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Archive for the ‘Beta’ Category

If I had to condense three years of this blog into one video, this would be it. (Video link courtesy of Rant Casey – Brazil.)

Notice how the air is completely let out of the videotaping girls’ polite admiration for Prince Valiant after their attention — and fired-up tingles — are redirected to the street surfer. Even the beta chump knows his moment of glory is robbed from him, as he stands forlornly on the sidewalk, shoulders slumped, realizing he has one more girl to carry over the water. Of course, he can’t leave her stranded when he’s already helped her friend across. That would be tantamount to a declaration that his strategy of chivalry had ulterior motives. So he proceeds to complete his chore mission with perfunctory listlessness. Poor beta.

The alpha beta disparity is truly an international phenomenon.

What we’ve learned from this video:

Bravo! = warm hug plus three pats on the back.

Whoooa! = horny for love.

Who do you think the rescued girls chatted about afterward with a glow in their loins? The galoot who helped them probably received an “awww, he was nice” coupled with a flurry of condescending giggles which was code for “what a dork”. The alpha interloper probably got a “did you see that?!” and a flurry of nervous giggles involuntarily spasmed to release the boiling pressure buildup in their crotches.

The girls recording the event are speaking Russian. The studio audience would be obliged if someone could translate what they’re saying.

At the end, the videotaping girls are pretty much like, “Ok, go away beta. You and your sensible car bore us.”

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“AZ” wrote:

I am rooming with one of my buddies from college and we go all the way back to freshman year. I am from [foreign country] and I started college when I was 17, and as I grew older I began to act more like a man, but my buddy has not. He will talk for hours on end about inconsequential shit, how this 6 looked at him, and how he wants to pound crotch all day long etc, yet does nothing about it. What is driving me to the edge here and making me write this email is that [REDACTED]. At this point I’ve been trying to help him out, introduce him to game, get him to be less of a looser, but I have given up hope.

How do you deal with your beta friends that don’t want to learn? I don’t want to stop the friendship, and I have been trying to avoid him, but we hang out about 2 hours a day. How do I stop myself from cringing in his presence and resenting him for being himself?

If you are going to publish this in the mailbag please omit all personal details.

There were a lot of personal details, so I had to redact a full paragraph worth of juicy beta goodness. Suffice to say, it was nauseatingly bad, involving awkward hugs, egregious service worker tips, and invitations to cheesy strip mall restaurants. On the scale of game acumen, 0 being no game at all and winging it spergy style, and 10 being a Casanova for the ages, AZ’s friend was a -2.

Unfortunately, AZ, women do judge men based on the friends they keep. It is one of the more glaring psychological differences between men and women, and it has evolved for a good reason: men get all they need to know about a potential mate by looking at her for a second, while women need to recruit information about potential mates from a variety of sources, direct and indirect, because a visual impression is not nearly enough to trigger a woman’s full blown attraction for a man.

The ideal alpha projection attraction multiplier (APAM) social circle is a mixed clique of good-looking and socially savvy men and women, where you are the coolest guy among a group of slightly less cool guys, and the girls are hanging on your every word. You want to shine among your friends, but you don’t want to shine on the cheap by surrounding yourself with nerdos. Girls will not give you cunt watering points for being the exasperated leader of a bunch of social rejects.

A good example of what I mean is the movie ‘Swingers’. Jon Favreau’s character is basically a chill, decent guy with some issues connecting with girls. But he’s not so socially inept or teeth-gnashingly clueless that he continually embarrasses his cooler friends. Thus, Vince Vaughn’s character never experiences moments of crisis like you are in your email to me deciding whether or not to sever a friendship entirely for the sake of meeting girls.

I know some of my male readers will complain that a genuine alpha — a real man — never puts hos before bros, but that’s the kind of principled talk that almost always disintegrates in the acid wash of reality. If a male buddy you hang out with regularly is so blockheaded that he’s actually costing you chances to meet girls, you have to decide if the friendship is worth prolonged dry spells. For most men, that answer would be a resounding NO, despite their high-minded rhetoric to the contrary.

You see, a real man, besides having principles, also makes the difficult and unpopular choices. He screens out the losers when building a social circle of friends, and he dumps those who have demonstrated an unwillingness to take the advice of their betters to meet the high standards of the group. Your roommate is not special; there are many guys like him — stubbornly regressive, hopelessly ignorant, constitutionally spastic. A man like that is as much a product of his genes as he is of his environment. Maybe you enjoy his company when it’s just you two LANing it up Quake-style, and maybe he strokes your ego just by being there, nipping at your heels like an orphaned chihuahua. And that’s all good, until it’s time to go out into the real world and you find yourself making up excuses to avoid him. Am I right?

You can play that game for a while, but you’ll feel like crap constantly having to come up with reasons not to hang out with him. That he’s your roommate makes it doubly hard. Avoiding a college roommate is like avoiding your mom when she wants you to mow the lawn and your friends will be over in two minutes with a ride to the beach. Trap doors and escape chutes come to mind.

