Modern Marriage In One Picture

The reader who sent this in wrote:

It’s kind of amazing how much one image can totally capture everything that is wrong with wedding culture and how warped the meaning of the institution has become.

I thought it might be useful for your readership to see, and perhaps if a few were dating chicks with this kind of ring idolatry (and other similar, unsavory tendencies) they might sharpen up their game a bit before they, too, were rendered faceless.

Can you name all the ways this photo is a metaphor for the crumbling state of modern marriage? There are at least four emblematic American woman plagues that are apparent to the trained eye.

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The Duke Rejection List

I’ve gotten more emails to write about this Duke slut Karen Owen than I have on any other topic. I wasn’t interested at first, having scanned the notorious Powerpoint (also at this link in case first doesn’t work) and concluded that it was just another story of a whore riding the (alpha) cock carousel who happened to forego discretion and publicize her sluttery, nothing to see here move along dystopia down the hall and to your left. But a closer inspection of Owen’s tell-all reveals a river of scorned subconsciousness that the mainstream feminist bloggers have predictably failed to notice —

this chick was rejected by each and every one of these high status men she banged.

“But how can that be?”, some of the duller among you will ask. “None of the men turned her down for sex.”

Don’t you know it’s different for women? Failing to get laid is not how women are rejected; they are rejected when they don’t receive romance, love, and long term commitment from the men who fuck them. Most women under 25 with a slim and healthy 17-23 BMI profile have no trouble getting laid from the men they find attractive. Given that most young women can get sex fairly easily, falling into bed with a man, even high status men such as the Duke athletes targeted by Owen, is not much of an accomplishment. It’s like giving a trophy to a dog for being able to lick its own balls.

Now convincing these fly-by-nighter men to date, romance, introduce to their friends, spend money on, and marry the women they screw… that’s the real trick. And it is the measuring stick we should be applying to skank hos like Karen Owen. For by that metric, she and many others like her fail miserably.

For example, here is her write-up of the man (a tennis star) she rated the worst:

Note this man’s utter dismissal of her as a potential long term prospect. “Did not bother to kiss more than a few seconds”. “…after which he simply walked out”. “…did not return”. “‘I will leave them outside of the building for you'”.

And Owen’s reaction?

“1/10. Seriously.”

That is the tersely bitter send-off of one pissed and deeply wounded woman. Don’t let the whimsical snarkiness and slut empowerment pose fool you — even the raunchiest cockgobblers have a heart inside that beats for a man to love and cherish them above all others. The love of a man, true and loyal, is the slut’s white whale.

But what about the men she rated highly? Did they stay with her? Here’s her write-up of the man she rated the highest:

What did the first place man do differently than the last place man? He catered to her female need for signs of romance and commitment (which, in the end, weren’t forthcoming. And that kid went HA HAW):

“…intense level of eye contact”. “‘…if I get lucky you’ll wake me up with a kiss in the morning'”. “Him refusing to allow me to leave before noon”. “…how important it was to him that I got off as well”.

So when PUAs talk about leaving women better than you found them, this is what they mean — treat your pump and dumps like girlfriends and in the ego-assuaged haze of their pleasure they will forget that you haven’t actually committed to them beyond offering the half-eaten burrito in your fridge.

Unfortunately for Miss Owen, this story with ÜberMan #1 does not have a happy ending. After that amazing night together, this is how the following rendezvous meetings went down:

I saw him out briefly at Devines the Tuesday after, but since we had only just seen each other [ed: “seen” = “fuck” in chickspeak. GSS Fail!]… I did not even approach him, only making sure that he saw me in passing. […] I would have liked to have hooked up many more times than two, but he was tired and I needed to graduate the next day.

