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Archive for the ‘Beta’ Category

Nick brings up an important topic:

It’s Krauser’s business, of course he’s going to say that. Most guys would never cold approach a girl on the street to even know if she was a “yes”. Cold approaching is game, knowing how to escalate a “yes” is game, “converting maybes to yeses” is game, but it’s not where it starts, it’s moving the goalposts for PUAs to distinguish themselves in an increasingly saturated market. Nothing against Krauser, just ran into him last week, but approach anxiety is hands down the biggest issue all guys face. Getting over AA and flipping stones to find a “yes” girl is game, even if PUAs consider it insufficiently difficult to merit their notice.

In my opinion, approach anxiety is one of the top three hurdles beta males face on the journey to romantic fulfillment. The other two are the urge to appease women and the avoidance of escalating sexual tension.

Basically, the three SELF-COCKBLOCKING ISSUES bedeviling beta men are all downstream of one character trait they share: fear of failure. Cowardice, if you want to be mean-spirited about it. Reflectiveness, if you want to be nice.

The Chateau has covered these issues, in detail.

How to overcome approach anxiety. (among other suggestions in similar archived posts)

How to overcome the urge to appease women. (among similar posts)

How to escalate. (see also)

If women can be sorted into three categories

-yeses

-nos

-maybes

then game is about

-securing the yeses

-screening or cold converting the nos

-leading the maybes

Contra Krauser (or whatever his detractors claim he’s said), Game is part of nailing down the “yeses”. A lot of men blow it with “yes” women — how many dates have you been on that didn’t end with sex? — and could use the aid of game to stop doing those things that cause “yes” women to turn into “no” women.

I’ve written this before, but it bears repeating: Game is as much the discarding of unsexy beta habits as it is the accumulating of sexy alpha habits.

Related: The three beta male mortal sins.

Also related: You can calm your nerves before hitting on women. This is known as Inner Game.

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None of the ugly truths discussed at CH are really off-topic. New research uses brain scans to estimate IQ. Mark your calendars. May 15, 2017 is the day Leftoid Equalism died.

Also not really off-topic: The Audacity of Yuge hypothesizes that the sexbot revolution could be a boon for America’s native stock fertility, rather than the civilization destroying sexual market shake-up I have foreseen.

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If you come at the Queen, you best not miss.

Details.

A private friendzoning is a punch to the nuts, but a public friendzoning….well that’s just a drawing and quartering of a man’s soul. Unnecessary cruelty.

A day-spa visit to the Chateau imbibing the lessons herein could’ve saved this man such a public humiliation. Not to mention spared him the time and energy he’s obviously wasted chasing a phantom pussy.

Remember the patented CH Jumbotron Test?

Every text or email or recordable instance of conversation [or attempted lip-kiss] you have with a girl must follow this simple rule:

If it were given a public airing, let’s say on a blog or a sports stadium jumbotron, you should feel comfortable with what you have written [or executed] for the world to see.  You should not feel an urge to wince, because it will be clear to everyone reading [or watching] it how alpha you are.  If the thought of someone other than you and your girl reading [or watching] your permanently archived romantic exchanges makes you cringe with embarrassment, then you are doing something wrong that will eventually lead to your girl dumping you [or publicly thwarting your romantic yearning].

This fledgling womanizer at the Rockets game failed the Jumbotron Test in the most cringeworthy way imaginable.

A word of advice to the men assembled: When the kiss cam swings your way, jerk your ice cream cone away from the girl you’re with. That’s far more likely to win over a woman’s lust than taking advantage of the moment like a weaselly beta male to steal a kiss that you can’t be sure will be reciprocated (many such cases).

Don’t try to kiss a girl in the public eye, unless you know she’ll return the ardor. The alpha male first kisses a woman’s id before aiming for her lips. The beta male gets it backwards: estranged from a woman’s id, he tries to access it by sneaking in an opportunistic kiss on her lips. Naturally, she turns the cheek to him for assuming her heart would follow his kiss, and secretly relishes the cruelty she inflicted on her hapless blue balled orbiter.

