembrance” was a 49 year old wall victim deciding to settle for an abjectly grateful beta provider and clean out his accounts because she has a bad case of Princess Entitlement Complex? Check.

After a one-year bicoastal courtship,

You are a loser with women if you have to resort to courting floppy-lobed pussy 3,000 miles away.

Patty discovered a small but stately brick home in a leafy, kid-filled neighborhood in Silver Spring, Md.

Never let your wife “discover” the big purchases for you. You’re asking for trouble. The man should always make the decision on the big expenditures.

Having separated from my wife of 21 years, who had physical custody of our sons, I was handing over $4,000 a month in alimony and child-support payments. That left me with take-home pay of $2,777, barely enough to make ends meet in a one-bedroom rental apartment. Patty had yet to even look for a job.

$4K a month. How many of these wickedly unjust sad stories do men have to hear before they stop walking down the aisle entirely? And at 49 years old with no small kids to raise, I think Patty could get off her fat ass and get a job.

We had very different ideas about money. Patty spent little on herself, but she refused to scrimp on top-quality produce, Starbucks coffee, bottled juices, fresh cheeses and clothing for the children and for me. She regularly bought me new shirts and ties to replace the frayed and drab ones in my closet. She thought it wasn’t worth agonizing over nickels and dimes. I was almost exactly the opposite. My answer to any money squeeze was to stop spending. I would skip lunch at work to save $7. If I arrived at the Metro just before the end of rush hour, I would wait for five minutes to save 50 cents on the fare.

We were both building up grudges. “You can’t keep second-guessing me,” she told me angrily. “It’s small-minded and petty, and it’s not very attractive.” I was beginning to wonder whether she had any clue about how money worked. We were lurching from paycheck to paycheck, one big home repair away from disaster.

When a woman finally relents and marries a beta provider, she thinks to herself “well, at least I won’t have to worry about watching my spending by marrying this flaccid schlub”. The beta provider thinks “Wow, she really loves me!”. What we have here is… a failure to communicate.

Patty woke up, irritated by all my movement and my occasional moans of despair. “What’s the matter?” she asked.

“I can’t sleep,” I answered. “I’m panicking about money, because I don’t know how we’re going to pay all the bills that need to be paid right now.” I wanted her to take me in her arms and reassure me that everything would be O.K.

Window to the soul. A beta wants his woman to take him in her arms. An alpha takes his woman in his arms.

“I can’t believe you are doing this to me on my birthday,” she hissed in fury. “All I asked for was one day of peace — one day when you weren’t beating me over the head. And here it is, not even daylight yet, and you’re waking me up to berate me about money.”

“Son of a bitch, what did I do to you?” I asked, punching my pillow in the dark. “Do you think I enjoy having a panic attack? I can’t help what I’m feeling. I’m just scared out of my mind.”

“That’s it!” Patty snapped, getting out of bed and pulling on her robe. “I’m not going to listen to any more of this. I’m going to sleep downstairs.”

In the morning, she let me have it.

If I didn’t know any better I’d think Andrews was the wrongdoer here. Women are so very VERY good at absolving themselves of any accountability and transferring all the guilt and blame to the idealistic, hapless beta dupe. If you read me, you can save yourself Andrews’ fate because you will understand the true nature of woman — the dark swirlings of her soul that are hidden from even her own awareness.

“You lied to me,” she told me as I got coffee. “You said that what I saw on the outside was pretty much what you were. But you’re completely different. If I had known what you were really like, I would never have come out here.”

And here it is, finally. The truth revealed in a moment of angry frustration that strips away the veneer of her feral animal heart. She never really loved him. She only loved his money stream and the security his station in life promised to an aging hag like herself. If this guy was any sort of man, he would have backhanded her across the face and threw her shit out the window. But instead he will go on blaming himself, blaming mortgage lenders, blaming the fates, and he will pretend his personal hell reaffirms the love he and his harridan wife share. This is what the walking dead do. They know not the exquisite pleasures of the living.

herbus maximus

******

 May 2009 BOTM Candidate #2 was also submitted by a boatload of readers but Alpinestar got ahead of the pack. It’s the short but sweet story of a wonderful beta boyfriend who chooses to stick by his whoring girlfriend (who is so ugly it’s a miracle he was able to get it up for her) and raise the cuckoo’s egg of another man. A man, it should be noted, who the whore banged on or very near the same day she banged our featured BOTM candidate. Some human refuse should just be removed from circulation.

Mia Washington decided to get some expert advice when she and her partner noticed that twins Justin and Jordan had different facial features.

Paternity tests then revealed what had happened – two eggs had been fertilised by two different sperm and there was a 99.99% chance the twins had different dads.

Mia later admitted she had had an affair and got pregnant by two different men at the same time.

She told TV channel Fox 4: “Out of all people in America and of all people in the world, it had to happen to me. I’m very shocked.”

How horny does a woman have to be to jump from one unprotected cock to another in the same day? How stupid?