My advice to you is this: Give your friend one last chance to prove himself worthy of your company. But this requires some sacrifice on your part. Don’t just throw him to the wolves, blindfolded. Bite the bullet. Explain that his social skills suck, that he kills your chances with girls when you two go out together, and that he has to shape up fast if he wants to live the good life. Tough love is what we men are good at. Then offer him some tips, and show him where he’s fucking up. If he can’t abide your conditions for friendship, you have all the moral imperative you need to use him when he’s useful (playing video games) and dispose of him when he’s not (all real world activities). Get used to ignoring him. On your way out the door to parties, learn to visualize him as a lamp, an inanimate object you have no responsibility for placating. In fact, alpha males are skilled in the art of visualizing the vast hordes of male competition as lamps. Steal a page from their playbook.

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God’s Perfect Beta

Author A.J. Jacobs has been the subject of lampooning at the Chateau before:

In this Esquire article (with a very disturbing photo at the top), the author recounts his experience trying to set up his drop-dead gorgeous babysitter on a date.  For some inexplicable reason, she can’t seem to find a man on her own, so her host dad decides to help her out by impersonating her on an internet dating site and sifting through the e-suitors until he finds someone acceptable (to her, not to him, though the line is blurred).

Reading about his efforts, I can’t help but think what a milquetoast this guy is, as exemplified by what he imagines his hot nanny would look for in a guy.  It’s a classic case of beta projection.  But I suppose throughout history LJBF’ed betas have served as male cockblocks intercepting the natural desire of girls to hook up with the kinds of men who stomp all over betas.  If I were him, I’d be working the magic on my nanny, not working to get her banged by someone else.

Well, the madam of milquetoasts is back, this time with an article about how he agreed to do everything his wife told him to do for one month, as part of research for a book he was writing. The project itself is cutesy, in that it’ll help push copy, but the lessons he draws from his experience working as his wife’s house eunuch are hilariously delusional.

At 20 days in, I start to think the power is going to Julie’s head. Her requests are coming thick and fast  –  and are no longer softened with a ‘please’ or ‘would you mind?’

She has started snapping at me. I try to ask her something while she is watching MasterChef and she answers me with a wave of the hand, sign language for ‘get out of the room now’.[…]

Later, when I sit down to join her, she says regally: ‘Can you turn up the volume?’ We’re watching Ten Years Younger  –  her choice.

‘You have the remote,’ I say, trying to keep my temper. ‘I know. But I want you to walk to the TV and turn up the volume on the set.’

I’m not supposed to argue with her. I heave myself off my chair. Thank goodness there’s only two days left.

Julie admits that she is in a mood as she knows that the experiment is about to end and in 48 hours she’ll have to go back to doing everything.

Oh, that’s not the reason she’s “in a mood”. You have meddled with the primal forces of nature, Mr. Jacobs, and she won’t have it! Is that clear? You think you’ve merely stopped a domestic deal. That is not the case! The feminists and their boybitches have taken billions of balls out of this country’s scrotum, and now they must put it back! It is ebb and flow, menstrual gravity! It is psychosocial balance! You are an old man who thinks in terms of oppressors and oppressed. There are no oppressed. There are no patriarchies. There are no conservatives. There are no liberals. There are no progressives. There is no feminist utopia. There is only one holistic system of systems, one vast and immane, interwoven, interacting, multivariate, multihelical dominion of DNA. Genes, neurons, glia, electrochemical signaling, enzymes, mitochondria, and spiritless matter. It is the universal system of reproduction which determines the totality of life on this planet. That is the natural order of things today. That is the atomic and subatomic and galactic structure of things today! And YOU have meddled with the primal forces of nature, and YOU… WILL… ATONE!

Am I getting through to you, Mr. Jacobs? You write feelgood pablum on your little 13 inch laptop and howl about egalitarianism and shared spousal duties. There is no tidily egalitarian world of your fevered mental account balance sheets. There is no 50/50 child rearing responsibility. There is only estrogen, testosterone, eggs, and sperm. Those *are* the governing bodies of the world today. We have never lived in a world of harmonic convergence and ideologies, Mr. Jacobs. The world is an emergent phenomenon of the incessant, eternal quest for sex, Mr. Jacobs. It has been since man crawled out of the slime. And our children will live, Mr. Jacobs, what few of them are born, to see that… perfect world… in which there’s no lifelong monogamy, guaranteed paternity, or two parent families. One vast and ecumenical hedonism, for whom all men will work to serve a common erection, in which all men will hold a share of dystopia. All pleasures provided, all ejaculations immortalized, all desire sated. And I have chosen you, Mr. Jacobs, to serve as example to men on what not to do.

To my surprise, I tell her that will not be happening  –  this has definitely made me appreciate how much my wife does around the home.

Before the experiment, I probably thought I was doing 45 per cent of what needed to be done  –  it turned out it was more like 20 per cent.

Now I actually notice when the hand soap dispensers and loo roll are empty  –  and refill them. And it’s made us both realise it’s not always the big gestures that matter.

We now make an effort to be nice to one another and, obvious as it sounds, it makes us both happier.

