PDA Is Beta

Philosophically I’m very anti-PDA even though because of my higher than average sexual energy it’s hard for me to keep my paws off a girl I like, no matter how public or family-oriented the venue. I like to squeeze, knead, and fondle, and sometimes I don’t have the patience to wait until we get home.

If you observe alphas with their dates or girlfriends you’ll notice they almost never do PDA. Usually they’re the ones leaning back, keeping their hands to themselves, looking around their environment, while their women are always darting in for a kiss or putting an arm around a waist. An alpha gives the impression of tolerating his woman’s public affections like a shark tolerates a remora fish cleaning it off. And their women secretly like it this way.

The guys who are all over their girlfriends in public — and I mean all over in the nuzzling, cuddling, pucker mouth kisses way, not the slap-her-ass-hard way — are nearly always betas who are happy to have a girl in their lives and can’t help but express their gratitude. When you hardly ever eat, you feast like a pig at the trough and gorge yourself not knowing when your next meal is coming. This, of course, is self-defeating because it kills the girl’s attraction.

I had a friend who would bury his head in his girlfriend’s lap and stick his ass up in the air like a cat having its back stroked. Beta to the core.

For the first time in my life, I got kicked out of a venue for excessive PDA. The management of this place disapproved of my romantic tonguedowns and ass cuppings. My sexual aura radiates powerfully and must be kept hidden from public exposure where it can do no harm.

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Hillary’s Lapdog Betaboys

Several readers emailed me a link to this Camille Paglia article about Hillary Clinton surrounding herself with beta males and how this may be hurting her campaign.

First, a reader wrote to Paglia:

I would like to get your feedback on the subject of those who end up in Hillary’s orbit. Can you conceive of a strong, leader-type male ever working under her? An alpha, if you will. And if the answer is no, then why do you think that is?

The men you always see under her are to a person passive-aggressive, sadistic, mean, little, petty beta-male pieces of work who would not naturally succeed in a common male-type hierarchy. […]

Hillary’s persona is simply not compatible with another strong will, male or female — but definitely male, and that itself is a big red flag.

Paglia’s response in part:

I agree that the male staff who Hillary attracts are slick, geeky weasels or rancid, asexual cream puffs. (One of the latter, the insufferable Mark Penn, just got the heave-ho after he played Hillary for a patsy with the Colombian government.) If I were to hazard a guess, I’d say Hillary is reconstituting the toxic hierarchy of her childhood household, with her on top instead of her drill-sergeant father. All those seething beta males (as you so aptly describe them) are versions of her sad-sack brothers, who got the short end of the Rodham DNA stick.

This sounds right. The Supreme Cunt resents her experiences growing up with a strong-willed, domineering, verbally abusive alpha male father and her history of surrounding herself with wretched lickspittle lapdog beta males who probably had to pay to lose their virginity exemplifies her inward yearning to dominate the most important male figure in her life the way he dominated her. Just take a look at the amorphous, greasy, slimeball sexually neutered beta bitchboys she employs in her inner circle:

It is for this reason — the seething vengeance complex the Cunt On High nurses for all alpha males who remind her of her father — that Hillary cannot be trusted to act as President in the best interest of half the American population. See, for example, the way she LOATHES the military. Her Cunterrific Cuntastic Cuntery ensures that in her world it is always women first, women best, women forever victims and men relegated to an afterthought or natural born criminal perpetrators of Orwellian PC crimes, suitable only for reminding her of her ideological righteousness nurtured for decades during the height of the misandrist revolution in a fetid curdled soup of gender bender feelgood lies.

Bill Clinton, alpha male, gradually learned this, and found love and admiration in the arms of younger women unafraid of their femininity and sex roles. I respect him for that.

Ever notice how most alpha males — the guys who know how to give women what they want — are either indifferent to feminism or, when they’re not in polite company, hostile to it? And how many sniveling beta males lick up the runny shit of feminism and ask for more? Something worth pondering.

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The Best Thing Society Can Do For Beta Males

This is a public service announcement.

End alimony and no-fault divorce.

If women were forced to deal with the financial consequences of failed marriages with high risk cads they would be more discerning about choosing provider betas for husbands. If women did not have the option to unilaterally walk away from a marriage no questions asked, then that would also create an incentive to marry carefully chosen partners who are more likely to possess traits of loyalty and faithfulness, and to be more circumspect about leaving beta husbands who’ve proven their worth as good providers.

This is a great example of how feminism has been most beneficial (inadvertently or deliberately?) for alpha males. The very male chauvinist pigs they rail against are reaping the rewards of living in the society these feminists have created. To that I say: oink.

*Update: Child support should not provide an incentive for a wife to leave a responsible beta husband, so its reward should be severely restricted only to those cases of fault divorce where the father has clearly reneged on his end of the deal.

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State Of Nature

I don’t think people realize just how much condoms and the pill have altered human sexual behavior. To prove this, let’s examine the sexual history of the average alpha male with a healthy sex drive:

10 partners per year.
approximately 1.5 copulations per day for ~545 copulations per year.
about 55 copulations per partner.

Now of course none of this matters in the era of contraception since the odds of him getting any of these girls accidentally pregnant is near zero, assuming he is strict in his adherence to protecting himself from baby blackmail and the girl is not lying about being on the pill. Most guys, especially alphas who have high risk temperaments, aren’t that self-disciplined and get sloppy once in a while and blast inside, so the chance of fertilization is a little higher than zero. It’s probably more like an elevated risk of conception for 1% of the yearly 545 copulations, or 6 copulations randomly distributed have a better than zero chance of turning into 18 years of living hell. Extrapolating outward 10 years, the average alpha male would wind up with one unwanted child. Abortion being the cure for what ails ya, even that unlikely scenario wouldn’t come to fruition.

