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Archive for the ‘Beta’ Category

Kindred stone cold truth tellers occasionally like to rib your humble galactic overlord by pointing out that social survey data shows that beta males have more kids than alpha males as the latter are commonly recognized, and that this means betas aren’t really betas. I respond, with amused mastery, that having kids is no measure of a man’s alphaness, especially not in this day and age of brat-thwarting contraception.

But there’s more contradicting the speciousness of this “kids = alpha male” line of thought than just the expectation-busting effect of contraception. To give the readers a clue into why it’s so wrong-headed to assume fatherhood is a default alpha state, read this story.

The guy has two (putative) sons by his parrot-faced wife, yet she does no housework, doesn’t cook, and only has sex with him on his birthday, and then not even every birthday. A bit of an extreme example of a neglectful, sex-withholding wife, but the extremes illuminate what it’s like for the mediocre masses of married men who suffer similar torments, albeit less spectacularly, at the hands of their ingrate wives who prefer to diddle to vampire porn.

So, yeah, you can snag yourself a fading beauty eager to accomplish the goal of popping out some rugrats with a man she can feel certain will do as he’s told, but don’t for a second think that “””achievement””” makes you an alpha male. The alpha male may or may not get married, may or may not have kids, but rest assured he’s not begging like a dog for pellets of pussy chow or listlessly shuffling around the house in an apron holding a dust buster.

Oh no, just the opposite; the wife of an alpha male is throwing herself at him because she can’t get enough of his undomesticated dongle.

In related beta male news, a new study found that upwards of 70% of couples are not with their true loves and are just “making do”. So sad. Game can help men find and keep their true love instead of settling for any girl who will take them. Game is pro-love. Game will get you closer to God.

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Here’s a theory which I don’t think has been expressed elsewhere, because it seems on the surface to challenge long-held conventional wisdom among the pro-truth, anti-feminist crowd that feminism was the result of an unruly alliance between alpha males seeking to enlarge their pool of attractive, single women and ugly omega females seeking separate status whoring avenues where they wouldn’t have to compete with married mothers on their turf.

Most avowed feminists and feminist leaders are dog ugly, so that part of the alliance rings true. But what if it was beta males, rather than alpha males, who were the other prime movers of Boomer feminism? (Boomer feminism was the beginning of the really warped variety of feminism that supplanted suffrage and Prohibition.) Did beta males enjoin the feminist sabotage of civilization because they thought it would cramp the style of alpha males? The betas probably didn’t grasp the long-term consequences of their project, but crippling their competition was the short-term goal they had in mind when they allied with the femfreaks. They were probably thinking (beneath the layers of socially presentable equalese), “Aha, elevating women to positions of power will help kick out those entrenched alpha males and level the male playing field. More poosy for us!”

Poor pathetic beta male feminists. Little did they realize that helping women become economically self-sufficient and freed from the “slavery” of marriage allowed them to ignore betas for the sexy alphas promising nothing but a good time. The one bit of leverage beta males bring to the sexual market table — their emotional and financial provisions — they trashed in a fit of spite against the jocks they hated in high school.

That’s my theory. I think it makes sense in light of the whiny resentment modern “male feminists” like John Scalzi reveal toward incorrigible charmers who defy the logic of gender politics and not only suffer no consequences for their impudence, but profit from it.

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Many of us have seen examples of this — the silent suffering of the married castrati — in our social circles. Via reader Dan.

No doubt the husband happily acquiesced to this fun game with his wife, only dimly aware of its dark intimations of his sacklessness. But this is what happens in most marriages — a slow snuffing out of the husband’s penile prerogative to his wife’s enveloping vaginal jurisdiction over everything that truly matters to him. When women achieve their nuptial dreams and all incentives to please are stripped from their lives, supine beta provider hubbies are reduced to begging for pussy scraps. No self-abnegation is too low, nor any promise of indentured servitude too exorbitant, for the beta hubby caught in the marital trap of his own making.

And yet, time and again we have all seen and known of married men who assume the rump-raised position with an eagerness that defies good sense. Why do so many men willfully, even joyfully, put their balls in the vice? Why do they make a spectacle of their emasculation for the hoots and hollers of the entertained public? Why do they revel in their genital dispossession, like some psychologically cleaved Stockholm Syndrome sufferer?