(And I wonder how she will explain this to her two kids when they’re older. “Momma, why is Jordan my half-brother?” “Well, boy, Jordan got a different baby daddy than you.” “But we’re twins, momma! We was born at the same time.” “That’s right, boy, your daddy put his penis in me on the same day Jordan’s daddy put his penis in me.” “But why, momma?” “Shut yo face, boy, b’fo I smack it off!”)

And while it sounds rare, recent research indicates that one in 12 non-identical twins are so-called bi-paternal, with a rise in fertility treatment and changing sexual behaviour being blamed.

If true, this is a portent of sexual dystopia.

Mia’s partner James Harrison is father to one of the boys.

He told Fox 4 that he had forgiven his fiancee for having the affair and intended to raise both children as his own.

However, he admitted it had been tough discovering the truth.

“It’s a day by day thing. It’s going to take time to build the trust like we had,” he said.

Betas are quick to forgive. If you ever feel the impulse to forgive a cheating whore, you are probably acting out of fear that you can’t do any better. Forgiveness, like Jesus Christ’s other cheek, is the first refuge of the loser with no options.

This guy is in a bit of a bind. One of the kids is his, so emotionally it would be tough for him to walk away from both. And being that this is the “community” we’re talking about, a black man who decides to stay with his biological child and help raise him is a small miracle in itself. My advice to him would be to de facto dump the ugly whale girlfriend and start finding a new woman, while lavishing all his fatherly attention and gifts on his biological child. Ignore the other kid entirely. Put the moral onus on the whore to hunt down the other dad and browbeat him into supporting the consequence of his spermal contribution. I’d also get a lawyer and consider some kind of split custody arrangement. The last thing he wants to do is be forced by the state to send a cut of his pay in child support to the whore so she can buy cheesy poofs by the pallet and fall on more cock than a gay nymphomaniac whose farts whoosh.

Mia is pregnant AGAIN but this time she said there was “no question” that James was the dad.

Um, dude… don’t take her word for it. Jes sayin’.

The voting:

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April 2009 Beta Of The Month

Drumroll please. Presenting the reader submitted nominees for the April 2009 Beta of the Month contest…

April 2009 BOTM Candidate #1 was submitted by reader Ben. It’s our first video submission for BOTM. It needs no introduction. I dare you to watch this all the way through without retching. If you’re short on time, start watching around the 5:30 mark.

Feeling nauseated? Some of you may be so aghast that you doubt the authenticity of this magnificent specimen of beta. Surely this must be a satire of lovesick losers? A frat hazing joke? Sorry, I’m afraid it’s the real deal. From his comments to the video:

“Love Story” Genuine real life love story of one man’s journey through time as he gives his all for one chance at a dream. Entirely filmed, produced, and directed by the man you see and him alone over the course of nine months. […]

I believe the person I made this video for is living somewhere with her family and I truly hope they are all happy and doing well. I made this video to present on youtube because it was the only way I felt I could reach out to her to let her know how I still feel.

Everyone should fully respect her privacy and wishes because I don’t know how she views me now after all this time. We were together for two years and I don’t know why for certain she was gone. I sincerely only want her to be happy even if that means me being out of her life. She is an awesome person who deserves the very best and I just hope she is able to see this.

File under: Oneitis.

Yeah, buddy, listen… this cheesy cornball shit won’t work to do anything except strip you of your last shred of dignity. Your flexing biceps can’t save you now.

This guy is a great example of the sort of suckass whose supplicating weakness you don’t notice right away. He’s good-looking, well built, and smiling like an idiot. But those muscles are painted on. Underneath the surface lies the beating heart of a natural born beta. Which just goes to prove that the tell-tale mark of the beta isn’t how you look, but how you behave.

I guarantee his ex watched this video in horror, her vaj slowly sealing shut like King Tut’s tomb. After the pity wore off, she recaptured her feminine essence by letting her new guy take her anally. There would be a little rectal tear.

The female commenters are hilarious:

this is so sweet, i can’t wait until i meet the guy who will care so much for me as you care for loren.

It never ceases to amaze how women can lie to themselves so effortlessly. Are women that removed from the workings of their own desire that they can’t recognize their true natures? Any beta with thoughts of romance reading the above will get the wrong idea and the vicious cycle will continue — girls saying they want one thing, logical guys with neediness issues giving them what they want, girls getting annoyed and dumping logical, needy guys.

***

April 2009 BOTM Candidate #2 was submitted by reader Five. It’s the cringeworthy love story of the billionaire owner of the Red Sox who pours his heart out for a nascent cougar who, in turn, plays him like a fiddle.

It reminds us a little of a Lifetime movie: Fabulously rich Red Sox owner falls head over heels for an attractive, much-younger woman who initially rebuffs her bigshot suitor but ultimately relents and begins planning a wedding.

“Initially rebuffs”. Yes, she played him good. I’m sure it was a great sacrifice for her to “ultimately relent”. A smart, aging broad with the wall rapidly approaching knows to pull every trick out of her playette’s handbook to land a Daddy Warbucks pot of gold. Especially when he’s a groveling beta. Rule #1: Delude the chump that her depreciating pussy is worth more than it is. There’s a billion dollar lotto to win, and a state-sanctioned half-billion (pity poor Mel Gibson, the fool) if she can get him to sign on the dotted line and leave him when she gets bored by his obsequious fawning.