Long term romance fail. When a girl is careful not to talk to a lover in public for fear of creating an awkward moment that might kill the budding romance, you know you are dealing with a slut shooting way out of her league and, in the big picture, a dating market beautifully arranged to the maximum advantage of alpha males. This truly is the golden era for single men with game who have wisely avoided the trap of marriage. Conversely, it is the hell matrix for betas who now have nothing to offer but the pitiful consolation prize of being willing to wear ‘This is what a feminist looks like’ t-shirts in hopes of copping a pity fuck from a short-haired hippie chick on a five hour bender.

The whole Powerslut Powerpoint reads like the above. Owen snags another Duke alpha athlete (implicitly she has studiously avoiding snagging any computer science students on campus), has her sex, and then never sees the guy again except at beer pong parties where they exchange knowing glances if she’s lucky, or unacknowledged quick exits if she’s unlucky. Then she writes about it with a dash of humor and self-awareness to exorcise the demons tormenting her broken heart and chafed vulva, and sends it to a couple of girlfriends, her male-oriented brain assuming the girlfriends would be loyal to her and not pass it on to the wider public. Big mistake.

Probably the stupidest commentary on this affair was by that cougartown fembot Penelope Trunk, (the hypocritical conniving cacklepuss stalkercunt who harassed a man and his family in real life for having the gall to sneer at her feminist boilerplate), who in her infinite perspicacity managed to turn it into a treatise on, color me surprised!, sexual harassment and female empowerment via the magical art of spreading your legs for chaste men who only have sex once every thousand years when Jupiter and Saturn are aligned.

So what makes these slides so fascinating?  I think it’s her spunk and self-knowledge and enthralling sense of her own power. I wish I had had that when I was her age. I am twenty years older than Owen, but she inspires me to be brave, takes risks, and let my creativity get the best of me.

So what’s stopping you? Oh, that’s right. Twenty additional years (forty in female years) isn’t good for the bangathon business.

Jesus, what a buffoon.

Here’s some real insight for ya, Penelope and assorted Jizzabelers — Karen Owen has royally fucked up her chances to extract marriage from a good man thanks to her intemperate decision to write about, share and, consequently, archive for the masses for all eternity her insatiable hunger for a variety of lacrosse cock. Try to turn down the knobs on your psychologically-cemented female projection modules for a moment and put yourself in an alpha male’s shoes. What man worth his yarbles in character, money, career, looks, charm and/or social status is going to use Karen Owen for anything more than a hole in which to dump a perfunctory fuck? What high status man would marry a slut with a tap sheet a mile long, her every clitoral flutter registered in loving detail in ASCII, jpeg and png for his friends to read and laugh at?

Rhetorical.

Naturally, the double standards crowd will pipe up that Owen was just doing what men do all the time. Congratulations! You just figured out double standards exist and life isn’t fair. First prize, a group hug from fellow knobbobbers. Second prize, a beta with few options. Third prize, you’re still a rancid slut.

The impolite fact is that a man who wrote an Owen-esque fuck list would not suffer much, if any, penalty in the dating market *or* in the more tightly regulated social market for his promiscuity. Sure, a few femtards would wail at the objectifying of women and the unfairness that ugly but SMRT broads are passed over for alpha bimbo sorostitutes, but in the crucible of real life most normal heterosexual women would be uncomfortably drawn to such a man, and would work for his affections. I’m sure the athletes who are a part of Owen’s fuck list are high-fiving their pounding of Owen’s sperm cavern when they’re not fucking a hundred other groupies scrambling for their attentions.

Bottom line: a male Karen Owen would actually see his sexual market value *rise*, while Owen’s value as a girlfriend and potential wife has undoubtedly fallen. This — plus the raw hypergamy on display by her choice of sexual partners and her ability to effortlessly fulfill that limbic impulse — is the underlying message of Owen’s cutesy confessional. And it’s the message that the legacy media, the middle-aged vicars of vicariousness, and the feminists are trying hard to miss.

