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We sat in a window box of the cafe. Warming sunlight marched through and glittered off her black hair. As I spoke absent-mindedly about a girl I loved whom I recently lost, barely comprehending in my stream of consciousness that I was airing my inner thoughts, a sunshaft grazed her cheek and I saw that she was silently crying. Two soft tears traced slowly downward, framed within an expressionless face. The effect hit me hard, not because it was the first time I made a woman cry from sheer carelessness, but because her tears were so incongruent with her personality. She was an Ivy-educated business consultant, easily turning six figures, ambitious, sure of herself in ways she thought mattered, and to the undiscerning eye cold and opaque.

She was also pretty, but the timing of our fling threw her orbit away from mine. Pleasing enough, she regrettably didn’t press my buttons like my recent ex-girlfriend had. And so, when she earnestly pried for my truest feelings, she received in return the fate of suffering reckless confessions she didn’t want to hear. My emotions were raw, and I unloaded on her callously as she took my strafe on every flank. Not meaning to hurt her, I had, and every time we had sex since then, over the following weeks, it ended with her tucking her knees under her chin naked on the bed to quietly cry into the wrapped bubble of her body.

When my one-sided conversation with the cosmos had finished, and her tears had shocked me back to empathy and guilt, she choked out a tiny utterance that I’ll never forget. A simple, endearing question: “So you really liked this girl?” Imagine for a moment the excruciating hollowness of unreciprocated longing that the friendzoned beta male feels as he patiently abides his love’s encomiums to another man. Women can feel this way, too.

I crashed back into her presence. Now all I could think was making amends and, truthfully, a part of me wanted to preserve for a while longer the usefulness of her distractive adoration in my time of need.

“Yes.”

I surprised myself at the forthrightness of my answer. Quickly recalibrating, “…but I could see it coming, so maybe it’s all for the best.”

She coaxed a crooked smile, but I had sunk her. She knew in that bright cafe that we would never be more together than a pleasurable temporary escape. Already approaching thirty, the weight of it landed in the breadbasket of her soul.

These stories locked in time offer lessons for times yet to come. What I had unknowingly, accidentally, obliviously, and with quite sincere effort done to this woman was run an extreme version of Disqualification Game on her. That confessional about my recent ex, the sincerity with which I expressed my confusion and unresolved desire, the indifference to how it might be received by present company, sent my replacement lover into a tailspin. She felt stronger love for me at the same time she felt the sadness of our inevitable, arriving end. Thus, our sex life carried on while her tears flowed heavier with accumulating grief.

What was accidental can be made intentional for one’s personal advantage. “I’ll always have this thing for my ex” Extreme Disqualification Game can, if delivered without a hint of manipulative urgency (almost as an afterthought), greatly increase a woman’s attraction to you. She’ll see herself as the one who can make it better, or steal your heart away, if you’re careful to stop just short of killing her hope outright. You’ll be a challenge too irresistible to some women, especially women with options, and if you parcel your redirected romance into hamster-sized pellets that make her feel as if she’s slowly winning you over, you’ll have from her a love that can transcend all other arid considerations women tend to autonomically jot down on dating profiles or personal ads.

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A common dramatic license in fictional thrillers is the sudden exit of the main character, usually a powerful man, from a scene of heightening intimacy with a woman. He gives no reason why he has to leave, but the viewer knows, or it is implied, that he leaves to rendezvous with his mysterious employer or otherwise shady characters to do business. This disappearing act, naturally, leaves the woman in a state of frustrated, and aroused, curiosity.

This trope taps ancient female longings for a heroic man with a sense of duty who must travel to faraway lands to fight an enemy, pursue a passion, or reach an enlightenment. A man who can tear himself away from a woman, from her trite domestic concerns, to “do what compels him”, becomes an exotic archetype to the woman. His desirability is stamped in the psyche of every woman from an early time in human evolution, when leaders of men gathered hunting parties and left the women and babes behind.

The modern seducer can capture the allure of the disappearing act for himself. Imagine you’re on a date with a woman who, you intuit, has one foot in and one foot out. She’s beautiful, and she’s unfailingly inscrutable. You try an arsenal of game tactics, but nothing sticks. To bag this trophy baby you’ll need a bigger tingle bomb. That’s when you reach for your phone, briefly scan the screen, make a phony excuse — “I have to meet with someone important” —  and be gone. Don’t loiter to parry her questions. If she presses, tell her you’ll call her tomorrow, and that you’re sorry you can’t divulge more, and you understand her frustration. Your exit must be fluid and definitive.

