Archive for the ‘Foreign Girls’ Category

Reader Fernando P recounts a funny story about a game tactic he tried on a girl.

I think I read in here a response to the famous female question “so what do you do for a living” being “I’m a drug dealer”. I tried it.

I quit my job, finally made up my mind regarding what I want in life. Decided I’d come visit my brother in Ukraine. I’ve been here for three months.

I’ve been seeing two girls, 20-21, I’m 25. I’m coming back to my country in a week, so I decided I’d do a little experiment.

In the middle of our deep conversations I told them I had something to tell them. That I had not been honest with them, etc. “What, Fernando, what?”.

“I’m a drug trafficker”

Given my nationality, looks and thanks to my brother’s apartment and car, they bought it. They were in shock. When things calmed down and after my surveying, one of them told me “you’re crazy, but perhaps I’m crazy too, I want you” or the likes.

Female rationalization hamster spotted in the wild.

The other said nothing but when I told her she could leave, I wasn’t going after her, she said no, she stayed too.

Aloof Alpha Attitude spotted in the wild.

It’s crazy, really crazy what girls will do if they like a man. Fear the day when your daughter meets a real drug trafficker with tight game.

Sadly I have to go back, but I’ll come back and marry one of these porcelain skin beautiful daughters of bitches.

A major psychological obstacle that hinders beta males from achieving more success in the dating market is their quasi-religious conviction that girls must be wooed by the ostentatious burnishing of one’s career credentials or they will run to the next man with a better job history. The typical beta male can’t comprehend how a ZFG, cavalier confession that one is a drug trafficker could in any way light a fire in women’s loins, let alone not send them running for the exits.

This explains why it’s a more civilized culture in which fathers regulate their daughters’ dating options. (Cf., moving to a nice White suburb in order to influence the quality of her social peers.)

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Meet a girl, charm a girl, love a girl. Beautiful, you found a soulmate. But, there will come a time, sooner than you’d like, when a girl will want something “more” out of her relationship with you. That “more” can be gifts, giving up your skeet shooting hobby, moving in together, or, usually, marriage. If you’re dating a green card whore lovely foreign girl overstaying her visa, (say, an au pair), “more” means cold hard cash to pay her immigration lawyer.

There’s a simple solution to this problem. Enjoy your time banging that cute foreigner, and when she thinks you’re putty in her hands and feels brave enough to ask you for money, walk.


It’s a wonder more men don’t avail themselves of this option. All it requires is the confidence to know that replacement pussy is within easy reach.

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Reader PA linked to an old video featuring four famous French singers embodying four distinctive styles of womanhood. All four are fantasizing about hitting on the same man who’s leaning against the bar. PA comments,

This is a delight in its own right. It’s also a Game tool: ask a girl which style, of the four shown here, is hers.

(Stay tuned for 3:34. Assuming it’s not electronically altered, dude has the deepest frog voice I’ve ever heard.)

The video is fun, and yes it does contain material that would serve very well reconstituted as a game routine. Which is what I’ve done.

Naturally, in most situations you’re not going to pull up a Youtube video for a girl you just met so you can ask her with which femme fatale she most identifies, (although there’s nothing wrong with doing that if you can manage it).

Do you remember the archetypical femmes fatales? The classics? The Chateau archives have posts about them and their particular gaming needs.

The golddigger.
The waif/neurotic.
The eternal ingenue.
The Amazonian alpha.

Asking a woman which female archetype she thinks she is will light up her eyes and deepen her conversational commitment. (Most girls like to think of themselves as ingenues. Be wary of the girl who proudly proclaims herself an amazonian alpha. Also be ready to bounce her home for the NSA bang.)

In the video, the singers represent, respectively (and commenters are free to argue with my categorizations):

Singer #1: The shy girl-next-door with a secret raging passion.
Singer #2: The fun-loving free spirit with a naughty side.
Singer #3: The elegant romantic who can throw a dinner party as well as she can flirt.
Singer #4: The take-charge seductress who might walk out with your wallet in the morning.

(Timeout to note how crazy beautiful and feminine Frenchwomen can be. I’d even consider monogamy with that first singer, and it takes a lot to inspire me to that sacrifice. Tragically, the times, and our women, have changed.)