Now, if I had a billion dollars, I would leverage that pile in conjunction with my game to pull a steady stream of hot stripper pussy until I’m lying cold in the grave. Vagina varietals, if you will. No wedding ring required. But this guy, this titan of industry, this captain of capitalism, what does he do? He pens sappy love poems to a has-been 6:

Dear Linda,
A man needs a muse. Well, he doesn’t really. He doesn’t need nearly as much as he generally thinks he does. A man is greedy. Greedy for what he doesn’t think he has and what he thinks he wants.
We probably wouldn’t have wandered far beyond the basic necessities without that pushing us. Progress is one of its most important byproducts.
So you will ask, “Why are you writing this?” Because a brief encounter-and-a-half with you gave a cool spin to this little blue planet from my vantage point.
We feted the Celtics tonight and the skies opened. The sun emerged and created a giant rainbow between the city and the park. We were transfixed.
You only saw it if you were in the right place. I was in the right place when I noticed you.
I barely know you. I don’t have any illusions about capturing your heart. But the world is brighter, better, lighter and warmer when a man imbues a woman he knows — even tabula rasa — with the attributes that I believe reside in you. It’s the small things that ultimately matter, the subtle things.
I am honest. I don’t play games. And I see no reason not to say that I’ve been smitten by you and you’ve done me a great service.
You’ve very innocently made my world brighter, better, lighter and warmer.
So thanks.
No response is necessary because a man doesn’t need nearly as much as he thinks he does.

Here’s a pic of the Billionaire Beta’s muse:

Yenta-rrific!

This was her e-mail response to his passionately putrid overture:

A man may not need as much as he thinks he does, but courage and honesty should be acknowledged. I am not so naive as to believe I actually possess the qualities you attribute to me. But thank you.

Like a Stradivarius. No doubt she was actually turned off by his betatude, but with that much money in play, it makes sense to feed his delusions and keep him chasing. Why are so many rich dudes so goddawful with women? Is it low testosterone? A belief that their cash buffers them from their worst instincts with women? A refusal to learn what makes women tick? Or is it that all that dough allows them the luxury of indulging their most cloyingly romantic beta impulses?

There’s a theme to this month’s BOTM contest: Superficially alpha guys betraying their beta souls.

The voting:

Addendum

I noticed in the reader submissions that some of the female readers don’t quite grasp the concept of “beta”. For example, here’s a submission from Bhetti:

A 42-year-old man who authorities say fathered 14 children with 13 different women in Genesee County and owes more than $530,000 in child support has been jailed for dodging payments.

Thomas Frazier was ordered jailed Thursday and could spend 90 days behind bars if he doesn’t pay $27,900, The Flint Journal reported. Court records say he hasn’t made payments in the child support cases in six years.

“I tried to find someone who would love me for me,” said Frazier, who also described himself as a victim of a poor upbringing. Frazier said he thinks he fathered only three of the children – two daughters and a son.

Helpful hint: A guy who fathers 14 kids with 13 different women is the dictionary definition of an alpha. I understand you women may not see it that way, but the only judge that matters in this high stakes game of American Alpha is the pussy. Betas don’t father bastards. Betas father other men’s bastards.

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February And March 2009 Beta Of The Month Winners

The crack team at Chez Pussyhound fell asleep on the job and neglected to do followup posts announcing the BIG BETA WIENERS for the February and March 2009 BOTM contests.

What best exemplifies the Beta of the Month?

• An unerring devotion to the betrayal of his masculine essence.
• A complete lack of shame.
• A willingness to debase himself for the skankiest of pussies.
• White Knight Syndrome.
• Sensitive Man Syndrome.
• A lack of self-awareness.
• Desperation and obsession.
• Self-abnegation for little in return.
• Inability to view women as anything other than flawless paragons of virtue and righteousness.
• Unremitting chivalry.
• Anhedonic.
• Considers himself a feminist.
• Sits cross-legged.
• Afraid of own erection.

February’s race was a runaway. The February 2009 BOTM Winner (submitted by reader 11minutes) and now one of the finalists for the Grande Finale 2009 Beta of the Year contest was the man who read about his wife’s cheating in her diary and responded in the only way a flouncy mangirl would respond — by consoling his wife while she laid flowers on her ex-lover’s grave. This repulsive specimen of supreme betaness beat out the guy who pays for his wife’s sex vacations. What a surfeit of beta! The world is full of these guys, and I shall feast on their misery.

It shouldn’t have to be said, but if you have anything left swishing around in your nutsack the only appropriate response to catching your wife cheating is throwing her and her shit out the window, in that order. Then moving out of the country to evade divorce theft and hiding your assets in overseas accounts. Finish the day up with a trip to the Amsterdam clubs with your buddies.

******

March’s BOTM head-to-head featured a cast of infamous characters and also had a clear winner. The March 2009 BOTM Winner (submitted by reader stacy) and now a finalist for the 2009 BOTY is the ex-husband who invited his slobby ex-wife and her new day laborer husband to live in his home, where he was treated nightly to their rutting noises and humiliated in front of his children.