Beautiful women expect men to lavish them with attention, and to extend as long as possible the time spent with such women. They are right to expect this effortful courtship, since most men rarely break from the script. Therefore, the man who executes Disappearing Act Game immediately catapults himself into the frantic consciousness that characterizes a sexually fixated woman.

A few clarifications. Disappearing Act Game is dynamite, to be used sparingly, and only on those women with whom the seduction process has tediously stalled. If you’re at a woman’s place, and she’s smiling and tipping back a glass of wine, it would be stupid to suddenly leave when the probability of crack fracking is high. Too, it would be self-defeating to walk out on a date when she’s dropping nonverbal hints of her rising attraction. In pickup lingo, Disappearing Act Game is a nuclear version of the game tactic known as the takeaway; you’re leaving her not just for a few seconds, or even a few hours, but for a whole day, and under enticingly obscure circumstances.

I’ve used Disappearing Act Game ten or fifteen times in my life, if you want a handle on the proper frequency of deployment. It’s best used on very beautiful women who routinely date high status men, and with whom you’d seriously consider a long-term romance. Timing is important; disappearing after the first hello isn’t going to accrue much to your value. Maximum hamster impact is achieved after she’s gotten somewhat comfortable in your company, and a groundwork of intimacy has been built. She has to be a little bit invested in you to feel the loss of your quick exit.

You, for your part, must have a deep reserve of self-control to initiate the Leaving Protocol. Most men reading this post now don’t have it; you will think about leaving on a whim, you may even have at the ready an erotically charged excuse to leave, but her pretty face will keep you stuck in her orbit. To disappear with conviction, you have to be firmly committed to seeing your exit through the back door. Her eyes will look up at you, suddenly liquid with confusion and spiked interest, and it will test the last ounce of your will to sever your precious, if illusory, spatial bond to her. Stay the course. The only bond that matters in a woman’s heart is the one you caulk in her cock vault.

A final tip: What really helps gird your will to disappear like a phantom is having another girl in your dating rotation. Two in the kitty isn’t just a cad’s mission statement; it’s psychological leverage.

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Does this post title sound like a paradox? It is to virgin ears which have yet to hear the Rude Word of CH. But once again ♥science♥ waltzes onto the Chateau ballroom floor to plant a giant wet kiss on the stubbled cheek of your e’er ‘umble host and announce with stentorian resolve that “Aloof Indifference Game” is real and it works.

Erin Whitchurch and her colleagues conducted a study on 47 female undergraduates to find out. Each woman was told that several male students had viewed her Facebook profile and rated how much he’d like to get to know her.

One group was told that they would be seeing the four men who had given them the highest ratings (“liked-most” condition). Another group of women were told that they would be seeing the four men who had given them average ratings (“liked-average” condition. Finally, another group of women (“the uncertain condition”) were told that it is unknown how much the guy likes her. The women then viewed four fictitious Facebook profiles of attractive male college students.

After they viewed the profiles, they reported their mood and rated multiple aspects of their attraction to the male students (e.g., “someone I would hook up with“). The participants then rated their mood again, and also reported the extent to which thoughts about the men had “popped into their head” during the prior 15 minutes.

They found evidence for the reciprocity principle: women liked the men more when they were led to believe that the men liked them a lot compared to when they thought the men liked them an average amount.

Women in the uncertain condition, however, were most attracted to the men. Women also reported thinking about the men the most in the uncertain condition, and there was tentative evidence that the effect of uncertainty on attraction was explained by the frequency of their thoughts. In other words, it wasn’t the uncertainty per se that was attractive but the thoughts it induced.

Interestingly, women in the liked-best condition were in a more positive mood than women in the liked-average condition, but women in the uncertain condition were no different in mood than women in the liked-best condition. Women felt just as positive under uncertainty as they did knowing for sure the guy liked her!

When women think of assholes they don’t want to date, they’re thinking of caring assholes. The kind of men who are clingy, mate guarding buffoons. The assholes who are loved by women are the men whose jerkitude is implied through emotional distance, cocksureness, outcome independence, and inscrutability. The man who cares least earns the most love (and sex) from women. The gradient of this Uncaring Male-Loving Female curve is steep at the beginning of a relationship (courtship, dating) and levels off as the relationship deepens, to a point where the man’s SMV is noticeably higher than his lover’s and she is practically begging for romantic beta signs of his continued love and commitment.

The Uncaring Male-Loving Female curve is also dependent on the comparative sexual worth of the partners. A beautiful woman with a lot of options will be more attracted to romantically ambivalent men. In contrast, an ugly woman with few options will need and feel grateful for conspicuous signals of sexual and romantic interest from men.