If the girl you’re hitting on can watch this video with you, simply asking her which type she relates to will get the comfort stage ball rolling. Without the video, you’ll have to keep the above four (or eight) femmes fatales stored in memory for retrieval as part of the Femme Fatale Game Routine.

DEVIL’S VANGUARD: Women love to put men in boxes — you know, the frat bro, the nerd, the momma’s boy, the player — but there are types of women too. Femmes fatales. And men can tell a lot about a woman by her type. [pause for her curiosity to get the best of her. look away during this moment, so you don’t leave the impression that you’re anxiously anticipating her reply.]

LITTLE BO QUEEF: Really! So what type am I?

DEVIL’S VANGUARD: That depends. You see a man you like. You want to grab his attention. Do you look at him, then look away, blushing? Or do you bounce up to him and act flirty?

LITTLE BO QUEEF: Act flirty.

DEVIL’S VANGUARD: So you see yourself more as the free spirit than the shy girl-next-door. Ok, now if the choice is between being a free spirit, or sidling up in a sleek cocktail dress and remarking on his sense of style or whatever, which do you choose?

LITTLE BO QUEEF: Ooh, I like cocktail dresses. I’d do that.

DEVIL’S VANGUARD: Ok, so you’re more of an elegant romantic than a free spirit. Now you have to choose between being an elegant romantic, or wearing a sexy dress with a plunging neckline and whispering racy innuendo in his ear. The take-charge seductress.

LITTLE BO QUEEF: That’s too much for me. I’ll stick with being the sophisticated romantic in a cocktail dress.

DEVIL’S VANGUARD: Typical American woman. Great! Now I know what type you are. Ready?


DEVIL’S VANGUARD: The elegant romantic is passionate, but not crass. She’s no prude, she just likes a long build-up before going for the kill. She thinks herself sophisticated [ed: note that this is a challenge], and tries to dress stylishly [ed: another challenge]. She’s emotionally mature and has that natural sexiness which makes other women jealous, but not so jealous that they feel threatened. Men feel good about introducing you to business associates.


If words aren’t your thing, you can run an abbreviated version of the Femme Fatale Routine.

DEVIL’S REARGUARD: Shy girl-next-door, or naughty free spirit?




PS I understand that the “style” PA refers to may be the man’s style, but I think the routine works better as a pickup tool if you ask the girl about female-specific styles.

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The sexual market is not unlike the stock market; information bottlenecks are exploited by insiders for fun and profit. One such bottleneck is the value of white American men in foreign sexual markets. Because a man’s SMV is more contextual than a woman’s SMV, and because men’s romantic attractiveness is dependent upon multiple variables, including non-physical ones such as social status and charisma, it can be expected that a man will have different value to women in different parts of the world. Where his value is relatively highest is where he has the best chance of making sweet love to beautiful women.

MindFucked (priceless handle) performed an experiment to determine his value to the Unpolluted (non-American women).

Want hard evidence on your SMV in different countries around the world? Want to see what women in different countries REALLY look like and practice text game with them? Want to become even more disgusted with American women? Maybe you’re making a trip in a couple weeks and want to prep the field so you have willing sex partners as soon as you arrive.

Download a smartphone emulator. Bluestacks is my favorite. When you’re running it, go to the app store and download Tinder (the smartphone dating app) and a fake GPS application which will allow you to trick Tinder into thinking you’re anywhere in the world.

Put up a few photos of yourself, start swiping right, and wait for the results to pour in.

If you’re a white man, try doing this in Asia. It’s truly hilarious. China blocks Tinder so it doesn’t work there, but it works in every other Asian country.

While I can neither confirm nor deny if I’ve been to Moscow, reports from fellow world travelers give credence to the rumors: There is so much pulchritudinous street-strutting there that an American man unused to it will have his heart melt and crotch explode. And yet, vanishingly few American men trek to this magical Vaghalla. Why?

If this GPS-spoofing Tinder trick to gauge overseas female interest is revealing a huge pent-up demand for white American men in Eurasia, and the quality on offer in those faraway lands puts to shame America’s snotty, classless chubsters, then why aren’t more men moving to where the ass is leaner? Homo economicus is baffled.