Recap:
He married a hog.
Hog divorced him because he’s too beta even for a fat cow like her.
Hog marries Mexican day laborer with green card issues.
He invites hog and hogfucker to live under his roof.
Hog FEELS PITY for him because he’s single.
His children bear witness to his daily humilation.
He’s OK with all this.

This is the stuff of nightmares. In visual form, his psychological torture would look like this:

The March 2009 winner defeated the milquetoast fiancee of Jessica Valenti, editor of the “Chicks with Dick Clits” website devoted to the pursuit and exultation of pretty lies. Now that the March 2009 BOTM has been announced and Jessica’s progressive feminist boyfriend escaped the ignominious honor of Beta of the Month, she can breathe a sigh of relief. Congratulations, Jessica, your fiancee is not quite as beta as a guy who has to listen to his ex-wife get pounded by one of the landscaping crew in his own home.

Jessica wrote an article for the Guardian which linked to my blog and which was obviously inspired by the sadistic glee of my BOTM post where I unleashed the soulripping hooked chains of the Cenobite hordes upon the stupidity of her beliefs and the squalor of her fiancee’s mincing betatude. I believe I have hurt her, though she will never admit it, of course. She wrote: “… a “ball-cutting cybersuccubus”, as I was, in fact, described [by moi]. Think I can get that on a business card?”

Yes, my cat toy, you can get that on a business card. And since I am a monster id of generous cruelty, here is a suggestion for Andrew’s business card:

“Cuckold In Training”.

Best.

PS: Keep your BOTY contest submissions rolling in, folks.

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March 2009 Beta Of The Month

Here are the reader submitted nominees for the March 2009 Beta of the Month face-off.

March 2009 BOTM Candidate #1 was submitted by commenter Paul L. It’s a case study of a wretchedly nauseating beta marrying the ballcutting cybersuccubus who rides the rancid menstrual flow at the feministing coven.

I mean, just take a look at this guy and you already know what’s coming.

This is really going to be painful for me to write. The things I do for you people. Here is the full measure of his betatude as told in the words of his fiance.

As many of you already know, I’m getting hitched. Deciding to get married brought up a lot of issues for me – politically and personally. Folks had a bunch of questions in comments, so I thought I would use these as a jumping off point to talk about issues of feminism, marriage, and – the current bane of my existence – weddings.

Hara says, “I hope that if you are considering changing your name it is one you both create for the two of you to change to (like a combo, but shorter) otherwise, I suggest not making your name change to his last name.”

As marriage is a well known raw deal for men, any man who acquiesces to his wife keeping her maiden name is only garnishing his testicles he’s already placed on a plate for her, like John the Beta’s head. At the very least, a man should demand his wife take his name in honor of the tremendous sacrifice he’s making by chaining himself to marriage and all the state-sponsored anti-male tyranny that entails.

I’m keeping my last name. I think hyphenation is nice – and that’s probably the route we’ll go with kids – but I like my last name. A bunch. I’ve even considered adding in my mother’s last name as well, as a little “fuck you” to the patriarchy, but I think Jessica Michelucci Valenti is too much of a mouthful, even for one with as big a mouth as me.

What this confused broad doesn’t seem to grasp is that her maiden name is her father’s surname. So instead of passing on her husband’s surname, she passes on her father’s surname. The male lineage continues, just not her husband’s. Hyphenation is a direct “fuck you” to a man’s masculinity, as it not only denies the smallest acknowledgement of his dignity but rubs his face in his dishonor by elevating his father-in-law’s manhood over his own.

Any man worth his stones reading this, take my advice. If your fiance tells you she’s keeping her last name in marriage, tell her “No, you’re taking mine. End of discussion.” If she refuses your demand, dump her forthwith. I’ve just saved you a miserable fucking marriage to a shrike and a painful divorce settlement after you’ve caught her boffing the slam poetry dude whose show you took her to in celebration of women’s herstory month.

On the issue of same sex marriage, frye886 says, “It seems to me a more powerful action by many couples would be to refuse to get married and publicly state the reasons why not.”

If you’re basing your decision to get married on the legal status of gay marriage, you’re asking to be flayed alive by soul reapers such as myself.

Andrew and I discussed not getting married until everyone could, and we think that’s an understandable choice.

“Andrew and I discussed” means “Andrew listened while I told him what we were doing”.

Instead, we’re trying use our impending marriage as a pro-active way to talk about same sex marriage among our friends and family, and being mindful of the inequity in every step our process. (For example, in our engagement announcement we asked anyone considering getting us a gift to instead donate to an organization fighting for same sex marriage rights; we’re planning on saying something about it as part of our ceremony; and we’ve taken the advice of several commenters and will have cards indicating we’ve made a donation to said orgs instead of favors.)

With all this insufferable moral preening, you’d think gays were being lined up against the wall and shot. How much you wanna bet this Jessica nutcase is a closet lesbo?