As a man with game, you should always default to the Uncaring Male-Loving Female dynamic. If you overshoot, you have room to rein your indifference and bedaub the woman with tiny jewels of romantic intent; if you overshoot in the other direction — i.e., you lavish too much beta wooing on a woman — there’s no chance to come back from that category error.

Interestingly, psychologists are coming around to the CH theoretical (and field-tested) framework that the frequency and amplitude of “care least” courtship and dating rituals are increasing. Women, at least those in the highly sexually charged ruthouses of our major anonymizing cities, are responding more to aloof men, and are themselves mechanistically cranking the reverse gears of their pair-bonding algorithms. There are a host of reasons for this state of arid affairs, but one major factor has to be something like this: Women have become as men, and the flipped sexual polarity is warping every incentive structure of the dating market.

We’re tits-deep in the era of men and women competing like cheap date gladiators for the honor of most invulnerable animatronic ego maximizer.

One thing for certain: In this environment women are unhappy, society loses, and men with game win. Because if it’ll be about nothing but banging with piston-like efficiency and avoiding romantic entanglements, men will clean up the arena with the battered husks of women’s egos.

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At yet another internet portal leading to a giant flapping angry vagina, a bitchy woman reveals, unintentionally, hilariously, a list of 22 excellent negs, teases, challenges, and disqualifications that would work very well as pick-up tactics. She begins,

Don’t say any of these phrases to a girl. In fact, don’t even think them around girls. If you do, be prepared for the wrath.

What follows is not so much “the wrath” as a bandwidth-eating mess of GIFs which she uses as a crutch to compensate for her total absence of a sense of humor. Like other bishes of her kind, you can properly assume that when a blogger bish gets all wound up with no where logical to go, she’s recently been dumped by an aloof alpha lover and is trying to assuage her butthurt ego by pretending it was his lack of betaboy politesse that really caused the breakup. This is never more apparent than when the limbically bruised bish logs online to vent her spleen about a laundry list of supposed horribly inconsiderate alpha male habits that… coincidentally!… every man she’s ever banged and prayed would become her long term boyfriend exhibited in her company.

Here’s her list, minus her vapid snark. You tell me if you don’t think these are the sorts of lines that natural womanizers employ with impunity.

1.”You look really tired.”

Tingles are born in the defensive crouch.

2. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but…”

This is a great opener, especially if paired with a long pregnant pause, followed by some silly construct, like “Don’t take this the wrong way, but……….. paper or plastic?”

3. “You remind me of my mom.”

Fantastic neg. Is this a bad thing, or a good thing? It’s not like you think ill of your own mother.

4. “Are you on your period?”

This is a version of “nuke the hamster from orbit” game. “Are you on your period?…. Because I heard that girls who drink gin and tonics are flowing like the Nile.”

5. “Are you wearing that?”

This line provides a good conversation thread break to what you think would look good on her.

6. “You might be able to fit into this.”

Spin, hamster, spin.

7. “Your sister is so hot!”

Neg. Is she chopped liver by comparison, or does hotness run in her family?

8.  “You have a really pretty face.”

This is what the bish wrote: Just my face? What, you made it past my neck and decided that the rest of me was hideous? And that, gentlemen, is exactly what a tight neg is supposed to accomplish.

9. “Your hair looks way better (shorter, darker, longer, up, etc.).”

Chicks dig a judgmental man. Why? Because it means he can afford to be judgmental.

10. “You’re still hungry?”

#FatShamingForever. Nip that Jabba wannabe in the bud.

11. “Why are you freaking out?”

This tactic is less effective within the firm shell of a relationship than it is when unloaded during the dating period. All I can say is that if you have a girlfriend who freaks out a lot, you’re better off telling her to stop than asking her why she won’t stop.

12. “Didn’t you wear that last week?”

Related: Classic PUA neg: “Great dress. It must be popular. I saw two girls wearing it last week.”

13. “You ask a lot of questions.”

This line is very effective when delivered on a first or second date. It immediately imbues you with an air of mystery while insinuating that the girl is so into you she can’t help but be curious.

14. “I don’t know if I trust your cooking.”

Great challenge that can lead to a funny conversation.

15. “It’s not you; it’s me.”

If a man says this nowadays, he’s obviously being ironic. Or a mischievous asshole. Translation: He doesn’t care what you think of the line.

16. “Is that your real hair?”

Neg. Chicks will claim it’s offensive, but their muff moistening belies their words.

17. “Don’t be mad; I was just kidding!”

This is actually the one line on the list that men should avoid saying. Not because it’ll make the girl mad, but because it’s supplicating and unattractive.