Marriage is an accumulation of the little gestures. The little gestures are the ones that count  –  like making chicken piccata.

I admit that when I hatched this grand plan, I rather hoped Julie would grow to hate the new doormat husband and miss my insubordinate, slobby and annoying ways.

You, yourself, Mr. Jacobs, noted how your wife was “in a mood” toward the end of the experiment. You may want to reflect a bit on why exactly she entered a mood and began imperiously ordering you around the house as if you were the hired help.

Boy did that backfire. Julie describes our little experiment as ‘the best month of my life’.

How many times a week did she agree to fuck you during this experiment in self-emasculation? Was it more or fewer times than typical? Perhaps you reveal the answer in your article:

Clearly happy at being relieved of her cooking duties, Julie says: ‘If you cook for me every night, we could make love every night.’ ‘But I don’t want to make love every night,’ I protest, somewhat alarmed. [ed: of course you wouldn’t. men generally prefer making nonstop love to attractive women.]

‘I thought all men did?’ she asks ‘All men who are 17,’ I inform her. Which brings up a question. How often should the ideal husband sleep with his wife?

The average married couple has sex just about twice a week, according to several recent surveys (a statistic probably skewed by the randy just-married 22-year-olds).

Is that what the woman wants? Or is it some compromise? It’s not clear. ‘How often is ideal for you?’ I ask. ‘Once a week sounds good.’ She pauses. ‘Don’t write that down.’

I wonder if you could be honest about just how much better or worse was your sex life while you snapped to attention at your wife’s every beck and call? I suspect not.

And my male friends are full of resentment because their wives are forever saying ‘why can’t you be more like AJ?’

The worst advice your male friends could take would be to be more like you.

But the lessons I’ve learned have, without a doubt, improved our marriage.

A one month sociological contrivance which ended with your wife “in a mood” as she harangued you to raise the volume on the TV without using the remote she had in hand is not evidence for marital improvement.

Unfortunately, they have torpedoed my comfy, ignorant existence for ever.

On the contrary, you’ve never been more comfortably ignorant.

Readers may ask, if A.J. Jacobs is the Moloko Plus of betatude, how is it he was able to snag a wife and bear children with her? Simple, reader. He snagged her younger, slightly hotter self when he was insubordinate, slobby, and annoying. And he keeps her because she is unattractive. When your wife has even fewer options on the sexual market than you do, then you can be all the post-modern enlightened feminist bitchboy you want to be without much consequence.

But not zero consequence. Excessive betaness has been known to push even wives well past their expiration dates into a loveless, sexless torpor. I think Mr. Jacobs knows this deep in his soul, which is why he’ll go back in no time to being the slobby, annoying, inconsiderate husband his wife fell in love with. Which is how god intended.

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Hanna Rosin wrote a stream of consciousness diatribe against men in The Atlantic recently called “The End of Men“. As with most of these articles written by foot soldiers of the femborg collective lamenting — or celebrating, if the tone is any indication — the regression of men into second and third class status in American society, evidence for certain assertions is woefully lacking, and where the authors uncover something truthful about the condition of modern men, they only paint half a picture because of their refusal, out of ignorance or deceptiveness, to confront the full reality of the sexual market; in particular, female hypergamy. Without grasping the very different compulsions that animate men’s and women’s sexual drives, one will never have a clear understanding of male-female relations and cultural trends. Because ultimately, all culture, all markets, spring from the fundamental sexual market.

In the ’90s, when Ericsson looked into the numbers for the two dozen or so [fertility] clinics that use his process, he discovered, to his surprise, that couples were requesting more girls than boys, a gap that has persisted, even though Ericsson advertises the method as more effective for producing boys. In some clinics, Ericsson has said, the ratio is now as high as 2 to 1. Polling data on American sex preference is sparse, and does not show a clear preference for girls. But the picture from the doctor’s office unambiguously does. A newer method for sperm selection, called MicroSort, is currently completing Food and Drug Administration clinical trials. The girl requests for that method run at about 75 percent.

Leaving aside the possibility of selection bias in the couples who make gender requests at fertility clinics, a trend toward proactively favoring girls over boys would be expected and predicted by evolutionary psychologists in a culture where an individual woman had an increasingly better chance of reproducing in adulthood than an individual man. As women are the limiting reproductive variable, and as men’s provider value is decreasing at the same time they are falling behind in the resource acquisition race relative to women, it makes far more sense for parents who, subconsciously, want children who can grow up to give them lots of grandchildren, to favor daughters over sons when a choice is available. It’s a reasonable bet hedge.

Even more unsettling for Ericsson, it has become clear that in choosing the sex of the next generation, he is no longer the boss. “It’s the women who are driving all the decisions,” he says—a change the MicroSort spokespeople I met with also mentioned. At first, Ericsson says, women who called his clinics would apologize and shyly explain that they already had two boys. “Now they just call and [say] outright, ‘I want a girl.’ These mothers look at their lives and think their daughters will have a bright future their mother and grandmother didn’t have, brighter than their sons, even, so why wouldn’t you choose a girl?”