Certainly, some of these men are very high value alpha males for whom a little self-deprecation helps to right the marital ship of love. Men with options beyond the wife to whom they’re shackled find much benefit to assuaging their wive’s anxieties. Poking fun at themselves helps in this regard to keep their days free of drama and jealous blow-ups.

But the majority of the married castrati are not in their sorry roles by choice. They are there by necessity. They beg because the nourishment of life — a woman’s sex — is not freely given them. They then try to spin their woeful conditions into a dignified valence with pretensions of joint accommodation.

Worse, is the father who thinks his obeisance to mommy leaves his children with some sort of righteous life lesson, as if the self-demoralization with a smile teaches his sons how better to navigate future romantic shoals or his daughters how to act when the time comes like a loving, supportive wife. No, the lesson imparted will be quite the opposite, and the family lineage will disintegrate in time as a consequence.

There are men who can handle the peculiar demands of marriage without sacrificing their balls to the cutter, but those men seem by the year to number fewer still. The tragedy is that it doesn’t have to be this way for the silent castrati. A little knowledge of game, or even an elementary grasp of female sexual psychology, and the marital script can be quite easily flipped, even in the face of a malevolent divorce court juggernaut that loves giving the screws to hapless beta males.

A little game, and gone will be the days of cleaning up baby’s puke for a week to “earn” a blowjob from a bitch who’d be perfectly happy never giving her husband another hummer for the rest of his life. Gone, to be replaced by happy and heady days of wonder, when the wife not only stops making her sex a quid pro quo, but begs to please her husband as the ancient religious texts the world over so command of her.

First things first. Tear down that sticker chart.

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Her arms, those perfectly rounded seat belts
which safely hold you on a ride in her plus-mobile
are oh so beautiful
And once they are back in resting position
hanging beside her body
then forming a sort of secondary cleavages
as if you did not already have enough of
her naturally large cleavage.

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The Cuckold Fetish Epidemic

Have testosterone levels fallen so far, so fast, that men are now down with doing the equivalent of sitting in a corner and watching their wives rut with better men? Does the fapping feel better when lubed with their salty cuckold tears?

askjoe pithily remarks,

Hey, my wife wants to hang out with some guy who’s on tv, maybe I should tag along, what?

Something is going very wrong with Western white male culture. The signs are everywhere. Manboobs to the left of me, male feminists to the right, here I am stuck in the middle with SWPL “anti-racists”. It’s as if a giant cosmic vacuum has hoovered the manly essence from every white man’s nut sack and left a dangly wrinkled uvula in place of their scrotums.

As orc armies vault over the Cathedral’s two-inch fortress walls, as subversives and traitors stockpile the airwaves with lies so egregious they border on farce, as drone operators and internal spies use the Bill of Rights as toilet paper, white men valiantly respond to the crisis in their nation’s character by hoisting their battle flag and….

bending over so that their enemies may have the pleasure of ramming it as far up their rectums as propriety will allow. And in this gleeful anti-white male climate, that’s a lot of ramming.

Forget about inflection points. Western white men have passed the insertion point.

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A recently published book by an old friend of Hitler’s called “The Young Hitler I Knew” offers amazing insight into Hitler’s personality and early life as a romantic teenager. Evidence surfaces that Hitler was (though the author never states it outright), by disposition or by experience, a beta male with a bad case of one-itis and zero game who pedestalized women.

Kubizek’s uncensored account throws a fascinating light on the fanatical mind of the future Fuhrer.

For it contains, for the first time, the full story of Hitler’s teenage obsession with a pretty girl called Stefanie Isak, whose surname has clear Jewish origins.

And although Hitler’s distinguished biographer Sir Ian Kershaw has rightly dismissed Hitler’s feelings for Stefanie as ‘a juvenile infatuation’, the passion with which Hitler stalked her and fantasised about kidnapping and committing suicide with her lets us glimpse the mentality of the person he was destined to become.

Furthermore, August Kubizek’s account reveals that Hitler was utterly unconcerned as to whether the girl after whom he lusted was Jewish or not.