******

A few other points of note. Duke is also the site of the infamously racist false rape accusation by a black stripper against white lacrosse players. The mass media and fembots had a glorious communal orgasm over that one until it was discovered the whole thing was a lie. Funny how now, with another Duke scandal wafting in the autumn air, those same media mavens and feminists can’t be bothered to string up Karen Owen for her objectifying of Duke’s male students. Instead of a wail, admiration for her journey of self-actualization is shared by all.

Hypocrites, liars and filthy cunts, the lot of them.

Karen Owen herself looks masculinized. Check out her manjaw, beady eyes and heavy overhanging brow (on the left):

The photo of her lends evidence to my theory that women with high serum testosterone, or women who have been prenatally drowned in single mamma’s high T syrup, are more likely to slut it up with a platoon of men. These kinds of women are also more likely to value raw looks in a man, whereas more feminine women tend to downgrade male looks relative to other attractive male traits such as humor, charm and social acumen. It is possible that Owen’s masculinization gives her the male-like capacity to absorb to a greater extent than most women a series of repeated romantic rejections from crudely inattentive one night stands.

Last thought. What I’ve written above is based on the assumption that Owen was honest with her Powerpoint. It isn’t a guarantee that she’s telling the truth. The internet is the place where people make shit up. (Case in point: I could be making everything up as well. Every story I write could be a total lie. It isn’t, but it could be. You’ll just have to take my word for it.)

Owen could very well have made everything up for shits and giggles, or she could have been cruelly rejected by an alpha lacrosse player and this was her weird idea of getting back at him and those like him. It’s not unheard of that women will lie, in both petty and grand ways, about the men who have hurt them in a vain attempt at exacting vengeance, nor is it unheard of that they will fantasize out loud about having sex with alpha males. For purposes of discussion, we’ll have to believe the story as reported: the hookups are real and she only meant to send her fuck list to a few (formerly) close girlfriends.

I’m sure the Duke lacrosse players are crying in their red cups. [/sarcasm]

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What To Say To A Girl Who Asks You A Question You Don’t Want To Answer

Reader Andy writes:

Hey,

I like the blog and have picked up some tips. Thanks.

I have a great tip for you based on a recent post. You talked about how “it’s complicated” is a great answer to a majority of shit test questions. It’s OK, but I have the mother of [all] responses. [Editor: MOAR!] You have to use it sparingly though to make it most effective.  I was taught this in sales training many years ago.

When someone askes you a question you might not want to answer (for whatever reason, or no reason at all) you respond with “why is that important for you to know?”.

It totally moves them from aggressive to defensive.

If you’re an older guy and a chick asks “how old are you?” you say immediately “why is that important for you to know?”, what could she possibly say in response? If you think a chick is a gold digger, when she inevitably askes “what do you do for a living?” and you answer with that, what is she gonna say? “because I’m a gold digging bitch and don’t want to waste my time with a loser”. Nope. She’ll get all flustered and give you some answer and feel like an idiot. Perfect time to close.

The actual success rate of this sly evasive maneuver is less salient than the frame shift it accomplishes. If, for instance, a girl asks what you do and you don’t want to tell her, saying “why is that important for you to know” won’t necessarily budge her from trying to find out at some point, but it will put her on the defensive. And a girl in the defensive crouch is a girl giving birth to gina tingles. When you induce a girl to explain her fascination with you and your goings-on, her avaricious hindbrain will be tricked into registering your status as higher than hers, and from thence intimacy may commence.

“It’s complicated” and “Why is that important for you to know?” are two MOARs every aspiring Casanova should have in his arsenal of seduction.

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Inception

It is explained that subjects under sedation have to be “kicked” into a falling motion in order to wake up, and that this is accomplished by falling in the dream state, such as driving a van over a guardrail into a river. Why couldn’t Fischer alone have been dropped instead of everyone being dropped? Since he is the primary dream vehicle the others enter to plant the idea, wouldn’t his waking have a cascading effect that would wake all the others? This would free the group to deal with the projections instead of sitting comatose in the three levels of Fischer’s subconscious.