That’s one reason. The other reason is that young girls are simply easier to raise than young boys. I have little nieces and nephews, and it’s easy to observe how much louder, rambunctious, temperamental, and ill-behaved the boys are compared to the girls. This is not an excuse to drug them; that same whirling dervish quality also imparts boys with the innate ability to invent, improve, and build civilizations from the ground up… and fight and screw like champs. For dual earning, self-absorbed parents on the go go go, better behaved daughters who don’t demand so much of their attention are a welcome relief.

Up to a point, the reasons behind this shift are obvious. As thinking and communicating have come to eclipse physical strength and stamina as the keys to economic success, those societies that take advantage of the talents of all their adults, not just half of them, have pulled away from the rest.

“Thinking”? I can see an innate advantage in communicating, as women are generally more extraverted and verbally adept than men, but in the thinking department men have the edge. Not only do more men occupy the far right tail of genius on the IQ bell curve, they also have a higher mean IQ than women.

And because geopolitics and global culture are, ultimately, Darwinian, other societies either follow suit or end up marginalized.

There is agreement among the commentariat that societies with emancipated and economically empowered women outperform societies with traditional sex roles, and that it is assumed this performance differential will hold up for eternity.  But things change, the center cannot hold. Who’s to say gender egalitarian societies don’t contain within themselves the seed of their destruction? Or: this ride ain’t over yet.

What if the modern, postindustrial economy is simply more congenial to women than to men?

Conscientious application to menial desk jockey multitasks is what women’s brains are best at. Our society exists at a strange moment of economic limbo between two worlds — the past manufacturing based world and the future transhuman world — a limbo where paper pushing, legalistic gear grinding, government welfare administration, and service with a smile has infested like a toxic mold almost every tier of vertical and horizontal economic productivity. It is the kind of work, in substance and in psychological reward, that is soul-crushing to men but fulfilling to women. And it is the kind of work for which colleges, with their mile wide but inch deep liberal arts programs and their empty-headed women’s studies classes, are preparing with perfect precision their students for the female-majority workforce of the anticipated future.

The postindustrial economy is indifferent to men’s size and strength. The attributes that are most valuable today—social intelligence, open communication, the ability to sit still and focus—are, at a minimum, not predominantly male.

As I’ve written before, all that female-oriented yapping, organizing, and paper shuffling means nothing if you don’t have the male-dominated engineers and scientists to produce the products that yappers huddle about to sell.

Yes, the U.S. still has a wage gap, one that can be convincingly explained—at least in part—by discrimination.

Unlike articles written by respected authors in respectable magazines with a national exposure read by millions, we here at this little internet outpost must abide the truth. And the truth is that little to none of the sex wage gap has to do with discrimination. It is instead a result of differences in occupational choice, (mediated by women’s natural biological proclivity to prefer pursuing careers in lower paying nurturing jobs), and by women’s decisions to take time off work for family reasons.

I’d say pwned, but I think Hanna RosinPlotzinDingleheimerSchmidt would enjoy that.

Yes, women still do most of the child care.

Because Rosin doesn’t confront the existence of female hypergamy and status whoring, she does not reflect on the fact that men who do play kitchen bitch and contribute half or more of the child care and domestic duties quickly betatize themselves straight into sexless purgatory. Women can bitch all they want about unhelpful men in the home, but when push comes to shove, those women stop pushing into the crotches of their enlightened domesticated partners. Smart men know this, so they learn to ignore the bitching in favor of getting their dicks wet.

It may be happening slowly and unevenly, but it’s unmistakably happening: in the long view, the modern economy is becoming a place where women hold the cards.

One of the commenters absolutely schooled Rosin about some of her assumptions of a female-dominated economy. You can read that comment here.

The list of growing jobs is heavy on nurturing professions, in which women, ironically, seem to benefit from old stereotypes and habits.

Stereotypes don’t materialize out of thin air. They usually have a very large kernel of truth.

Theoretically, there is no reason men should not be qualified. But they have proved remarkably unable to adapt.

This is the new talking point you’re going to hear from feminists now. “Men are not adapting.” Funny, when men were 80%+ of the workforce 50 years ago those feminists weren’t sorrowfully noting that women weren’t adapting. They were banging the mutlicult, West-loathing, equalist drums of Zion against the eeeeeevils of discrimination.

Nursing schools have tried hard to recruit men in the past few years, with minimal success.

If a high rate of female participation puts men off from working in certain fields, then it stands to reason gay marriage will put men off from marrying, if we follow feminist logic down rich avenues of discussion. Damn logic… you scary!

There is probably some truth to that, but the bigger reason is likely biological; men don’t enjoy working in nurturing jobs because men don’t like nurturing people. It doesn’t give us a scrotal tingle. Now smashing shit up… that’s fun!

But even the way this issue is now framed reveals that men’s hold on power in elite circles may be loosening. In business circles, the lack of women at the top is described as a “brain drain” and a crisis of “talent retention.”