Human nature is a tricky dick. Simple inertia explains a lot of inefficiencies in the sexual market. Most people prefer to envy good fortune from their couches than to move to where good fortune is within reach. Self-doubt explains more. American men might not believe they have a shot with beautiful foreign women because they are negatively conditioned by their effortful experiences with uninspiring American shrikes. They lack imagination.

Then, too, there is an innate desire, to greater or lesser intensity in each person, for a connection to blood and soil and kin. Our American women might be fat, entitled and unfeminine, but goddammit they’re *our* women.

Finally, we shouldn’t neglect the possibility that there are inherited ethnic dispositions towards one’s own representative women. Some white American men won’t find Asian girls, even the universally attractive ones who adhere to the golden ratio, very desirable. Russian girls, despite their legendary beauty, do tend to sport distinctive jutting chins, chiclet teeth, and broad faces that may not appeal to non-Russian whites.

I believe the reasons above, plus travel costs and unawareness of better options, account for most of the sexual market inefficiency in pairing up valuable white American men with pretty foreign girls who want them. For those waiting for the lid to blow off this underserved market, you’ll be waiting a long time.

Expat Americans like Roosh catch a lot of flack from envious haters, who smear his motives as those of a “sex tourist” who must “go overseas to score desperate peasant pussy”. But, what Roosh has done is what entrepreneurs throughout American history have done: Read the teat leaves, smartly calculate what’s in his best interest, take a huge risk, and create new markets that redound to his broadest (heh) advantage. How many American men have the cohones to uproot themselves and plant a flag in a strange land for a shot at a brighter life? It’s something white Europeans used to do all the time, and were proud of it.

The hate felt toward guys like Roosh is percolating envy, but it’s also something else: People hate reminders of their cowardice. Cowardice, perhaps, is the fundamental motivation that permits the continuance of this particular sexual market inefficiency.

The upscale demand is there, White American Man. Will you fill it?

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While peer reviewed, double blind, metafantastic research on the subject is hard to come by, there is a general consensus among men who have experience with women beyond licking their taints in the comments section of feminist blogs that the less attention whoring a woman the better candidate she is for a long-term relationship. The causal mechanism for this observed reality is theoretical at this point, but a reasonable proposition is that attention-craving women — like this one — have oversized egos which require constant external validation.

Women without this need for ego stroking from the betatariat and BFF choruses are, on the whole, more grounded and fulfilled with their private love lives. While they are just as attracted to desirable alpha males as any social media mistress who sells pieces of her soul to Instagram, the attention eschewing woman represents less risk as a long-term romantic investment, because her sexual and communal energy is more inward- than outward-directed.

What is a poosy paradise for most men? It is a place where, or a time when, the women are beautiful, sexually hungry, and also sexually faithful, with an eye toward long, loving relationships while they are still in their youthful primes. You can find these places by word of mouth, or by extensive travel. You can also narrow your search by collating online social media data by country and discovering where the women are least likely to whore for attention.

Probably the best data rich vein is Facebook. The average number of friends that a country’s (or a region’s) women have on Facebook is a pretty good indicator of the mean level of national attention whoring. Internet penetrance (heh) is broad enough in developed countries that fair comparisons between Facebook friend numbers can be made by country. (I suppose if you want to Game Africa, this comparison system will do you no good.)

Commenter corvinus writes,

But even your normal white American male of German-Irish-English descent has to contend with the fact that about one-third of women in their twenties are FAT, and the desirable women usually have several male orbiters and never have to worry about not having a boyfriend until they’re north of 35.

One thing I’ve noticed based on Facebook is that the hot American girls usually have over 500 “friends”, and very often over 1,000 (including plenty of frat boys that they’ve known for years and can pick from for their next boyfriend), whereas Eastern European girls tend to have only about 100 or so. I myself was never in a fraternity, and only became halfway socially adept after coming here a couple years ago, and I’m now into my early thirties. So I have a serious disadvantage as per social connections go.

Crack CH researchers trawled the net and found some social media data that helps clarify where in the world the worst attention whores reside. While the following graph isn’t separated by sex, it’s safe to assume the overall comparison is similar for both men and women across countries, even if there is a difference in average number of FB friends between the sexes within countries.