Several of you also got into it about dresses – whether the traditional white dress actually did signify “purity,” etc. I’m kind of ambivalent about it, but I ended up getting a not-quite white dress (don’t want to give too much away in case the boy is reading!) that I bought from a place where all the money goes to charity.

“Don’t want to give too much away in case the boy is reading!” It’s funny how even the most strident feminists can’t help but swoon like little princesses for the traditional trappings of the wedding ceremony. Yeah, white is definitely not her color. She’s likely to be as pure as a refurbished vibrator. I wonder what color she got? Rainbow?

So that’s where I’m at so far. I’m sure things will continue to come up and that I’ll continue to try and find ways to subvert them or add a little dash of feminism.

Any guy who agrees to marry this wo-man is asking for a world of emasculation. Some guys will do anything for the pussy, so their’s is an act with at least some reasoning behind it. But our intrepid beta is plank-walking to his figurative castration with his eyes wide open. He *celebrates* it. Those limpid beta eyes say it all. As does his “progressive” resume. His life hereafter will be full of dashes of feminism and subversion of his manliness. Look at this chick’s man-jaw:

I think we’ve identified the boss monster. She is not LTR material, let alone marriage material. She is same night lay material and rocket launcher material.

“Quite an experience to live in fear, isn’t it? That’s what it is to be a slave.”

In the meantime, does anyone have any feminist wedding planning tips they’d like to share?

For him: punch your eardrums out.
For her: try not to let the ringing of my words distract you as you’re walking down the aisle.

ps: She will cheat on him within five years of exchange of wedding vows. And he will condone it and blame himself.

***

March 2009 BOTM Candidate #2 was submitted by commenter stacy. It’s the heartwarming Lifetime channel story of a generous man who lets his ex-wife and her new boy toy husband move into his house.

Struggling to make ends meet, trying to dig themselves out of debt, Nicole Thompson-Arce and her husband have moved in with her ex-husband.

Together, the unlikely threesome of Omaha, Nebraska, is raising two young daughters from the first marriage.

When I started the BOTY project, I was skeptical that there were enough betas of such vomitously unique circumstances to fill a year’s worth of submissions. My skepticism was unfounded. Just when you think you’ve heard it all, some guy steps up to the plate and knocks his testicles out of the park.

When she and Craig Thompson, 42, were going through a divorce in 2005, this was not a deal either of them could have imagined striking. It was a messy divorce, the kind involving a custody dispute. But once they ironed out that battle, agreeing to joint custody, Thompson-Arce said they were able to move on and forward.

Moving on and forward means never seeing the bitch again, not helping her and her new husband move into your home and fuck under your roof. I think half the reason so many women initiate divorce and revel in sticking it to their ex-husbands good and hard is because these beta chumps LET THEM DO IT and come crawling back BEGGING FOR MORE.

By the time she married Mathew Arce last July, she said she and her ex were friends. In fact, they were so close that his mother — meaning Thompson-Arce’s ex-mother-in-law — was in (not just at) the second wedding ceremony.

Is a man a loser when he cannot even comprehend his own dishonor?

“I knew they were having money problems, so I just asked them to move in,” he said. “I figured I’d get to see my girls, my daughters, more often. And Nicole said yes right away.”

Some men want their kids in their lives, severely cramping their nightlife and game and sucking all the fun out of life. I can’t understand why, but there it is. The child custody laws are so inimical to the fathers’ interests that arrangements like the one in this hellish story seem reasonable to fathers who have no other recourse.

Thompson [the ex-husband] and Arce [the new husband], who are 20 years apart — “I had to get the whole spectrum going there,” Thompson-Arce [the ex-wife] joked — have become the best of friends, and share a similar sense of humor. They have tackled home improvement projects, run around together on days they both have off and often hang out at the kitchen table building plastic models.

Do they swap guy tips on how to flick the bean hiding in the folds of her fat droopy vulva? The ex-wife is so fat and ugly maybe this guy just doesn’t give a shit that she’s getting boned two doors down the hallway in his own home. Not that this mitigates the disrespect issue, but it goes a way to explaining his seeming indifference. You be the judge:

The transition has been smooth and great for the kids, Thompson-Arce said. And for their benefit, irrespective of finances, she thinks it’s a living situation they’ll stick with for at least five to 10 years.

10 years. Notice she’s calling the shots here.

It has, however, taken a little time for the little ones to get the story straight.

Seven-year-old Victoria went back to school after winter break — and after the whole team had blended under one roof — and started telling people this: ” ‘My mommy has two husbands,'” Thompson-Arce remembered. “I was like, ‘No, honey, don’t tell them that!'”

This is all sorts of fucked up. Hey, on the upside, once the two daughters reach bangability age they’ll be so full of neuroses and daddy issues that a teen guy looking to score could just fall into their pussies.

“When they do have a romantic evening, I don’t hear them, so we’re not going there,” Thompson quipped. “There’s a bathroom between our two bedrooms.”

Beta, shoot thyself.
Women love these kinds of stories because they get to live vicariously through the fantasy of banging the guy they really desire while the good provider chump practically neuters himself with his amiable acquiescence.