Serious question: how much of a free market economy is positive sum? Is it not inconceivable that adding twice as many workers to the job market would displace a bunch of men already working into unemployment or underemployment, instead of adding to overall growth? Why is “brain drain” the default assumption, instead of “brain rearrange”?

Even around the delicate question of working mothers, the terms of the conversation are shifting. Last year, in a story about breast-feeding, I complained about how the early years of child rearing keep women out of power positions.

Poor fembot! Suck it up.

For recent college graduates of both sexes, flexible arrangements are at the top of the list of workplace demands, according to a study published last year in the Harvard Business Review. And companies eager to attract and retain talented workers and managers are responding.

Single moms like to talk about how they do things on their own, and they “don’t need a man”. But in fact, flex time and related corporate incentives *are* a form of substitute husband and father. That money for flex time has to come from somewhere, usually in higher prices for the company’s products or in lowered salaries for its employees. It is private welfare, but welfare just the same. Now companies can choose to offer this to their heart’s content; after all, no one is forcing me to buy their products or work there and thus subsidize the lifestyles of a bunch of single moms and harried working moms. But my advice to men who want to maximize their earning potential — work for companies that don’t offer generous payoffs in an effort to recruit working moms. It is likely you will command a higher salary with more patriarchal companies.

Researchers have started looking into the relationship between testosterone and excessive risk, and wondering if groups of men, in some basic hormonal way, spur each other to make reckless decisions. The picture emerging is a mirror image of the traditional gender map: men and markets on the side of the irrational and overemotional, and women on the side of the cool and levelheaded.

That same testosterone that causes men to make risky stock market decisions also causes them to risk building gleaming civilizations and all the creature comforts therein that you ingrate feminists couldn’t live without.

Most important, women earn almost 60 percent of all bachelor’s degrees—the minimum requirement, in most cases, for an affluent life.

Only about 1/5th to a quarter of Americans are genetically capable of succeeding at undergraduate college. So is Rosin here suggesting that 4/5ths of Americans are doomed to a long eternal struggle to make ends meet? And, in light of this, what is her opinion on the importation of millions of peasant class Mexicans?

In a stark reversal since the 1970s, men are now more likely than women to hold only a high-school diploma. “One would think that if men were acting in a rational way, they would be getting the education they need to get along out there,” says Tom Mortenson, a senior scholar at the Pell Institute for the Study of Opportunity in Higher Education. “But they are just failing to adapt.”

There’s that word rational again. And that word adapt. Here’s a scary thought for the platitude spouters to chew on: Perhaps men *are* acting in a rational way. Perhaps they are adapting to the new culture, aka sexual market ver. 2.0. When in the past men could reliably attract women with a decent middle class job working in a dreary corporate office or along a clattering assembly line, they put in the effort needed to get those jobs and paychecks. But now, in a mating landscape where women work and earn almost as much as men and, consequently, have devalued the traditional currency of barter in the mating market and shrunk their dating pool, men are responding to this disincentive to bust their balls for diminished sexual reward by dropping out (omegas), doping out (video gaming and porn consuming betas), and cadding about (alphas and practitioners of game).

Maybe men see the matrix better than Rosin thinks. If the economic empowerment of women means men have to work three times harder just to get the same old, now rapidly fattening, pussy they got in the past for less effort, then maybe they’ve figured out that the system is rigged against them. Maybe they’ve made a very rational decision to get access to this pussy by other means. And let it be said that there is more than one way to stroke a kitty. Remember, women don’t get wet for a paycheck; they get wet for the alpha demeanor that a man who is good at collecting paychecks exudes. And as any reader of this site knows, that alpha demeanor can be learned and applied.

When financially self-sufficient women turn away from beta providers as a source of sexual arousal, they substitute other alpha male qualities in its place. That is why Rosin’s article would have been better titled “The End of Beta Providers”. It’s a brave new world, and the answer is more game, more players, more sexual healing. It’s win-win for everyone… except modern society.

Victoria is a biology major and wants to be a surgeon; soon she’ll apply to a bunch of medical schools. She doesn’t want kids for a while, because she knows she’ll “be at the hospital, like, 100 hours a week,”

Do you want a girl who talks like this operating on you?

…and when she does have kids, well, she’ll “be the hotshot surgeon, and he”—a nameless he—“will be at home playing with the kiddies.”

Translation: she’ll be the subpar surgeon, and he will be at home masturbating furiously to teen porn while she’s out getting creampied by the biker patient with the sleeve tattoo who knows how to press her submissiveness buttons.

And yet, for all the hand-wringing over the lonely spinster, the real loser in society—the only one to have made just slight financial gains since the 1970s—is the single man, whether poor or rich, college-educated or not. Hens rejoice; it’s the bachelor party that’s over.

I’ve never seen such an obvious case of cunty projection. I’m here to report, Mizz RosinFluffinHack, that no marriage, no kids, lotsa sex is a bachelor party without end. Far from being over, it’s in full swing.

Still, they are in charge. “The family changes over the past four decades have been bad for men and bad for kids, but it’s not clear they are bad for women,” says W. Bradford Wilcox, the head of the University of Virginia’s National Marriage Project.