Within America, it should surprise no one that the attention whores congregate in the Northeast and Midwest, where careerist feminists and fat single moms predominate. The attention whoring in the South is probably driven by their large black population. Squinting a little, the attention whore map overlays fairly closely with the Red State-Blue State political map (especially the one that drills down to the county level, where racial political differences are more apparent). The big outlier would be the Pacific Northwest, where people take pride in their friendship selectivity.

Worldwide, Russia and Eastern Europe look like the places to be for pretty girls who don’t feel a delirious compulsion to hoard as many pretend friends as possible in an alternate virtual universe. And, again, this accords with personal experience: the EE chicks I’ve dated spent far fewer hours on Facebook per week than any American girl I’ve known.

Warm weather climates appear to be more Facebook friends-friendly, while cold weather climes the opposite. My guess is that this is a reflection of broad racial differences in temperament: K-selected, nuclear family people versus r-selected, social aggrandizing people. But there are plenty of exceptions to this rule.

In Europe, the Anglo countries don’t fair so well. Feminism was birthed in the Anglo crucible, and it is within the Anglosphere where the fruits of feminism and you-go-grrlism are most overripe. Five decades blowing buttercups up girls’ muumuus is bound to have a deleterious effect on their egos and need for infinite validation.

Beyond Eastern Europe, Japan looks like a good bet for finding women who avoid attention whoring. If you’re a white Western man, Japan is tailor-made for romantic adventure: feminine women with self-sustaining egos and men who go to bed with pillow girlfriends as competition. Just gotta get past those flat asses…

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Have you ever banged a woman you thought was impossibly hot, too hot for a mere peasant boy like yourself? Chances are, you haven’t. Most men don’t reach for the ass ring. Fear — and sometimes experience — cultivates an exquisite sense for one’s sexual rank, and an avoidance mentality that preempts rejection by sultry specimens thought to be “out of one’s league”.

But most men are not all men. A few warriors of the whiskered wound have banged out of their league, and lived to tell of the tail. Men with game will occasionally, maybe even often, bang women considered by the general population to be too beautiful for them. Other men will luck into an amazing fling with a superb hottie. Usually, some combination of fortuitous circumstance and seduction skill is the backdrop to a stunning mismatch between a regular guy and a boner fried bombshell.

In before the trick-less trolls and baffled haters hijack the substance of this post to nasalize their belief that men’s sexual value is judged by the same looks metric as women’s sexual value, let it be hammered into their blocklike skulls (again) that women judge a man’s mate worthiness by many measures, not least of which is his social value and his seductive savviness. So when we say that a man is shooting “out of his league”, we don’t necessarily mean the spectacle of a very ugly man with a beautiful woman (though it could mean that). We could also mean a man who compares favorably in the looks department with the woman he is dating, but who falls short in other equally important criteria. A good-looking but socially awkward nerd with a hottie is one such mismatch that strikes a discordant note on observers’ pattern-recognition tuning forks.

With that anti-hater disclaimer out of the way, we can move on to the meat and potatoes. Kai Peter Chang, a self-professed informal dating coach and boffer of beautiful babies, describes his experience dating what he figured (that’s the important qualifier) was a woman way out of his league.

Have you ever had the experience of getting a taste of a life light-years above your social class/station? 

Perhaps it’s being a guest at an extravagant $200,000 wedding thrown by a distant relative you barely know. All you can do is marvel at the gorgeous decor and decadent food you can never afford on your own.

Perhaps it’s a wealthy uncle/friend-of-a-friend who inexplicably allowed you take his $120,000 sports car for a spin around the neighborhood. All you can do is pray you don’t crash the car, or pop the clutch and embarrass yourself.

Perhaps you were summoned to an urgent work meeting that requires your presence thousands of miles away, and your employer authorized you to fly on the company jet (ordinarily reserved for its top executives). All you can do is fantasize about the day you’re powerful/rich enough to use a private jet for all your travel.

TL;DR: it’s like that – but involving the deepest part of sexuality and romance.

[A] number of years ago, I dated someone substantially “out of my league” for almost a year.