18. “Are you sick?”

If a girl gets this line a lot, she may want to see a doctor.

19. “You’re crazy.”

Challenging a girl to prove she’s not crazy is liable to make her even crazier… thinking about you.

20. “You have a lot of feelings.”

😆 Love the ambiguity.

21. “Calm down.”

Sean Connery knows how to calm a woman down.

22. “How much do you weigh?”

“Excuse me?”

“I’m curious. You have the body for a bobsledder.”

“What does that mean?!”

“Hey, bobsledders are HOT. Do you have a problem with bobsledders? My beloved grandmother was a bobsledder, and she was CHOICE back in her day.”

***

Programming note: It’s a good time to reflect how fantastically obnoxious American women have become. Ladies, if you’re reading, a helpful tip: You have to work to please men as men work to please women. Somewhere along the way, a fat lot of you forgot that simple truth, thinking that the world, and the world’s men, owe you something for nothing. Worse, owe you for acting like roaring cunts. Rest assured, reality will set you right in short order.

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DragonfromCY writes,

Urgent advice requested, there’s an opportunity for mischief in outing a liar. Bare-bones summary: 6 months dating a flaming s–t (far too long, I know, but the sex is great), going to a big bday party with her tomorrow.

She says there are no exes coming and she hasn’t hooked up with any of the men who are gonna be there–but from a quick perusal of her computer it’s clear she’s f—d at least one of them (a few weeks before meeting me), a guy who has a girlfriend (and cheated on her with my s–t girlfriend) so it’s like their dirty little secret. “This is between me and you, right?” he wrote to her, when she offered him “a ride”. She still keeps in touch with him, texting him stuff like “hey dude what’s going on with you” etc. That to me was the death knell of our hooking up–I don’t even want her as a f-buddy. She lied that she didn’t keep in touch with exes.

The guy will most likely be at the party with his girlfriend, and I’ll be introduced to him. I’d like to amuse myself by watching her hamster spin. I want to dump her soon. I might even wink at the guy and insinuate subtly that I know. Any advice on how to f–k with her/his head? For fun of course!

You can safely assume any girl who keeps in serious contact with an ex is still having sex with him, and then act accordingly. If you’re right, you dump a cheater. If you’re wrong, you dump a drama queen who loves to mentally cheat. Win-win.

Exes should be treated like vaporware: You can let people know you have them, but beyond that, they don’t exist. This holds for men and women, but for different reasons. It’s difficult for men to be “””friends””” with exes because nearly every man retains a desire to tap that ass one more time. That feeling won’t go away until the day he sees that his ex has gone post-Wall. Unfortunately for most men, exes don’t want sex with them. This is because women initiate the majority of relationship break-ups. So being a “””friend””” with a female ex is apt to lead to psychological torment and beta orbiting blue balls for non-alpha men.

Women don’t necessarily want another go at exes, but of the exes they’ll continue contacting it’s a good bet they’re thinking of extracockicular activity. Therefore, regard with a wary eye any woman you’re dating who claims to be on exceedingly friendly terms with an ex.

The rule for men in relationships: Contact with an ex should continue only if either of these two conditions is met:

1. You know the ex still wants you, and sex-on-the-side is logistically favorable.

2. You have children with the ex.

The rule for women in relationships: There should be no contact with any exes, unless the ex is John Scalzi and thus presents no sexual threat. Or, like with men, your ex and you share children.

Now that we know the rules of the game, let’s attend to the reader’s question.

First, you’re right to dump this girl. She’s got the red flags of whoredom planted in every orifice, lying being the most obvious tell of her possible present and certain future infidelity. But a perfunctory dumping is just so… anti-climactic. You want more bang for your headfuck. Remember, your beef isn’t with your girlfriend’s ex as much as it is with your girlfriend, so target your firepower on her. As the sexual gatekeepers, women should always be held the more responsible party for any illicit dalliances they undertake.

(I know that last line stuck in feminist craw. Because it’s true.)

What you want to avoid is a “let’s you and him fight” situation where your girlfriend fortuitously gets to enjoy two men blustering and posturing for her tawdry benefit. That means don’t aggressively confront her ex. Here’s my suggestion:

When you’re introduced to the ex, lead with, “I’ve heard so much about you.” Doesn’t matter if it’s true. (It’s better if false.) Watch your girlfriend’s reaction. If she hadn’t told you anything about him, she’ll become perceptibly uncomfortable. Savor these few seconds with a smile so broad she’ll think you’re guarding a Fort Knox stash of secrets about her.