Those “juvenile infatuations” are not to be underestimated in their power as origin sources of a man’s lifelong character; for from those experiences a man holds his deepest, most cherished or most regretted memories, and the shadow of their mark haunts him for life. Now let’s contemplate the evidence for Hitler’s betaness in the following account of his courtship rituals:

Kubizek dates Hitler’s infatuation with Stefanie, which lasted four years, from the beginning of his 16th year, to an evening in the spring of 1905 when they went out for a stroll in the Landstrasse in Linz: “Adolf gripped my arm and asked me excitedly what I thought of that slim, blonde girl walking along arm-in-arm with her mother. ‘You must know, I?m in love with her,’ he added resolutely.”

Kubizek recalled that Stefanie Isak, he didn’t reveal her surname during the Third Reich years when the book was published under strict censorship, for obvious reasons, was a distinguished-looking girl, tall and slim.

“Her eyes were very beautiful, bright and expressive. She was exceptionally well-dressed and her bearing indicated that she came from a good, well-to-do family.”

Yet that was all the two teenagers knew about Stefanie to begin with, so they took to standing in a nearby street every evening at five o’clock, waiting for her to walk over the bridge to the main square.

“It would have been improper to address Stefanie,” recalled Kubizek, “as neither of us had been introduced to the young lady. A glance had to take the place of a greeting. From then on, Adolf did not take his eyes off Stefanie. In that moment he was changed, no longer his own self.” For someone who despised and denounced the social conventions of the bourgeoisie, Hitler conformed to them rather meekly when it came to Stefanie, possibly out of stultifying shyness.

Hitler’s game so far: Shy glances.

The Landstrasse was a favourite place for friends to meet in Linz. “There was a lot of flirting and the young Army officers were particularly good at it,” remembered Kubizek.

It would infuriate Hitler whenever he spotted young officers talking to Stefanie. His friend sympathised: “Poor, pallid youngsters like Adolf naturally cannot compete with these lieutenants in their smart uniforms.” Instead of trying to engage her interest and attention through the exercise of charm or humour, however, Hitler simply fumed in the shadows. “Conceited blockheads,” he would say of his rivals.

Hitler the emo.

Kubizek wrote that Hitler’s hatred of them led to his “uncompromising enmity towards the officer class as a whole, and everything military in general. It annoyed him intensely that Stefanie mixed with such idlers who, he insisted, wore corsets and used scent”.

Hitler’s dislike and distrust of the officer class, especially generals, was to stay with him for the rest of his life.

Hitler the bitterboy beta. Instead of learning from his alpha male betters, he lashed out at them, much the same way our modern manboobs lash out at alpha male “douchebags” and “players”.

Fortunately, as she chatted happily with her Austrian officer beaux, the 17-year-old Stefanie, who Kubizek recalled had a “natural and open expression” as well as “a freshness and lack of affectation”, had no inkling that she was being stalked by Hitler.

Hitler the creeper.

Kubizek states: “Stefanie had no idea how deeply Adolf was in love with her; she regarded him as a somewhat shy, but nevertheless remarkably tenacious and faithful, admirer.

Hitler in the friendzone.

“When she responded with a smile to his inquiring glance, he was happy and his mood became unlike anything I had ever observed in him.

Hitler the overly hopeful beta.

“But when Stefanie, as happened just as often, coldly ignored his gaze, he was crushed and ready to destroy himself and the whole world.”

Hitler the easily discouraged beta.

Hitler soon set Kubizek to discover everything he could about Stefanie. Her mother, it turned out, was a widow and they lived in nearby Urfahr, while her brother was a law student in Vienna.

Hitler the obsessed beta.

For those four years between the ages of 16 and 20, “for Adolf, no other woman but Stefanie existed”, since for him, “Stefanie embodied the whole of femininity”.

Hitler with crippling one-itis. If CH had been around then for Hitler to read, he would know that women are interchangeable, and he would not have wasted so much time on a girl who barely knew he existed.

This enthusiasm took the form of writing “countless love poems” to Stefanie, with titles such as Hymn To The Beloved.