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Maricon’s literal old lady is a leading indicator that he’s a beta male (or beta gay) puppet of Globohomo, Inc. I would say that 64 year old Brigitte hit the Wall, but that’s superfluous; she experienced terminal velocity impact 25 years ago. The consummate insider Emmanuel Maricon has been riding a beat up mule since the day they met, when he was 15 and she was 39 (that’s 24 years of banging out dusty grandma muff…I can’t think of a worse exile from indulging normal male desire).

If Maricon wins the French Presidency, as now seems likely, France will have sealed its doom. You don’t shackle your nation’s fate to a squirrelly, low T, globalist lickspittle during times of crisis and expect anything good to come of it.

On the topic of wives as leading indicators of their husbands’ betatude or alphaness:

The Washington Post-Op tuts tuts about the Trump-Melania age difference (while lauding the Maricons’ age difference) because Bezos’s personal blog is staffed by mincing beta phagggots, bitter bitches, and hateful frozenites. Nothing bugs the Betacunt Establishment more than an alpha male exercising his sexual entitlement and availing himself of the hot younger women who are his natural, adoring constituency.

And of course nothing delights these same sexual market losers like a malleable betaboy-slash-closet case globohomoist taking up with a fat, ugly, or old woman and providing a sliver of hope for lonely feminists.

FYI, Maricon’s wife is fair game. Any ruling class cipher who wants to flood the West with indigents and orcs has fully earned the gloved shiv treatment.

FYI, part deux: 4channers sleuthed up information revealing that Maricon lied about tax evasion.

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Here’s a simple social experiment necessitating few input variables other than a public venue and a street hustler to determine if you, or other men you can observe, exude alphaness or betatude.

Those carnival barkers working for non-profits like Greenpeaceout or Abortion, Yay! are useful proxies of a man’s SMV. Try this: the next time you pass by one or more of these millennial hippies holding clipboards and pamphlets near subway entrances, bus stops, or along busy sidewalks, take note of their reaction to you.

Do they accost you to pitch their dreck? You exude betatude.

Do they let you walk by unbothered? You exude alphaness.

Pretty cut and dry, if I must say. And if the NGO urchins begging for donations let you pass unmolested with a look of apprehension and even fear in their eyes, your alphaness may be off the charts. If, on the other hand, they rush right into your face and press their case for an uncomfortably long time as you stutter and stammer to get away, your betatude is bad enough to require a PUA’s intervention.

In short, look like a badboy who doesn’t suffer bullshit gladly, and you are likely an alpha who enjoys plenty of female attention. Look like a niceguy who takes shit from everyone, and you are likely a beta balls-deep in the GoFap Zone.

If you want to gauge your progress from invisible beta herb to irresistible alpha chad, keep track of the reactions you get from volunteer streetside beggars. You want to unlock the achievement level in which all those shitlib cause du jour curs are retreating from your arrival like the fucking Red Sea parting before Moses.

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Prof. Woland writes,

I was once approached by a SPLC fundraiser while getting out of my car at whole foods (where else?). He asked me if I knew who they were and tried to rope me into some guilt trip social justice tripe. I stopped and thought for a second then answered back that they were an anti-white organization. His face contorted like he had stuck his finger in an electrical socket. He was shocked. When I came out of the store 5 minutes later there was not a trace of him.

Beautiful. People think that these scumsucking anti-White leftoid organizations like the $PLC are so fully converged with the Weltanshauung that they are nigh impregnable to attack from the righteous, but the reality is that they are powerful because they’ve never experienced REAL PUSHBACK. The anti-White Left has been so protected and coddled by the media hate machine that they have no idea there are people out there who KNOW THE SCORE about them. So when they get hit with an accusation of anti-White bigotry, they fold like cheap lawn chairs. Because they know it’s true.