Bad for men who don’t have game or other compensatory alpha traits to secure sex. Definitely bad for kids. Good for women? Questionable. While women may think they are getting what they want right now, in the long term those fatherless kids are more likely to grow up into sluts and juvenile delinquents. And then the pendulum will swing back with an unstoppable force slicing and dicing the illusion of material comfort and free choice into a million little gelatinous bits. Single moms are literally breeding their undoing.

At the same time, a new kind of alpha female has appeared, stirring up anxiety and, occasionally, fear.

Fear and anxiety and intimidation, oh my! The classic femcunt squid ink to complicate the very simple truth that men don’t find afeminine, go-getting, ball-busting alpha tankgrrls sexually attractive. Well, unless they’re really hot, in which case refusing a pump and dump would be… uncivilized.

The cougar trope started out as a joke about desperate older women. Now it’s gone mainstream, even in Hollywood, home to the 50-something producer with a starlet on his arm. Susan Sarandon and Demi Moore have boy toys, and Aaron Johnson, the 19-year-old star of Kick-Ass, is a proud boy toy for a woman 24 years his senior.

For every cougar dating a younger man, there are 100 older men dating younger women.

A character played by George Clooney is called too old to be attractive by his younger female colleague and is later rejected by an older woman whom he falls in love with after she sleeps with him—and who turns out to be married. George Clooney! If the sexiest man alive can get twice rejected (and sexually played) in a movie, what hope is there for anyone else?

Yo, Hanna Montana, it’s a movie. You’re not making the point you think you’re making here. In real life, aging George Clooney smartly avoids marriage and boffs a steady stream of hot young babes.

In fact, the more women dominate, the more they behave, fittingly, like the dominant sex. Rates of violence committed by middle-aged women have skyrocketed since the 1980s, and no one knows why.

This is one of those claims that I’m just sure is being massaged into a teetering steaming shitpile, but I’m too lazy to go digging for the relevant studies confirming or denying.

Then the commercial abruptly cuts to the fantasy, a Dodge Charger vrooming toward the camera punctuated by bold all caps: MAN’S LAST STAND. But the motto is unconvincing. After that display of muteness and passivity, you can only imagine a woman—one with shiny lips—steering the beast.

Mrs., or is it Ms.?, Hanna Rosin had her kids named RosinPlotz, after her last name and her husband’s last name. I wonder what their wedding vows were?

“I, Hanna’s grateful half, take you, Hanna, to be my lawfully wedded spousal partner, in sickness and in health, in good times and in bad, and in joy as well as sorrow. I promise to love you unconditionally, to allow you to love whomever whenever and not complain when you are self-actualizing, to support you in your goals, sexual or otherwise, to honor and respect you and the man you will eventually shack up with when you tire of my honoring and respecting, to laugh with you at me and to cry with myself on the day you so choose to expand your horizons and capacity for love to others, and to cherish you for so long as you choose to let me keep my money, house, and quality time with our kids.”

“I, Hanna, accept your marital terms, and promise to append your surname to the ass end of my surname for our kids, so that they may always know who is in charge.”

Man’s last stand, indeed.

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The “man” in this story could qualify for Beta of the Year:

It started with one text message: She just wanted to know why he was skipping her class.

But P.E. teacher Michele Taylor’s alleged relationship with a 17-year-old student at East Valley High School escalated quickly after that. From a stolen kiss in her office to sex in the backseat of her husband’s truck in the parking lot behind a Yakima Kmart.

This kid is a natural player. Skipping class = takeaway. Women can’t resist an underage boy playing hard to get.

It all began last March with that first message. Taylor was a mother of triplets and married to Kevin, also a P.E. teacher at East Valley.

Her alleged romantic interest was only 16-years-old when the flirtation started. Over the course of four months, he told a Yakima jury yesterday, he exchanged over 400 text messages with Taylor, some of which were explicit.

Michele Taylor is another one of these hot for teacher blonde cuties betraying her beta hubby to lay with her teen boy students. We’ve had a rash of them in this country lately. Reasonable minds might wonder what is going on. I have a couple of theories. Husbands are more beta than ever, turning off their wives so completely that the deprived dears seek that lost tingly feeling in the nearest devil-may-care cock. And teen boys are carelessly devil-may-care. Another possibility: a subset of teen boys are learning game at a much earlier age than past generations of men, and they are capitalizing on alpha-starved older women. Maybe the use-em-and-lose-em, pimps up hos down player mentality zeitgeist is percolating down into high schools and junior high.

One night the boy was hanging out with his girlfriend when he got a text asking him to meet Taylor at Kmart. “I knew pretty much what was going to happen,” the boy said in testimony reported by the Yakima Herald-Republic.

The boy went anyway. And, he testified, he and Taylor did end up having unprotected sex, since she insisted he didn’t need to worry about a condom unless he had STDs.

If Taylor’s husband has any brains at all, he’ll demand paternity tests on all his current children and any future kids he may have with her.

Speaking of which…. mandatory paternity testing now! It’s the right thing to do, both for individual men and for society.