Ugh. As you can see, even maniacal dictators with dreams of world conquest can fall into the same horrible beta traps as your typical weepy 21st century brooding teen boy with xVideos tabbed for convenience. If only Hitler had the compiled wisdom of CH, he would remember the maxim that you do not reward a woman with your love until after she has rewarded you with her sex.

Perhaps it is fortunate they no longer exist, as Kubizek recalls Hitler reciting one to him in which “Stefanie, a high-born damsel, in a dark blue, flowing velvet gown, rode on a white steed over the flowering meadows, her loose hair falling in golden waves on her shoulders; a clear blue sky was above; everything was pure, radiant joy.”

Kubizek remembered “Adolf?s face glowing with fervent ecstasy” as he recited these verses. Yet in all the four years he worshipped Stefanie, Hitler never once plucked up the courage actually to exchange a single word with her. He insisted that once he met her, no words would be needed.

The elaborate fantasy world of the lovesick beta male. You know, a part of me feels not just pity, but even tender admiration, for young Hitler’s romantic idealism, so pure of thought and intention. This was a Hitler, however misguided, who denied a cynical world its tribute in parcels of his uncorrupted soul. How might things have turned out differently had a strong male presence — an alpha male mentor — shown him the way to fulfill his burning desire? Or at least told him to stop acting like a tool?

“For such extraordinary human beings as himself and Stefanie,” he told Kubizek, “there was no need for the usual communication by word of mouth: extraordinary human beings would understand each other by intuition.” Moreover, Hitler convinced himself not only that Stefanie knew what his views and ideas were, but also that she shared them enthusiastically. Such was the power of his crush on this unwitting girl that he even believed her capable of telepathy.

The young beta, before time and painful lessons have turned him bitter, is prone to these flights of ego-soothing fancy, whereby amorphous “connections” of the most tenuous nature with his love object become rationalizations for inaction and unrealistic expectations of a future together.

When Kubizek expressed doubt that Hitler could possibly know what Stefanie thought about anything, considering they hadn’t yet spoken, “he became furious and shouted at me: ‘You simply don’t understand, because you can’t understand the true meaning of extraordinary love’.”

Can’t you just imagine an American teenage boy, with little understanding of the nature of women, saying these exact words to his street smart buddy, or his patient father?

Hitler also somehow convinced himself that Stefanie was feigning interest in other men “as a sort of deliberate diversion to conceal her own tempestuous feelings for him”.

Nonetheless, “this attitude often gave way to fits of raging jealousy”.

We’re veering into almost omega male territory here. Can a school shooting be far behind?

What he never summoned up the courage to do was simply introduce himself to Stefanie’s mother on one of their walks and ask permission to escort them and address her daughter, which was the accepted way of effecting a meeting in those days.

To be fair to Hitler, it was a lot tougher to pick up a girl in his time. Could you picture some video gamer bro having to introduce himself to a girl’s mother to get in a word with the girl?

Hitler was disturbed when he discovered Stefanie enjoyed dancing, which was “as contrary to his nature as smoking or drinking beer in a bar”. Kubizek half-jokingly suggested he take up dancing lessons, and suddenly their walks were no longer dominated by his long diatribes about the theatre or Danubian bridges, but instead by the subject of dancing.

“Visualise a crowded ballroom,” Hitler said to Kubizek, “and imagine you are deaf. You can’t hear the music to which these people are moving, and then take a look at their senseless progress, which leads nowhere. Aren’t these people raving mad?” When Kubizek attempted to disagree, Hitler screamed at him: “No, no, never! I shall never dance! Do you understand? Once Stefanie is my wife, she won’t have the slightest desire to dance!”

Here we see another facet of the beta male mind: The strict adherence to logic and linearity, and the inability to go with the flow. A great seducer of women Hitler was not, at least not then, or he would have known that the art of courtship involves emotional tangents that can seem confusing to men, but are nourishing and necessary to women.

It was in the depression brought on by the news of Stefanie’s love of dancing that the Hitler of the future can suddenly be discerned: “He hit upon a crazy idea: he seriously considered kidnapping Stefanie. He expounded his plan to me in all its details and assigned to me my role. I had to keep the mother engaged in conversation while he seized the girl.”