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You are about to enter another delusion, a delusion not only of religion and guilt but of race. A journey into a wacky cult of deracination. Next stop, the Christcuck Zone!

Please take a seat, you’ll find a vomit bag in the pocket in front of you. Trust us, you’ll need it. You won’t be able to un-see the contents of this video. It will haunt you for the rest of your life, like an evil clown nightmare. But your participation is necessary, to BEAR WITNESS to the abject degeneration of White Christianity.

Notice something besides the overarching virtue whoring evident in this Semen on the Mount? Our tawdry televangelist never asked for the black guy’s name. Not once, in the whole time our divine dindu was up there on stage being used as a prop to fluff Preacher Pussyhat’s sanctimonious ego. He said, “I need a young black man”. Not, “What’s your name?” Not even, “How are you today?” Just, “I need a young black man.”

Really, that says it all about Christcuckery. These fawning phaggots don’t actually give a shit about blacks. They merely want to use them as quickly discarded tokens to morally preen before their audience of equally empty-headed sanctimony signalers who for some godforsaken reason nurse a weird shame about living a decent life in their 98% White earthly utopias.

“I need a young black man”

….to make me feel good about myself
….to manufacture a glowing self-perception of my GoodWhiteness
….to guilt-trip other Whites into coughing up bennies for the MegaChurch coffers
….to masturbate furiously while watching my wife and her buck fucker
….to alleviate the searing humiliation of raising my wife’s son
….to pick my cult followers clean
….to sit still on stage for ten minutes to prove all those Very Bad, No Good, Awful BadThinking BadWhites wrong about race differences

The charade gets even more ridiculous. Pastor PutItInMyAss tells Saint Souvenir that he is valuable and “society hasn’t told you that”. Color me shocked that a self-abasing White cuck uses the same vapid platitudes as dumbfuck feminists.

8:53 — “We bros!”

Hilariously nauseating. If “I NEED A YOUNG BLACK MAN” is the Christcuck petition, “WE BROS!” is the Christcuck atonement. Redemption is achieved by adopting a few Africans until your biological kids need twenty years of therapy.

If this is the future of White America, they deserve their overrun by barbarian hordes. Nothing worth saving here, move along.

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A mixed group enters a room. As they walk through the door, the lead man spins around on his heels anxiously, ostensibly to check that the rest of his friends aren’t far behind. He clumsily rights himself forward-facing after he’s quickly scanned and accounted for everyone, and then makes half-step stuttering retreats backwards until he’s aligned at the group’s side, rather than at their front.

This subconscious body language is a classic tell that the man displaying it is, in his soul, a subordinate beta male. The “spin-check-relief-merge into middle of pack” dance of discomfort reveals the beta male’s aversion to leading his group, even leading by accident of spontaneous entryway coordination. The beta male is constitutionally uncomfortable with leadership, real or symbolic. He hates the idea of being at the front, clearing the way for his team to follow behind him, taking responsibility for their destination. He hates it so much that a tiny, temporary, positional cue that would cast him as the de facto leader fills him with unease, and he looks for ways to fall back into pack obscurity.

No man respects this maneuver, and no woman is aroused by it. They can’t verbalize their disgust, but they’ll feel it in their bone zones. So the alpha male Game lesson for today is this: don’t spin-check when your group falls behind you. Embrace the leadership role, however fleeting, and use it to demonstrate to any lovely minxes who might be watching that you’re a ZFG man with a plan, no time to flim flam, and the rest of them can board your jerkboy tram or scram.

Every cutie adores a self-possessed man who doesn’t act like any second his squad might bolt on him. The alpha male never worries about that; instead, his squad worries their alpha male may bolt on them. And that makes all the difference.

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tomjones comments,

A mixed group enters a room. As they walk through the door, the lead man looks behind him, picks the hottest chick, takes her the men’s bathroom, offers her a line of coke, she snorts it and he tears the pussy up.

The alpha male.

Visualization is next to penetration.

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