Her: a former Miss Hong Kong pageant gal, B-list actress/model/TVB television personality. In her prime, she was courted and pursued by the super-Alpha kings of Hong Kong: A-list movie stars, million-record-selling musicians, property tycoons, CEOs and power brokers at the apex of Hong Kong society.

Me: At the time, a Mergers & Acquisitions Analyst at an investment-banking firm – an easily-replacable cog in a financial behemoth, four years her junior. During that period, I commanded a low five-digit net worth, and no status to speak of. A nobody.

She told me afterward that she gave me her number because she was amused by the fact that I clearly didn’t recognize her; in Hong Kong, the only strangers who approach her are autograph-seekers and those who want to pose with her for a photo and I was utterly oblivious to her stature when I was flirting with her.

Nice neg.

It is also helpful to note that during this time, I was at still in first blush of youth – a few years out of college, filled with brazen and unrealistic cocky ambition of what I can accomplish, arrogant to the point of delusion, and impervious to feedback/advice.

I was also insecure as hell, and in complete denial about it.

With all that backdrop, the question was how did it feel as the “lesser” partner?

It was flattering, thrilling and unnerving all at once.

The more beautiful women you bed, the less unnerving (and thrilling, sadly) it becomes. You start to internalize the belief that you deserve them. This is the asshole’s secret of success.

Dating far above my station gave me a glimpse of the life that exists at a completely different strata of society. Growing up a son of broke-ass immigrant parents and attending public schools my entire life surrounded by others of modest immigrant socioeconomic background, the first thing that stood out was her nearly-unlimited access to favors and accouterments of her elevated station.

When you socialize with people who own spare yachts, faraway luxury properties and infrequently-used personal jets, you can cobble together an impromptu exotic vacation with a few phone calls. It will end up costing you little more than the price of a full tank of jet/yacht fuel and the promise of reciprocity of access to your own toys/properties at some unspecified future date.

I, of course, had nothing to offer in these types of trades – and that knowledge was a source of gnawing insecurity; while I was stupidly confident that I was just a few years/career moves away from joining the company of Hong Kong aristocracy on my own, my immediate financial circumstances were far more modest and I flew Coach to visit her, while she flew First Class or via private jet to rendezvous with me.

If you doubt your worth to a woman, she will feel compelled to agree with you. If you don’t doubt, neither will she.

The clandestine nature of our relationship (officially, she was the spoken-for consort of a powerful Hong Kong property tycoon two decades her senior and her lifestyle was bankrolled by his largesse) added a further element of illicit excitement; it was thrilling to be checking into hotels under fake names, arriving to locations at staggered times to avoid being seen together in public.

The sneaky fucker MO. It’s exciting because you know you’re getting something for free (outstanding pussy), that other men have to pay for in yachts and high society access.

In retrospect, I now understand what she meant when, right before the first time we slept together, she whispered in my ear “Please don’t fall in love with me.”

She was wiser and more pragmatic than I; she knew, better than I did at the time, the ephemeral nature of our doomed fling.

After several months of our relationship – which consisted writing letters to each other (she has a gorgeous, calligraphic handwriting and a wry playful prose that was a delight to read) and time-zone-spanning international phone calls, interspersed with week-long face-to-face rendezvous where we exhausted ourselves in hotel rooms in various locations along the Pacific rim, she tearfully confessed “Do you remember what I said to you that first night? I’m having a hard time following my own advice.”

It was as close as she could get to tell me she loved me, but it was clear that whatever we had would end someday.

Better to have loved a hottie and lost her, than to love a fug and keep her.

No doubt losing a pathway to high grade pussy is a blow to a man’s pleasure center, if not also his ego. But it was more dangerous for her to fall in love, because the nature of woman doesn’t allow for shared love between disparate men who offer her competing comforts beyond the wildest dreams of the average representative of her sex. She risked discovery, and the concomitant loss of feminine prestige and resources from her richer suitors. Truly beautiful women possess a degree of pragmatism that those who have little to lose can barely comprehend. Although if your charm is mesmerizing and your confidence imperturbable her love can bond her so tightly even the baubles of princes won’t steal her from your embrace.