According to the boy, he drove home that night, got in a shower and cried because he “felt dirty.”

Somebody coached the kid to say that.

Although he lied to his girlfriend and parents initially that anything was going on, he eventually copped to the relationship when it was revealed that another, 15-year-old student was exchanging similar texts with Taylor.

Damn, bitch gets around! Talk about shitting where you work. She may be a classifiable nymphomaniac. Poor kid… you don’t feel so special anymore, do ya?

And now we get to the most nauseating part of the story:

Taylor’s husband, Kevin, meanwhile, denies that his wife engaged in anything inappropriate. The Herald-Republic reports that he came to court wearing a shirt with the words “I Love My Wife” written on it and had to be directed by the judge to quit staring down student witnesses testifying against Taylor.

There are few humiliating degradations a natural born beta will visit upon himself that would surprise me, but this has got to be a new low. “I Love My Wife”!? Could there be a more elegant metaphorical distillation of the wretchedness of self-immolating, soul-shriveling betatude?

Wife carries on text affair with multiple teen boys.
Husband approves of text messages. (“No reason to be suspicious”, he claims.)
Wife accused of statutorily raping one of the boys, with implications there were others.
Husband  shows up in court wearing I love my wife tee, and stares daggers at witnesses daring to besmirch his angelic wife’s reputation.
Wife tingles in her nether region for boy student witnesses, unbeknownst to gallant husband defending her on the stand.

You can see video of the delusional husband here. He certainly has that watery-eyed beta look about the face. The only redeeming explanation for his behavior I can think of is that he, too, is fucking one of his teen girl students and his wife knows, so he is covering for her on threat that she’ll reveal his indiscretions. That would raise my estimation of his character quite a bit.

Why are so many betas capable of such Freudian feats of self-deception when confronted with their wives’ and lovers’ infidelity? I submit that it is fear, at heart, that drives this Stockholm Syndrome-ish mental mutilation. Fear of being outed as the unworthy husband, the duped tool, the cuckold… and fear of being alone, unsexed, and unable to find another woman. Such men cling like barnacles to their fear, and let it direct their every decision and their perception of events, even when the evidence against their delusions is slapping them upside the head. Fear is the natural state of the beta. It is their greatest self-imposed limitation.

Not to mention the stacked deck against men that is the man-hating divorce industry.

Quick to forgive, is the beta. In his forgiveness, he expects redemption and gratitude. Even renewed love. But instead he gets contempt, the pity born of hate.

If he only knew the truth…

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Beta Or Herb?

A running theme on this blog is the frightful sight of herbs and betas performing slow motion self-emasculations. While the herb and the beta are closely related, there are some notable differences between them.

In this post, I defined the herb:

*herb, noun – a schlumpy, nondescript white guy with no fashion sense, chin, or sexual gravitas, who has managed to hook up with a cute chick. Herbs usually wear satchels to nightclubs and button down collar shirts with the Hanes undershirt herb2.jpgpeaking through at the neck. They love anything khaki and are not embarrassed to be seen wearing fanny packs or sandals. A super herb takes it up a notch with white athletic socks and an extra-large t-shirt to hide his man boobs. They have a walk that can be best described as looking like they are carrying a load in their pants. They will annoy you just by being there. The fact that a herb will have usually managed to score a cute yuppie chick will fill you with violent feelings toward him.

You can see another great photo of a herb hereAnd here. And here is an example of the subspecies hipster herb.

How does a beta differ from a herb? In this post there is a photo of a beta revealing his true nature with an awkwardly placed hand on a cute girl’s shoulder. The biggest difference is that the herb usually has better *conventionally defined* success with women. The herb is not necessarily beta, though he often is. Many herbs in the city can be seen taking long romantic walks with decent looking girlfriends, defying all logic and universal laws. Herbs, therefore, have some preternatural ability to squeak out a semblance of a normal life, despite their shortcomings. Perhaps it is that they are oblivious to their self-defeating behavior, and so attract the type of women for whom dating an oblivious man suits their agenda.

Betas (and omegas), in contrast, struggle to achieve the societally-approved provider chump role to a sexless, ungrateful, Entitled American Princess. They are a more pitiable creature than the herb because their fruitless struggle often results in the stink of desperation trailing them wherever they go. The herb, to his credit, rarely reeks of desperation (until he is dumped), probably owing to the aforementioned obliviousness. Betas are more apt to look like they’re trying too hard, which is why you’ll often see better-dressed betas roaming the streets alone while schleppy herbs shuffle contentedly holding hands with their girlfriends.

In short, betas are the type of guys to spend years with internet porn and video games, while herbs are the type of guys to dutifully push strollers for kids that, unbeknownst to them, aren’t theirs. In the end, though, both betas and herbs wind up fulfilling their role as soulsucked providers to harridan wives, ensuring that the cogs of society remain greased with the sweat of their brows and the tithe of their taxes.