I thought there was a possibility that the beta ex-husband was redeeming himself by dating around. Tomcatting with his newfound freedom would make him slightly less beta. But no…

The ex-husband hasn’t dated since the divorce. He said it’s because he’s been focused on work and taking care of the kids. Thompson-Arce, however, said that she and her husband are forever trying to get Thompson on the dating scene and want him to meet someone special.

Special, and understanding, she would most definitely need to be.

“He’d have to find a very open-minded woman because we don’t plan on going anywhere anytime soon,” Thompson-Arce said.

He’s a loveless loser.

It’s one thing to marry a warpig and get shafted by her in divorce court.
It’s another thing to invite her and her new husband into your home so they can screw right under your nose.
It’s still another thing to let your kids witness your total and utter humilation and emasculation.
But it’s a whole new level of beta to sit passively by as your seacow ex-wife lays down the rules of engagement and tells you how it’s gonna be.

I hate both of these wrecks equally. MMmmm… delicious, life nourishing hate.

The voting:

Addendum

I thought about adding this story to the March 2009 BOTM voting, but a guy who lets his GF fuck him up the ass with a giant purple saguaro so she can fulfill a twisted fantasy is more of a freak than a beta. He at least is presumably fucking her in the usual way most of the time, so his journey to the beta side is not yet complete.

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February 2009 Beta Of The Month

The nominees for the February Beta of the Month in the 2009 Beta of the Year contest are in. Keep your submissions rolling in, folks.

February 2009 BOTM Candidate #1 was submitted by commenter 11minutes. A regular Joe gets cheated on, but what vaults this guy into the rarified stratosphere of Beta of the Month is what he did once the truth came out.

“I read about my wife’s affair in her diary“:

I don’t remember the exact day Colin (not his real name) became part of my life. A fleetingly glimpsed neighbour I’d sometimes nod to, I knew he was a long-distance truck driver and I think he knew who I was. When our paths crossed, he would seldom meet my gaze. I don’t even remember when I first heard his name. A familiar voice uttered it, though: my wife’s. It wasn’t by way of an introduction, although years later I did wonder how that might have gone. “Honey, you’ve seen that handsome man with the blond hair, broad shoulders and light tan who lives at number 18? His name’s Colin.” But no. Rather more mundanely, she referred to him matter-of-factly in conversation. “Colin took the remains of that old fence to the dump for me today, honey.” Or, “Oh, by the way, Colin mended the lawn mower. Then he mowed the lawn.”

As I’ve said before, women are inherently amoral. They are de facto nihilists. They are sociopaths of convenience. So when a wife is cheating on you, don’t expect her to tip her hand so flagrantly. A cheating whore is perfectly capable and willing of fooling even the most advanced male brain lie detector system. That very guy she’s boffing under your nose is the guy who “by the way, mended the lawn mower”.

Ice in the veins. That’s what happens to a woman’s blood when she falls out of love. You have been warned.

Instead, I started to read. The entries stretched back months, detailing their covert liaisons – romantic, practical, but mostly sexual. The descriptions ranged from the relatively tame (“Kissed and cuddled today, it was lovely”) to the kind of things you get in the racier passages of a Mills & Boon novel – nothing too graphic, but surprisingly comprehensive.

Women are amazingly detail-oriented when recounting sexual exploits. Almost clinical. See: Dirty little psychoslut who writes about her anal fissures in lovingly clinical prose. Men are the idealistic romantics. Women are the idealized romantics.

My jaw ached with panic and I felt the sudden flush of adrenaline.

You’d almost think he’d want to kill someone, or at least dump the bitch. But no, if he did that he wouldn’t be a BOTM nominee.

Of course, I confronted her. I wanted to yell at her, but my initial anger was quickly anaesthetised by shock. I felt numb, confused. With tears in her eyes, she said she hadn’t been happy for years and that Colin provided an escape. At that moment, I didn’t know what to say. It was four or five hours before we could sit down and talk.

“Sit down and talk”. This is what hopelessly needy betas always revert to when confronted with the dissolution of their relationships. They think the act of flapping their gums in endless loops of cloyingly empathetic therapy-speak will magically change a whore’s heart. Newsflash: It won’t and it never will as long as you remain the bitchboy beta you are. Your wife has just allowed another man’s giant throbbing cock to penetrate her labia and shoot his hot sticky load deep inside her womb while she screamed in pleasure and you want to SIT DOWN AND TALK?! You mewling pathetic street cur. You cowardly pissant nancyboy. You detachable penis.

Here is what he should have done:

1. Calmly held the diary up to his wife’s face and then placed it on the dresser in silence.
2. Threw her shit out the window.
3. Slapped her hard across the face.  (3b.  Fucked her till she bleeds.)
4. Kicked her out and excised the cancer from his life.

Number 3 alone gives the guy a better shot at hot sex than sitting down to talk. Put all four steps together and the whore will find herself completely re-enamored with him.

We discussed the usual options, including divorce, but decided to stay together for the sake of the children, make a fresh start.