What are the consequences in a pre-contraceptive world? Using the copulation numbers above and assuming the same high risk and sloppy behavior of the average alpha, a girl who didn’t have access to the pill or abortion and a guy who didn’t have regular access to a reliable condom (which was the case for most of human history) would run a much higher risk of accidental pregnancy. Let’s say he pulls out successfully 80% of the time and the remaining 20% of copulations he isn’t fast enough and a little of his juice spills inside her. Of that high risk 20% (109 copulatory events) 5% result in conception. That’s 5 unwanted pregnancies per year, folks, spread out over five different partners.

If you don’t think that massively transformed risk-reward structure would have any effect on human behavior you are living in a fantasyland. Pre-contraception, women were probably more chaste and permitted internal blasts primarily with provider betas they could be sure wouldn’t leave them in case of pregnancy. Men, for their part, were less likely to pump and dump in favor of winning over these chaste girls with displays of resources. Alpha males still scored better than average amounts of pussy, but the sexual playing field was more level. With abortion, the pill, and ribbed condoms women exercised their liberation from reproductive consequence by rewarding the caddish alpha males with more sex than they knew what to do with.

The pill has been the beta’s worst enemy.

I made a rough calculation in my head how many kids I would have if contraceptives didn’t exist. The number is sobering. At least 125 mini-mes would be roaming the plains of America, and France, today. Luckily, I only have to spend a few hours each year visiting my nieces and nephews, which is a level of commitment that suits me well.

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Visualizing Beta

A reader sent me a link to the photo above. You can read more here. His mug says “2 hot 4 you?”.

The beta on display here is so over the top that I want to believe it is calculated. Sadly, I suspect this nerd, like most nerds, really is that uncomfortable touching women. If he were making a six figure salary in the IT industry I doubt that would be enough to end his celibacy. There are some fundamental aspects of attractive masculinity that, if missing, money can’t compensate until you get up in the extreme wealth range. Or lower your standards to the basement (see girl on right — the one he doesn’t have his awkwardly crooked arm around).

Learning game through books, manuals, and workshops gets a bad rap by naturals who think it’s an unteachable skill and by women who recoil at the idea that something so sublime as romance and sexual attraction can be learned like any other subject. But the guy in this picture would benefit from a learning approach that played to his strengths — i.e., a systematic backwardly-engineered flow charted algorithm of how to be a more alluring man to women. Like Mystery Method. Or any of the other pickup schools. Due to genetic constraints on behavior he may never get as good as a natural, but he’ll get good enough to know how to relax when touching a woman, and, if he’s dedicated to improving himself, may actually score with a decent-looking girl. Nothing will blow a nerd’s mind like showing him there’s a whole other world of sensual pleasure out there.

In the big picture, it’s too bad women find nerds creepy and unattractive, because we need nerds more than ever to run the modern technology-based society. If they are bred out of existence it will be everyone’s loss. Imagine a world with no internet porn.

On the other hand, if nerds started getting laid on the regular they might enjoy it so much that they give up spending their waking hours programming software or designing bridges. I wouldn’t blame them.

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Cat On A Leash

UPDATE

A reader sent in this photo of a cat in a stroller that is whisked around town by its owners:

I thought the end of America would be a long, slow decline over generations, but now I think it might happen in a matter of years.

My man about town, Dodgeball Dan, called from an undisclosed location to inform me that there was a young-ish couple walking a cat on a leash. He was so repulsed and simultaneously fascinated that he had to tell me as the action was going down.

DD: Dude, there’s a couple walking a cat on a leash. I can’t believe what I’m seeing.

Me: Is the guy a herb*?

DD: Oh yeah, total herb. And of course his girlfriend is cute. [To the couple] Hey, does he fetch?

Herb: Only indoors.

DD: He looks a little confused.

Herb: It’s his first time outside.

DD: [Back to me] Wow. Oh man. The herb just picked the cat up like a baby, cradled it, and carried it off. These are the end times for America.

Between this:

and this:

these are indeed the end times for America. It’s not so much the decadence that’s doing us in, it’s the silliness. (Open borders, cats on leashes… it all flows from the same juvenile mindset.)

*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 peaking 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.

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The Danger Of Gaming Subpar Girls

This past weekend at a loungey club I attempted a number close at the end of the night when the staff was flipping the lights on and off to signal closing time. Acting quickly before a gang of dangerous hipsters in white Hanes t-shirts and superbly chiseled body fat hustled me out I moved to wrap up the conversation I was having with a slightly above-average girl. It went like this:

Me: We should hang some time. Let me get your number. Here, type it in.

Her: Sure, sounds great! [types her # in my phone and hands it back to me]

Me: [looking at the number with no name attached] So… how do you spell your name?

Her: How do I spell it? It’s a simple name, there’s only one way to spell it!

Me: Yeah, but you may spell it the hippie way, with extra vowels or something. Maybe your parents were hippies.

Her: You forgot my name, didn’t you?

Me: Well, hey, I bet you forgot my name too, so we’re even.

Her: No, your name is [my name].

Me: Hm, wow, that’s pretty good. But actually I think I told you my name was [minor variation on my name].

Slightly above-average girl walks off without giving me her name. Mission unaccomplished.

******

This is a prime example of what can go wrong during a pickup when the girl you are talking to is not hot enough to keep you mentally focused on the task at hand. You get sloppy and let your mind jump ahead to thoughts of mashing her tits together. Had she been better looking I would not have forgotten her name. But even if I had, I would’ve answered stronger and saved the number close:

Her: Sure, sounds great! [types her # in my phone and hands it back to me]

Me: I have a confession to make. Our conversation was so intense and I got so into the things you were telling me about your life that I forgot your name.

Her: Ravage me!

If you are constantly forgetting girls’ names, you are probably aiming too low.

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