Nervous chit chat will follow. Lean in like you’re about to tell the two of them (or three of them if his GF is also part of the group) a dirty secret of your own, then say “Hey, I was going to keep this between me and you [look at your GF], but [her ex] wouldn’t mind hearing this.” Your smile should now be reaching Joker proportions.

You say, “I saw my ex here, and she is crazy. She loves taking me for a ride.” Hold it, hoooooold it. Look at the ex. “You know what I mean? Anyhow, could you guys just kinda circle around me so maybe she doesn’t see me? If she comes over, pretend like we’re in deep conversation. Christ, I may need to bolt.”

Then they’ll chime in with something, it’s irrelevant. All you’re doing is extracting the id from your girlfriend’s ego bunker and forcing it to manifest in the awkward contortions of her face. You want to savor that crimson blush, her foot shuffling, and her attempts to cut off the conversation with feeble excuses. This is your one act play, and you will make it count.

Continue. “How close are you two? Can I trust you alone together? Haha, just busting your chops. I’ve gotta go, babe. Do you mind if I leave you here with [her ex]? No hanky panky, all right?” Finish it with a coup de grace shit-eating grin.

At this juncture, anything can happen. She might slink away disgracefully and meekly request she join your departure. Or, more likely, she’ll be experiencing something akin to septic shock, and stand there like a dummy, trying to make sense of her cratering bowels. Whatever you do in response, DON’T let on that you know the score. Pretend ignorance. This whole circus depends on plausible deniability and soul-shivving ambiguity. You’re not starting a fight with your girlfriend; you’re starting a fight *within* your girlfriend.

All will become clear to her in a few days time when she hasn’t gotten a single call or text from you. Relish the thought of her paranoia.

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It was inevitable that the winding path to Chateau Heartiste, hedged by fragrant nihilismicus viscosum, would culminate, as it traveled past the noble stone house to the woods out back, in a dark place where demons play. And when one ponders the changing nature of the empire within which CH is embedded, it should not surprise to stumble upon these demons at the foul climax of their bacchanalia.

Meet Stanley, the psychopath. This is his story. Pay special attention to his relationships with women. Read about his near-magical power to seduce and charm women to perform services for him that would defy the imagination of the most corrupted and vengeful beta male.

During the summer of 1972 a small item of news appeared in many of our daily newspapers over the country. It was an item that immediately engaged my attention. Over the two short columns was printed this arresting headline:

YOUNG MAN INDUCES FIVE TEEN-AGE GIRLS TO SHAVE THEIR HEADS

The report, as I remember it, did not go into much detail about this unusual event or give an adequate account of the young man’s methods of persuasion, of his motives, or of just what impulses might have prompted the five girls to take such an unusual and, one might even say, such an unnatural step. Among my first thoughts on this accomplishment was that Stanley must surely have been the man who brought it about. Who in the entire world but Stanley would have thought up such an exploit? Who else would have had the inclination to carry it out? Though the news report did not actually identify Stanley as the man involved, it brought back many memories of him over the immediately preceding period of several years when I was trying to deal with him and some of the complicated and unusual problems his behavior kept creating for those concerned with him, and for himself.

Like a number of other patients presented in this book, he repeatedly showed evidence of superior abilities and demonstrated over and over that he could succeed in Studies, in business, in impressing and attracting other people, and in virtually anything he might choose to undertake. And, similarly, he lost, or seemed to throw away, with no sign of adequate motivation, everything he gained, and especially the things that he claimed meant most of all to him.

The psychopath is different than most people. He is missing, or seductively convinces himself that he’s missing, a moral sense, save for that morality which accrues to the self. He may not be evil, but he certainly has the capacity to be evil, for he will have no remorse should he choose evil. An amoral person, whose amorality is perhaps developmentally hardwired, who can’t empathize with the suffering of others and for whom others exist solely as instruments of his pleasure… can this person be described as anything but a demon in human form?

And yet, here again, as we discover so often when examining this subspecies of man closely, women can’t resist the demon’s sway. They drop to their knees to suck his devil seed dry. Why? What is the psychopath’s source of power over women? Clues abound.

Typical of his behavior in high school is an incident that occurred while he was making excellent grades and holding positions of leadership. With no notice or indirect indication of restlessness, Stanley suddenly vanished from the scene. He failed one day to appear at classes and did not show up at home that night. After he had been gone for over two weeks, a period of great anxiety for his parents who had no way of knowing whether he was living or dead, the police finally discovered him working successfully in a large department store in Knoxville, Tennessee, approximately a hundred and fifty miles away. He seemed quite unconcerned with the ordeal to which he had subjected his parents.