For the sake of the children, you should humiliate your cockgobbling wife in front of them. I can’t think of a more valuable lesson to impart. If the divorce laws were fair, and this guy was the type who didn’t mind snuffing out his social life by raising kids, he would be able to take the kids away from the whore and leave her sobbing in a crumpled heap on the floor of her grimy studio apartment she rents with the money she makes at her new job waiting tables.

Next day, she told Colin it was over.

Ha! Chump. It may be over with Colin, but it isn’t over. You’d best put a tracking device on her.

This is where the story takes a turn from typical beta lament to event horizon beta black hole.

We didn’t see him for a couple of weeks after that – he’d been driving his lorry on the continent. But Colin never did return. The news that he had gone missing on a ship, presumed lost overboard, was broken to us by his next-door neighbour. My wife’s first reaction was stunned disbelief, as was mine. Then she turned away and covered her mouth, trying to stifle any sobs. Thoughts and emotions more tangled than ever, I tried to comfort her.

Amazing. So the interloper who banged his wife dies at sea, and instead of jumping up and down with joy and laughing in his wife’s face, our intrepid beta heroine reaches out to comfort her in her time of sorrow. The jilted husband just received a taste of delicious karmic justice that most won’t ever have the joy to experience, and he ruins the moment by going beta. Schmuck!

I feel a song coming on…

You got a whore wife and you want her back
But you ain’t got the stuff
She keeps cheatin’ on you night and day
Enough to shrink your nuts
Pick up some game, leave her in shame
It’s time you made a stand
For a fee, I’m happy to be
Your new wingman

Beta deeds, done dirt cheap
Beat deeds, done dirt cheap
Beta deeds, done dirt cheap
…
Tender hugs
Commiseration
Forgive and forget
Done dirt cheap
Gifts and baubles
Therapists
Shoulder to cry on!
Done dirt cheap.
Bwaaaahaaahaaaahaaaaaaaaaa

And now, the coup de beta:

Colin’s death was confirmed by the positive identification of a body washed up on the beach. Some weeks later, my wife asked if we could drive to the crematorium so she could lay some flowers and say her final farewells. It felt strange but, in the hope of her finding some kind of closure, I told myself it was the right thing to do.

Yes, this almighty beta drove his wife to her lover’s grave so she could lay flowers and “find closure”. Sweet merciless Satan, why do you bless me so with these tales of ho? If I can single-handedly alter the destructive course upon which Western civilization currently finds itself careening, it will be on the backs of losers like this. Thank you for your vomitous examples, betas, one and all.

If it was me, I would have driven the whore to the crematorium and then, right at the moment her eyes welled up with tears and she laid the flowers, I’d have whipped out my dick and pissed on his epitaph.

Speaking of epitaphs, what better epitaph to lay at the gravestone of the West than “finding closure”? Have more spineless, craven beta words ever been written?

Here lies America. She found closure.

I read stories like this one and I want the whole fucking edifice to burn to the ground. At this late stage in the game, there is no other way to clean out the liars, SWPL losers, SPLC traitors, tankgrrl nerds, betas, fuglies, dregs, deluded fantasists, bores, mediocrities, backstabbers, weasels, sycophants, sophists, degenerates, dullards, eunuchs, trolls, wishful thinkers, excuse mongers, whackjobs, equalist tards, dumbfucks, obsequious curs, attention whores, suckups, PC toadies, fembots, lapdogs, shitlickers, pity whores, phonyfucks, hypocrites, parasites, stool pigeons, sanctimonious multicultists, diversity sluts, and weak-willed assmunching ankle grabbing bitchboy pukes.

Bring the all-consuming flames.

So where does our betaboy’s story end?

Slowly we tried to put it behind us and his name was never mentioned again. A few years later we had another child and our marriage entered a new, happier phase. I vowed to be a more attentive husband and adjust my work-life balance. But I couldn’t forget the affair, especially how close it had happened to home.

I should have trusted my instinct: 12 years later, my wife ran off with my best friend.

And that kid went Haa Haaaw!

February 2009 BOTM Candidate #2 was submitted by commenter twiceaday. It’s the emotionally charged story of a man’s Herculean efforts to save his marriage to his loving, supportive wife. A woman of good character, I might add. He writes to an advice column called “Annie’s Mailbox”:

Dear Annie: I love my wife of 30 years, but I’ve had it. For 10 years, I had a great job in which I was well respected and well paid. Under pressure at home to bring in more money, I took a promising position at a startup company. Six months later, I was sacked. Since then, I’ve had to jump on any opportunity that came my way. I’ve had seven jobs in nine years and things have been financially tough. I have made some job mistakes, but still, we’re almost back to where we were nine years ago.

However, whenever any difficulty occurs, my wife rubs it in my face. I try to be a devoted husband. I am the prime breadwinner and still do more than half the cooking, cleaning and chores. Until recently, I was active in church and local community organizations. We have three wonderful children who have excelled academically.

So far, so beta. Man loses job, wife routinely questions his manhood, man attempts reconciliation by shouldering more domestic chores. Nothing to see here, move along.

I rarely buy anything for myself, yet if I spend any money at all, I get a screaming apoplectic display from my wife. She is taking back my birthday gifts because “we need the money.” Meanwhile, we seem to have the funds for her to travel (without me) and refresh her wardrobe each season.