This is what rejected beta males thought about doing before they had access to internet porn.

After this plot was abandoned for lack of funds to live on after their elopement, Hitler considered suicide. “He would jump into the river from the Danube bridge,” he told Kubizek, “and then it would be over and done with. But Stefanie would have to die with him”, he insisted on that.

“Once more, a plan was thought up, in all its details. Every single phase of the horrifying tragedy was minutely described.”

What’s worse than a beta male? A beta male with a psychopath’s eye for detail.

However, before any desperate plan could be carried out against Stefanie, Hitler’s mood brightened. In June 1906, at the Linz flower festival, he and Kubizek took up places in a street, the Schmiedtorstrasse, which was so narrow, the festival carriages full of girls and young ladies had to pass close to them.

“Stefanie had adorned her carriage not with roses as most of the others, but with simple wild blossoms: red poppies, white marguerites and blue cornflowers,” recalled Kubizek. “A bright glance falls on Adolf. Stefanie sends him a beaming smile and, picking a flower from her posy, throws it to him.”

The effect on Hitler was transforming. “Never again did I see Adolf as happy as at that moment.”

“She loves me!” he told his friend. “You have seen! She loves me!”

This is how beta orbiters are born and maintained in their orbital flight paths. Stefanie probably wasn’t even aware of what she was doing; she was following an unconscious evolutionary script that maximized her extraction of emotional resources from a beta swooner.

[Hitler] had an absurdly idealised view of this pretty but otherwise normal Austrian teenager, and, as Kubizek understood, “the slightest divergence from this picture would have filled him with unspeakable disappointment”.

Now you know why the archipelago of misfit manboobs, male feminists, slam poets, game denialists, and suck-up white knights are so vehemently enraged when a realtalker like yours truly comes along to put the screws to their carefully mani-pedi’ed worldview. They have too much invested in their powerlessness.

In fact, it later transpired that, despite her surname, Stefanie was not Jewish. But crucially, Hitler and Kubizek did not know this at the time, signifying that the future perpetrator of the Holocaust had no animus against Jews as a young man.

Did he therefore cynically invent his hatred of Jews as a useful vehicle for gaining power in post-Great War Germany? This explanation is even more sinister than any of the myriad others as to where and when he contracted the bacillus of anti-Semitism.

Or perhaps, even more sinisterly, Hitler became the man he did when, as a young man in the grip of hot unrequited love, his Jewish princess “rejected” him for the charming alpha males Hitler despised. What followed from that irreparable wound to his heart was an act of id vengeance that would set fire to the world. Was WWI then, the revenge of a beta male scorned?

Chateau Heartiste has written that game can save the West. Disbelievers scoff. But if this outpost of sanity had been around during Hitler’s flowering youth to enlighten him about the nature of the fairer sex, the West might very well have been saved. Saved not just from war and genocide, but from every evil — cultural Marxism, feminism, equalism, and now racial self-annihilationism — that has come after.

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Chateau Heartiste was on top of noticing and alerting the public to this trend of feminizing men a long time ago. And now ♥science♥ is providing the ammunition for CH’s mighty Guns of Pattern Recognition.

During the past two decades, testosterone levels in American men have rapidly declined.

This information comes from a long-term prospective study that evaluated changes in serum testosterone on a population-wide basis.

The study was published in the Journal of Clinical Endocrinology and Metabolism.

“The interesting thing we discovered was that, on average, when we measured the testosterone in the blood of a 60-year-old in 1989 it was higher than that in a different 60-year-old measured in 1995,” said Thomas Travison, PhD, of the New England Research Institutes, Watertown, Mass. “We observed the same phenomenon over a wide range of ages.”

At baseline, the median serum testosterone level was 501 ng/d; at the first follow-up it was 435 ng/dL and at the second follow-up it was 391 ng/dL.

The estimated cross-sectional decline in total testosterone level was 0.4% per year of age (95% CI, –0.6% to –0.2%). The longitudinal within-person decline was about 1.6% per year (95% CI, –1.8% to –1.4%). The age-matched time trend was 1.2% lower per year (95% CI, –1.4% to –1.0%).