The psychopath has mastered the attitude of aloof indifference.

During his first year at the university he was accused by a girl he had recently met of getting her pregnant after solemn promises of matrimony.

Before this trouble was settled by his family, at considerable expense, a similar accusation was made by another girt in a different state.

The psychopath lies with ease. More importantly, he knows what lies are most effective.

To set out without delay on the trip of approximately a hundred miles he casually stole a truck that happened to be at hand. It was heavily loaded with dairy products. State police pursued him, and in the chase he turned over the truck wrecking it and injuring a companion he had persuaded to go along with him. The damages, including hospital bills, cost his family several thousand dollars.

The psychopath is impulsive. He acts recklessly. I’m sure his company is very exciting for the people who have the fortune to meet him.

While still in college, he showed his excellent persuasive abilities during one summer vacation selling Bibles down in the Cajun country near the Gulf of Mexico.

The psychopath is a natural in the art of persuasion.

During this time he was living with his first wife who eventually had to leave him because of his tyrannical demands and his predilection for beating her up severely at the slightest provocation. It is difficult to imagine conduct of this sort in one who ordinarily gives the impression of a well-bred and considerate gentleman.

The psychopath is an occasionally dangerous man, and all the more dangerous for the expertise he brings at concealing his dark nature.

In discussing the first wife’s accusations of such conduct as this, Stanley usually brushed them aside as a typically feminine and somewhat ridiculous exaggeration of some minor disagreement. When confronted with undeniable evidence to the contrary, he admitted having taken mild physical measures to influence her, saying that he “just couldn’t stand her screaming and bawling,” This habit of hers, he said, made him lose his temper. When it was emphasized to him that her weeping and outcries did not precede the beatings but occurred only after the beatings began, he showed very little response. Apparently he felt that this crucial point was not sufficiently important to argue about and seemed to dismiss it without further thought as something virtually irrelevant, or at most a trifle.

The psychopath doesn’t feel genuine feelings, but he can mimic feelings, which is a sufficient talent to attract the interest of women. Never underestimate the number of women who can be bamboozled by phony emoting.

Chiefly because of this physical maltreatment, the first wife left him on many occasions.

Translation: She kept going back to him.

When with her and when separated, he easily obtained employment, usually as a salesman.

The psychopath has state control.

While he worked, his income was ample for any ordinary needs. During one period of prosperity he was very successful selling small computers for household use. He later added as a sideline the enthusiastic promotion and sale of waterbeds, shortly after these were introduced and hailed as a stimulating erotic innovation.

The psychopath seduces employers, customers, and women alike.

Then, without any particular reason, he would give up an excellent job at which he was distinguishing himself.

The psychopath is unpredictable.

Sometimes he would go out merrily and buy on credit several expensive suits and ample supplies of new shoes, shirts, and neckties.

The psychopath peacocks.

Stanley has proved himself a master over the years at misrepresentation in situations where the truth would cause him difficulty or put him in a bad light.

The psychopath never DLVs (demonstrates lower value).

He has also been scarcely less active and ingenious in the fabrication of elaborate lies that seem to have had little or no chance of helping him gain any material objective. […]

On at least one occasion he told a psychiatrist that when he was about 10 years old his mother frequently had adulterous relations in his presence with various men. When the plausibility of this claim was questioned, Stanley explained, or seemed to feel that he explained, by saying, “It was because she knew she could trust me with anything.”

The psychopath loves fucking with people’s heads.

While separated from his wife for a period of several months, he went for a short time with a divorcee not long out of her teens, who will here be designated as Marilyn. During this brief courtship he convinced her that though he had once been married, his wife and also his 2-year-old son had died. Actually they were at the time living in another state with the wife’s parents.

The psychopath does it all for the nookie. Or, rather, he does it all for himself, and the (barely legal) nookie mysteriously follows.

At their first encounter, or soon after, he convinced Marilyn that he was deeply in love with her and had every intention of marrying her. She had no way of knowing that these intentions, if they ever existed, had greatly changed (or that Stanley’s wife was still living) until he came to her with what must have been one of the strangest, most surprising and most inappropriate proposals ever made by man to woman.

He requested and persistently urged Marilyn to write a letter to his wife and in it explain to her that Stanley’s love for her (the wife) was strong and genuine and to implore her to accept and welcome him back without further delay. I have inexpressible respect for this young man’s powers of persuasion and have often marveled at his accomplishments in getting people, sometimes the most unlikely people, enlisted in working with him to bring about his various and sometimes incompatible or absurd aims.