Um, yeah. Let me see if I have this straight. Screaming, bitchy harpy won’t let husband buy consumer goods for himself *with his own fucking money*, he acquiesces to her demands, and she uses his money to…

travel around the world ALONE sucking and fucking god knows how much exotic swarthy cock and reward herself with new clothes every three months.

Does it get any beta than this? Why yes, yes it does.

Many of these arguments occur when my wife has been drinking. She sometimes hits me and says things that aren’t easily forgotten. We don’t have much of a romantic life, either. It’s difficult to be a good lover after being scolded.

David Alexander laughs at you.
By the way, this is a good illustration of why hitting a man won’t have the same effect as hitting a woman for turning on the ol’ heart light. Hit a woman, she drenches her panties. Hit a man, he gets no nookie and his testicles ascend.

I don’t believe in divorce, but if I had any way to leave the marriage and make sure she’s financially fixed, I would. I suspect I am clinically depressed and fear I might lose control one of these days. What do I do?

My advice:

1. Your beliefs suck. Change them.
2. She’s fucking a guy named Eduardo. Count on it.
3. Eduardo is using your hard-earned money to buy your wife lingerie. For him to jizz on.
4. Forget about making sure she’s “financially fixed”. Once you’ve started visualizing Eduardo’s cock pumping your wife’s squeezebox in and out and in and out, you should have no qualms making sure she’s “financially fucked”.
5. You’re depressed because you’re a loser. Stop being a loser.
6. You’ve already lost control. Face it.
7. Pick up any rudimentary material on game, learn it, go out of the house, pick up a chick, birng her home, and fuck her senseless in your marital bed.
8. Leave your whore harpy wife AND DON”T EVER LOOK BACK.

For a good laugh, here is the advice the man-hating bitch at “Annie’s Mailbox” gave him:

Dear No Name: You are trapped with an abusive wife and recognize how close you are to reacting violently. Talk to a lawyer about a legal separation, which will enable you to provide financially for your wife while living apart.

See that rhetorical sleight of hand? Classic 1st, 2nd, 3rd and 4th wave feminist misdirection. He’s got a bitch for a wife but everyone should be worried that he will react violently. Remember this ironclad first order rule of feminism:

Always blame the man. No matter what has happened or has yet to happen.

And WTF is with her advice to him to find a legal separation arrangement that will ensure he can continue providing financially for the shrike? She should be telling him to stop coddling the bitch and dump her for a better woman. Asking too much, I know.

Then get some counseling, with or without her, and contact Al-Anon (al-anon.alateen.org) at 1-888-4-AL-ANON (1-888-425-2666).

I’ve got your counseling right here, cunt.

The voting begins:

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January 2009 BOTM Winner

The Beta of the Month award is given to those “men” who best exemplify the loser qualities and weak character of the beta male. Loathed and unloved by women, their suffering, like their sexual release, is often self-administered.

It was a tight race, but in the end the sniveling beta who supported and continued to obsess over his ugly hag wife after she tried to have him killed edged out the chump beta who spent his best years doggedly pursuing a fat slut who cried on his shoulder about all the guys she was banging only to be rewarded by him with a garish princess wedding. The January 2009 BOTM Winner and finalist for the 2009 Beta Of The Year is Mr. Kenealy, AKA Mr. “Put a hit on me but please don’t say you’ll leave me”. Let’s take another look at this ball-less wonder:

Mr Kenealy, a 51-year-old catering worker, did not comment as he left the court today, but he said recently that he would remain faithful to his wife. “I still love Zoe dearly. She’s the love of my life and I want to be with her for ever.” [editor’s note: foreva eva?]

He told the Sunday Mirror: “When Zoe was arrested I was heartbroken, but I never stopped loving her. When I exchanged wedding vows with her I meant every word, for richer for poorer, till death do us part [editor’s note: i was never a fan of that clause], but little did I know those words would come back to haunt me and land the love of my life in jail.’

And he said that they became closer while she was on bail.

He added: ‘She said she couldn’t understand how I could love her after what she’d done. I told her I wouldn’t give up on her, and in those months waiting for the police action we became closer than we had been for years.

“Ironically, it was like we were back to normal – we were soul-mates again.”

Pathetic. Who let the dork out? If you ever doubt the capacity of human beings for self-delusion, look no farther than this guy. (See also: Cougars. Suicide bombers.) He was so abjectly beta that it disgusted his wife to the point where simply leaving him would not provide her with the soul nourishing satisfaction that killing him would provide her. Remember, women don’t just ignore betas; strip away the social niceties and you’ll see they despise them.

The saddest part of this tragifarce is how easy it would have been for this guy to turn it around. All he had to say to his hater hagwife was “You dumb crazy bitch. Fuck off.” and her pussy would have tingled in spite of herself. Six simple words. Let them roll around the mouth and launch off the tongue in slo-mo: YOU DUMB CRAZY BITCH. FUCK OFF. Six words, and his life would be utterly changed for the better.

Six

words.

But that would have required some balls.

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