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Although the source and scientific rigor of this graphic can’t be verified by crack CH gumshoes, it is interesting enough even in its vagueness and limitations to spur charmingly adolescent discussion about female beauty and its correlation with race and ethnicity. Take it for what it is, and assume some bias in the photo selection process that produced these averages of female faces from various nations. (No doubt the bias alluded is the surmise that the photoshopper is a white SWPL nerd deliberately choosing photo samples that minimize any uncomfortable racial disparities. Let’s face it (heh), it’s the way to bet nowadays.)

A few passing thoughts. First, for your social circuit approved elucidation, the Cathedral-sanitized thoughts are presented:

The sky is blue. Global warming is really bad. All women are beautiful the world over. There’s no such thing as absolute morality. Aren’t Republicans evil?

And now the unfiltered candor that fills the cheap seats is presented:

– As perhaps has been noted before on this blog and by numerous others, averaging the faces of multiple women appears to improve the looks of the final amalgam. The softening of asymmetrical protuberances and the converging toward the Golden Ratio can explain much of this phenomenon. However…

– The degrees of symmetry, softening and feminization in the female amalgams are not distributed equally among all population groups. While most of these women meet the minimum bangableness threshold for all but the most discerning (or Pointy Elbow Syndrome suffering) men, some clearly stand out as superior specimens of stiffy inspiration. As it seems is the usual in these international pulchritude comparisons, Ukraine, Russia and the Mediterranean minxes come out looking the best.

– In the general, the white women (where dey at? disappearing fast) have the edge over their historically geographically distant competition, but racial bias (a healthy and normal evolved human inclination which wouldn’t be so universally possessed were it not reproductively fitness enhancing, as the Peter Stone Cold Frosts of the world might quip) most certainly clouds accurate cross-racial comparison. Within the kernel of the seed of us men (and women) surely resides an incomprehensible, and barely comprehended, favoring for close encounters of the kin kind. It’s genetic continuity all the way down. That is, until a white woman is air-lifted into District 9. Then it’s a genetic hybridization orgy.

– The Dutch fused filly is mega hot. Those eyes, those eyes. They megaphonically telegraph “I am thinking about your rock hard cock driving itself into the chassis of my high church Nordic womb. The merest graze of my eddied upper lip on your proud exclamation will send you to spasms of molten release.” What her eyes do not say: “I bet you’re intimidated by my Masters in Third World Rebranding and my Tier 15 law school credential.” American women, take note.

– Asian chicks are overrated. But, they’e thin. And that’s where they close the gap with white women vis a vis the lustful longings of white men.

– The black African women outperform expectations. But, if most men had to choose…

– Sadly, no amount of averaging will rescue the Samoan girl from looking like an ugly ladyboy with a tribble on her head.

– A keen-eyed cad might mention that the averages of the women look epidermally lighter-toned than the everyday street versions he encounters on his travels around the globe. The South Indian girl, for instance, is a few color charts lighter skinned than the ones seen in photos of her countrywomen obliviously washing clothes in a fetid river transporting cow and human carcasses to their tenth lives as ants.

– French women may not be the world’s most beautiful, but CH proclaims them in the running for the world’s sexiest. Ween, ween, monsieur.

– What the graphic doesn’t tell us: The length of the tails of the beauty distribution for each represented country. Is the cute British girl, for example, close to the appearance of a randomly chosen young British woman, or is she the fuse of a lot of ugly Brit chicks averaged with a few super hot Moneypennys?

– Would have loved to see an Australian aboriginal average face included in this graphic. For the yuks, (entendre intended).

– The American woman amalgam is not represented. The frame was simply too small to fit her.

– The Brazil chick looks like every dirty porn star on the internet. Brazil should just rename itself to Pornistasia.

– Argentina is sitting on a Yankee candle.

– Peru has been wanting to get married since she was five.

– Burma: pedophile charges. Upside: you’ll always feel like you’re deflowering a virgin.

– Sweden is what too much feminism does to a woman’s looks.

– That Mexico chick? Yeah, 99.9999999% of Mexican border jumpers don’t look like her. So settle down open borders nutjobs.

– Irish girl is missing, which is too bad. Too bad for science, of course. One wonders (well, one with a juvenile curiosity wonders) if averaging would eliminate the famed jutting chin of the Emerald Isle lass.

– Who the hell does a female reader have to blow to get a !Kung woman represented in these beauty contests?

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