Despite these extraordinary powers, Marilyn could not be induced to take the role that he tried to press upon her, Though extremely shrewd in many ways, Stanley, in discussing this matter, seemed to show some peculiar limitation of awareness, some defect in sensibility, of a nature I cannot describe or clearly imagine. This often led him into gross errors of judgment that even very stupid people would readily see and easily avoid.

The reactions Marilyn must have had to the unusual role he proposed and urged upon her invite many questions. Putting further speculation about these reactions aside for the moment, I asked Stanley if he did not think it might have seriously damaged the cause he sought to further if Marilyn had written the letter to intercede for him. Surely, I thought, it would occur to Stanley that such a letter from the other woman would point out and emphasize his sexual infidelity during the separation.

“Oh, no,” said Stanley, in tones of strong and almost indignant conviction. “My wife knows I’d never be unfaithful to her.”

He then went into some detail about her unassailable confidence in his sexual loyalty. “Why,” he said as if in real pride, “I promised her that if I ever did that with another woman, I’d let her know about it right away.”

I then brought up the point that he had given me plainly to understand that he and Marilyn had been indulging in sexual relations freely and regularly up to the time when he made his request for her intercession. Stanley seemed in no way dismayed. “But my wife,” he said confidently, “She doesn’t know about that.”

The psychopath possesses a vast reservoir of overconfidence and overestimation of the attraction that women have for him. Experience justifies his bloated self-conception.

Something in his attitude seemed to give fleeting and very imperfect hints of a difference far within that distinguished him in a very special way from the usual or ordinary human being who is unscrupulous and unconcerned about veracity or honor. When Stanley said, “My wife knows I’d never be unfaithful,” there was in his tone what seemed to be the very essence of truth and sincerity. There was pride in his voice that seemed rooted in this essence. Could it be that for the moment he lost awareness that he was lying? Perhaps even awareness of what truth is? If so, I think this oversight might have occurred because to him it mattered so little. Whether his sworn fidelity was real or not was apparently no more than an academic question empty of substance. The only tangible issue was whether or not it contributed toward gaining his ends. Whether the fidelity existed or his oath had been honored was, for Stanley, a matter that could interest only a sophist who concerned himself not with actualities, but with mere verbalistic capers.

The psychopath has unshakeable inner game.

On two or three occasions he voluntarily entered psychiatric hospitals, apparently to impress his wife by making her think he had at last realized he needed help and meant to change some of his ways. These visits were brief and fruitless and seemed plainly designed to manipulate domestic situations or to elicit new financial aid from his parents.

The psychopath is always looking out for number one.

His many notable and sometimes puzzling exploits were apparently decided upon and carried off on his own, without extraneous stimulation or chemical aid.

The psychopath loves himself.

In high school, and in college during the late 1960’s, he was often thrown with and sometimes almost surrounded by groups of young people who went about in ragged blue jeans, with unkempt beards and long dirty hair that seemed to offer a standing invitation to lice. With many of these young men it was considered stylish and desirable to leave out their shirttails and, on formal occasions, sometimes to come barefooted. Among these could be found many who thought of themselves as radical activists defying the “establishment” and its laws, moral codes, and conventions. In contrast, Stanley wore traditional clothes, remained clean-shaven with neatly trimmed auburn hair. He seemed to have no special interest in changing or challenging society, or in promoting rebellion. Verbally he expressed allegiance to law and order and regularly identified himself with traditional virtues.

The psychopath is a nonconformist.

Let us note briefly a few examples of Stanley’s typical power to convince and to persuade. A year or two before his second wife had to leave him he had no difficulty in getting a young women to turn over to him all her savings, which she had accumulated by steady work over years and which she had been carefully guarding to give her two young children some measure of security. She had clear knowledge of Stanley’s repeatedly demonstrated financial irresponsibility and, one would think, almost certain knowledge of what would happen to her savings.

The psychopath is so seductive he causes women to lose the normal functioning sense of propriety and self-interest they normally exhibit when in the company of niceguy beta males.

More recently he succeeded in arranging for admission to the hospital of a young woman with whom he had been living for a few weeks. She was legally married to another man but had left his bed and board. Stanley was able somehow to convince the ordinarily strict and uncompromising authorities in charge of admission to this hospital that insurance his employer carried on him would cover this lady in the same way as if she were indeed his wife. She did not claim his name as her own or attempt to falsify otherwise her name and status. When she was dismissed, the hospital was left with a large unpaid account that is almost certain to withstand even the most heroic efforts at collection.

Five minutes of psychopath beats five years of beta husband.