The decline was age-independent. “It is a little troubling,” Travison said. “The average differences are not very large, but they are big enough and occurring over a short enough time period to be the cause of some concern.”

These demonstrated population-level declines are greater than the cross-sectional declines typically associated with age, according to the researchers.

So American men really are becoming more physiologically pussified, emasculated, manboobed and womanish. And this hormonal change is expressing itself psychologically. Cf., John Scalzi.

The million milliliter question: Why?

“This population-level decline in testosterone concentrations in men is not explained fully by the usual suspects: increasing BMI and prevalence of obesity, certain other co-morbid conditions or decreasing incidence of smoking. Although the analysis by Travison et al did reveal significant age-related increases in adiposity and medication use and a welcome decline in smoking, the age-matched decline in testosterone concentrations persisted even after adjusting for these variables,” Shalender Bhasin, MD, of the section of endocrinology, diabetes, and nutrition, Boston University School of Medicine, wrote in an accompanying editorial.

He voiced concern over the decline and its public health impact on American men.

“This magnitude of change during such a short period is disquieting,” Bhasin wrote. “Although increasing adiposity and lifestyle factors that were recorded in the [Massachusetts Male Aging Study] could not account for the secular trends in testosterone level, it is possible that other lifestyle factors, such as increasing use of tight-fitting underwear, increasing room temperatures in American homes and offices during the past three decades, decreased physical activity with increased body mass indices and decreased smoking could have contributed to the declining testosterone levels in men.”

Answer: No one really knows.

May I humbly suggest some other possible causes for the scalzification of American men?

1. Aggro tankgrrls

When the land fills up with aggressively posturing, careerist feminist shrikes on the divorce court warpath, aided and abetted by Cathedral man-haters, the collective response by society’s testes is to ascend behind the sheltering bony plate of the pubis. You could call it the “Junk Tuck and Shuck” theory of increasing faggotry. How this works on a biochemical level is hard to pinpoint, but it makes some intuitive sense that as women gain more cultural power through their own means or a Big Daddy government check, men rationally respond by becoming either smooth talking cads or mewling beta suck-ups. Do women like this state of affairs? Probably not, but as long as men can get the pussy this way, that’s what they’ll give women. The sexual polarity will find its opposing balance, by whatever means necessary.

2. Estrogen in everything

Soy is in everything. So is the effluvium of the Pill. It seems we can’t go a week without some new study touching down with evidence of increased estrogen in our food and water supplies.

3. Lack of a cleansing war/too many men

A culture’s men get soft in the arms of materialist decadence. Never more so than today with so many hindbrain-targeted pleasure stimulators acquired for a relative pittance. Too many men accumulating from a lack of natural (or unnatural) culling means that, thanks to the cosmic directive of female hypergamy, a lot of dispensable, reproductively useless men are piling up. Combine the softness with the uselessness, and it’s a small leap to infer that the male sex would respond, at least at the margins, with a growing acceptance of testosterone-challenged and sexual marketplace-abstaining gayness, broniness, tranniness, and general supine self-flagellating leftoid-ness.

4. Dem friggin fat cows

Maybe male obesity can’t explain much of the trend toward lower T among men, but perhaps FEMALE obesity can explain it. What’s the point of manning up when all your women have womanned down? After all, you don’t have to be much of a man to jerk it to a digital dreamgirl. Fat chicks and porn everywhere have reduced the pressure to find a sexy babe to love, and testosterone levels have responded in kind. What doesn’t get used, atrophies.

There are three guaranteed means available to you, the big swinging CH reader, for battling this scourge of testosterone shrinkage.

– Lift weights
– Approach and hit on cute girls
– Avoid prostrating yourself at the feet of freaks and whiny grievance whores

That’s really all there is to it. And yet, America the Raisin-balled continues bursting with fruit cup flavor, an army of marching manboobs pegging themselves on the cock of feminism, taking orders from prissy, level 99 nancyboys ashamed of the impudence and pale hue of their own peek-a-boo micropeens.

I say screw that labially-wrapped lifestyle. Live loud, live proud, live turgidly aroused. Humiliate the buttercups. Slap your claymore against their tear-stained cheeks. And enjoy the howls of their crippled pain.

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