I read Nolan spent ten years crafting this Möbiusian script. Perhaps the length of time devoted to a metaphysical quandary is inversely proportional to the quickness which millions of movie viewers with uncover logical inconsistencies.

I give this move two inverted thumbs up. Marion still looking good.

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Opportunity Is Everywhere

Today we’ll accompany an average American, SWPL Six-pack, on his daily routine as he makes an effort to meet a number of attractive women that he sees.

It’s a Saturday. He gets up in the morning, showers, dresses and walks to the Starbucks down the block. While waiting at an intersection for the light to change, he notices an attractive girl standing next to him. He pivots to say something to her.

“I’ve got thirty seconds before the light changes to flirt with you. Ready?”

On the sidewalk in front of the Starbucks, he passes another attractive girl.

“Excuse me. Could you tell me where the nearest Starbucks is?”

In Starbucks, waiting in line, he speaks to the attractive girl standing ahead of him.

“Ever notice how fast the Starbucks barristas work in the morning? They must take a triple shot before their shift.”

Outside, holding his drink, he walks to the post office to drop off a letter. On the sidewalk an attractive girl walks toward him.

“Hi!”

At the post office, an attractive girl puts a letter in the mailbox.

“Be careful, that box sends all love letters to my address.”

Leaving the post office, he walks to a clothing store to make some purchases. On the walk over, nine attractive girls pass by him.

“Hi.”

“Hi!”

“Hi there.”

“Hey.”

“Good morning!”

“Excuse me. Where is the nearest dog grooming shop?”

“Hi.”

“Hi.”

“Hello!”

At the store, a girl hovers around the sunglass display.

“You’ll want sunglasses that hide which guys you’re checking out. Don’t worry, you don’t make me self-conscious.”

In the lingerie section, an attractive girl rifles through bras.

“I need to buy something for Mother’s Day. Too frilly?”

Back on the sidewalk, he stops at a street vendor to buy a warm pretzel. An attractive girl is there as well.

“I know this pretzel. I think this guy shops at Costco and marks up 1,000 percent.”

He goes home to get his frisbee. He plans to meet a friend at the local park. On the way home, five more attractive girls ping his visual field.

“Hi.”

“Hi.”

“Hi!”

“Hi.”

“Happy Saturday!”

On the walk to the park, two more attractive girls. He pretends to throw the frisbee to them.

“Catch!”

“Catch! Ohh, too slow.”

At the park, he and his friend spend more time ogling the girls than tossing the frisbee. A throw goes astray and lands near the feet of an attractive girl.

“I had my buddy throw it near you on purpose. I’m smooooooth.”

After playing frisbee, he goes to dinner at a local cafe with his friend. An attractive girl serves them.

“I heard the waitresses here are good flirters. Ok, let’s see what you’ve got.”

Dinner ends, and his friend leaves. He goes to Whole Foods to pick up some smelly cheese and grass-fed beef for the week. On the walk to Whole Foods, three attractive girls and one incredibly ugly girl pass him.

“Hi.”

“Hi!”

“Hi.”

*silence*

Loitering in the cheese section, he notices one of his exes is there. He sidles up to an attractive girl rummaging through the assortment of goat cheeses.

“Hey, I just noticed my ex is here. Right over there. I’m going to ask you a favor. Pretend you’re flirting with me so I can make her jealous. I’ll return the favor by flirting back. Trust me, you’ll thank me.”

Back at home, cutting off a hunk of cheese and downloading new Yeah Yeah Yeahs music, he makes plans to hit the local social venue with his buddies. Once arrived, he orders drinks from the attractive girl bartender.

“Don’t think this means we have something going on.”

A few hours socializing and drinking, he has met and spoken with six attractive girls. Walking home later that night, he steps next to an attractive girl at an intersection.

“I like your hat. Very trendy right now.”