A few more differences between betas and herbs:

beta – dog
herb – dog in a stroller
beta – worries that wife is cheating on him
herb – has no idea wife is cheating on him
beta – wants to be alpha
herb – has no concept of the better life
beta – envious of men with hotter girfriends
herb – chastises himself for admiring classic beauty of older susan sarandon
beta – resigned
herb – compliant
beta – stymied sex drive
herb – borderline androgynous
beta – brain loaded with lies
herb – pants loaded

Reader Carol (a self-described Amazon alpha female) sent me a pic of what she termed a “beta boy”, shopping in Chicago with his girlfriend.

She wrote this about the pic:

My sister is an avid reader of your blog and she introduced me to it.  I check it out from time to time.

I see Beta Boys all over the city of Chicago. Since I got my new iphone…it only makes sense to try and snap pics of these betas. Unfortunately the iphone does not zoom.  But I’m working on this. [ed: if you’re a beta or herb, now you have more to worry about — chicks taking your photo for mockery on this blog.]

Check out this beta cubs fan wearing his girlfriend’s purse.  I had to do a freaking triple take to be sure he was not gay. No, he was wearing her purse. Following her all around the store as she flipped through racks of clothes. Mind you, this was post Cubs game…so they were probably drunk as well.

Jesus. I would never ask a man to hold my purse.  Let alone a sparkly shining number that announces to everyone your man is carrying your purse.

Yeah, this is pretty bad. For this man’s sake, let’s hope drunkenness was his excuse. It’s not even OK to hold your woman’s purse for a second so she can grab at something (let it drop to the floor or put it on a shelf if she tries to shove her purse in your hands); it’s leagues worse to take her purse and then wear it around like it’s your own, while following her like a puppy dog as she rifles through racks of discount panties. This guy looks very comfortable wearing her purse slung over his shoulder like that, as if he’s done it before.

I would classify this guy as a herb if he sees nothing wrong with this picture. Otherwise, he’s a garden variety beta asking “how high” when his girlfriend tells him to jump.

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Reader Mike sent me a media release for a book signing by a guy named James Henry (a name like that screams old-fashioned white knighter), who authored a book titled “The Laws of Love: A Guide to Gallantry“. Here is an excerpt of the release:

AS COURTSHIP DECLINES, CONCERN FOR CHIVALRY IS ON THE RISE

A New Book The Laws of Love: A Guide to Gallantry, Helps Induce Gallantry.

Book Launch and Signing:  Wednesday February 10th & Sunday, February 14th 2010

[Washington, DC] – In a time when courtship is on the decline and hedonism is on the rise, one gentleman has stood up against the tide with the power of words and seductive suggestion. Washington, DC native James Henry, an author galvanized by the decline of chivalry, announces the release of his new book, The Laws of Love: The Guide to Gallantry,with a reception and book signing on Wednesday, February 10th at ACKC chocolate shop and Saturday and Sunday of Valentine’s weekend (February 13th & 14th) at the newly opened The Tasting Room wine bars in Reston, VA and Friendship Heights.

A contemporary manual, inspired by a 19th century French love guide, gives gallant advice on the art of courtship for today’s love-starved society.

“These days with the instant nature of news and information, few people make the time to read anything in depth, so I felt that good messages could be better conveyed with fun illustrations and humorous maxims.” Consider them “inspiration to greatness” describes Henry.

Next Wednesday, February 10th, in the lead up to Valentine’s Day, Henry will officially release his new publication with a book signing at ACKC, a chocolate shop and café in Logan Circle, Washington, DC. [ed: a chocolate shop and cafe sounds like the perfect venue for a book this emasculating.]

Now I wonder why a 19th century French love guide would recommend chivalry for men? I’m trying to think about how 19th century France differed from 21st century America, but I just can’t quite put my finger on it. It’s a mystery!

I’m not an anti-chivalry crusader. If you want to be Gallant to the world’s Goofuses, go right ahead. You’ll be digging your own celibacy grave, but that’s one less competitor to me. If you live in some weird time warp American town where gallantry will help get you laid with hot babes, then be all the white knight you can be. Game is about doing what works.

But you’ll be working against the odds. Millions of men from all over the world have reached the conclusion through actual experience in the field that opening doors, throwing jackets over puddles, waiting to sit until she’s been seated first, and buying her drinks are tingle killers of the first order. Gallant doesn’t go home with the babe in 2010 America; Gallant watches perplexed as the babe thanks him for the free drink and then make outs with Gus the Inconsiderate Douchebag.

I have a hard time believing that this guy James Henry is a native of DC and still thinks gallantry is what will help men score with DC girls. Either he’s lying for fun and profit, or he’s gay.

About the only reason I could recommend chivalry as a course of action for the typical man would be if we lived in a world where nearly all men stopped indulging women, and white knighters abandoned their lances for a more cynical, self-centered calculation. With chivalry long dead, a lone knight-errant could conceivably stride onto the scene and turn girls’ heads by doing something no other man is doing. In such a scenario, where women theoretically craved the chivalric attentions of men, buying a girl a free drink might actually be good game. But I really don’t see any evidence for this happening at all in our lifetimes. Chivalry is pretty much dead as it is, and girls are still responding positively to “I don’t buy girls drinks, but you can buy me one.”

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