He goes home to sleep, a full day behind him.

***

The above did not actually happen. Or, more to the point, it is not an accurate depiction of a day in the life of the typical, average American man who wishes he could meet more women. The number of attractive girls he saw on that Saturday is realistic, but the number of those girls he spoke to is, woefully, not.

It doesn’t matter if you don’t have the wittiest opener, or the smoothest delivery. If you open your mouth and say something as benign as “Hi” to thirty-eight attractive girls on a single Saturday, you will have rocketed yourself ahead of 99% of men who passed by those same girls and said nothing. You would have brought yourself closer to sex with at least one of those girls that wouldn’t have been the case had you walked by them silently, cursing your inaction once the moment evaporated.

Now add in a little game. You’ve just hurdled 99.9% of men who pass by those girls without muttering a word on that typical, “boring” Saturday. Are you beginning to recognize just how powerful this stuff is?

Opportunity is everywhere for those with the eyes to see.

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Sexbot Armies Gather On The Horizon

For those of you new to the blog, I wrote about the inevitable sexbot revolution back in August 2007:

A robot that is an exact replica of your favorite supermodel and that has feedback to sound and touch (for example, she’ll move her limbs and gyrate during sex as well as talk dirty and respond to commands) would supplant all other masturbation tools as the preferred method of getting off for men who can afford it.  Once sexbots become affordable, internet porn consolidates to one or two websites for spank snobs who insist on “authenticity” and proles who must suffer the humiliation of not only being too poor to afford real women but fake ones as well.  But, outside of self-pleasure and procreation, would sexbots replace real women?

For some men, yes.  The replacement would be total, at least until the dating market adjusted to the new reality.  For other men, sexbots would be a part-time replacement.  The result will be a shift in the mating landscape that will put selection pressures on humanity equivalent to a massive plague or a catastrophic famine.

Sexbots are a very real threat to the established order because men’s sexuality is so visually driven.  Compared to women, it is a rather simple affair to create an alternative sexual outlet for men.

Everything that has happened since is gradually confirming the predictions I made in that post. If I was off, it was only in the surprising speed with which we are marching into a world of sexually alluring artificial women. The sexbot revolution is coming, and the (arguably) most beta male country in the world is leading it — Japan. Is anyone surprised that beta males are at the vanguard of the movement? The latest development is an interactive virtual girlfriend with juicy boobs that you can fondle:

Famed for its various 3D adult games, Illusion announced its latest title to be Real Kanojo (”Real Girlfriend”), an interactive virtual girlfriend simulator for the PC, featuring real-time interaction with the polygonally intensive “girlfriend” by way of web camera.

If you stand in front of the webcam naked, does she go cross-eyed? I wonder if the monitor has spooge capture.

UPDATE

Best YouTube comment so far:

can i poke her in the eye, slap her and then throw her off a building? just for fun?

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The Number One Reason To Approach That Girl RIGHT NOW

You could pee on a power line and electrocute yourself:

Authorities believe a Washington man was killed by accidentally urinating on a downed power line after a car crash.

Grays Harbor County sheriff’s Deputy Dave Pimentel said Monday 50-year-old Roy Messenger was not seriously hurt after he collided with a power pole Friday and called a relative to pull his car from a ditch.

However, family members found Messenger electrocuted when they arrived.

Pimentel says Messenger apparently urinated into a roadside ditch but didn’t see the live wire. The urine stream likely served as a conductor, allowing the electricity to reach his body.

Pimentel says there will be an autopsy but burn marks indicated the way the electricity traveled through Messenger’s body.

Roast wienie! Think of all the ways you could die. An axle breaks and a bus careens into the sidewalk. A 14 year old mishandles a pistol. A congenital aneurysm bursts. A rotten tree limb falls on your head. It’s quite amazing you’re still alive and walking around today, is it not? So what are you waiting for? Express your joy that you’ve escaped death for one more day by chasing skirt!

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