On another occasion, Stanley escaped the consequences of a felony charge by serenely posing as an undercover agent working with the authorities against organized pushers in the hard drug traffic. This ruse apparently worked well enough for him to avoid arrest and to leave the state and eventually to takefurther intricate steps to escape the legal consequences that would almost surely have been disastrous to the ordinary man.

The psychopath loves to role play.

His unusual ability to make conviction spring to life and continue to flourish against adversity, and even obvious contradiction, emerges again in a somewhat different area. An attractive and sensitive young woman whose early years had been extremely unhappy and, perhaps, had given her a far greater than ordinary need for genuine and unstinted love, seemed to find at last in Stanley what she had sought above all else in life. She was separated from her husband and for a long time had been loved dearly by another man who apparently offered her everything in his life without qualification or demand for ordinary reciprocation. Stanley grossly mistreated this appealing sexual partner who continued to live with him despite gross and flaunted infidelity, severe and repeated beatings, and other unprovoked outrages. In attempting to explain why she continued with him despite real fear that he might kill her, she said that somehow he made her feel genuinely loved for the first time in her entire life.

The psychopath knows… CHICKS DIG JERKS.

This statement seemed at first to suggest that Stanley might possess remarkable physical prowess and skill at sexual relations. It also might suggest that his partner was masochistic and actually found some perverse satisfaction from being mistreated. Continuing study of her reactions and her attitude gave increasing, and finally convincing, evidence that in neither of these possibilities lay a likely explanation of her loyalty. The more she discussed their physical activities in sexual relations, the more Stanley’s performance seemed unimaginative and his abilities at best ordinary. What she thought he offered her was not primarily physical. It was, I believe, precisely what he was almost infinitely incapable of offering, even in a small degree, but what he apparently simulated with complete success, casually and without effort. It was, she repeatedly said, the way be made her feel personally valued and cherished, deeply and truly loved, rather than a remarkable sensuously erotic experience that bound her to him. One can but marvel that Stanley, and only Stanley, of all the men she had known, could give her this invincible impression of sincerity in personal love and make it convincing time after time despite the repeated and trenchantly disillusioning contradictions demonstrated so vividly and so painfully, and sometimes brutally, by his conduct.

The psychopath is a maestro of the comfort stage of seduction. He intuitively knows that love, even simulated love, is a drug women can’t live without, and a reagent that dissolves the perimeter defenses of the most hardened cynics. But love is never more intoxicating to women than when it’s extracted, slowly and painfully, from a man who won’t give it up easily.

During another period of marital separation, this time from his second wife, Stanley carried out an exploit worthy of our attention. After a brief sexual adventure with another attractive young woman, Yvette,

Psychopaths keep ten in the kitty.

he apparently tired of her and turned his attentions to Sally, one of her friends from a nearby town.

Psychopaths are preselected by women.

She, too, was responsive and everything seemed to indicate a serious and progressive love affair. This new relationship, however, was abruptly terminated by a sudden trip to Europe that Stanley decided to make for reasons that he never made convincing to me, or even quite clear.

Psychopaths are outcome independent.

[Stanley] claims to have learned from Sally that Yvette was about to leave the country, that she was planning to spend some time in Brussels, and later in other parts of Europe. On hearing this, Stanley says that he called Yvette’s home and was told that Yvette was not there. He, nevertheless, persisted in seeking all sorts of information about her trip, apparently making a nuisance of himself and pressing her father repeatedly for information on points he felt were not properly a matter of Stanley’s concern. The father finally hung up, and afterward neither parent would talk with Stanley on the telephone. They had apparently been unhappy about Yvette’s former association with him and did not want it to be renewed.

Diligent fathers are kryptonite to psychopaths. Single moms are… you finish the sentence.

When asked why he did not get word to Yvette by some simpler means, such as having Sally notify her family, he does not give a really adequate explanation. He repeatedly emphasizes his sense of mission, the urgency of his task, and his determination to fulfill it. He also fills in details of action and adventure on the way to Brussels and while there in such a way as to conceal, or at least almost magically blur, the deficiencies that leave the account of his maneuvers so far from convincing.

Psychopaths are always DHVing (demonstrating higher value).

“Why,” Stanley answered promptly, and in his best tones of knight-errantry, “I’d have done that for anybody.”

It is beyond my power to describe the glibness or convey what I believe to be the lack of substance and reality, the emptiness of real human feeling, in these fine words that came to him so readily.

The psychopath is alien to men, and lover to women.

One gets the impression that Stanley sliced through the ordinarily paralyzing masses of bureaucratic technicalities and red tape with ease and celerity suggestive of Alexander the Great when confronted by the Gordian knot.

In expediting transactions and in manipulating people for this exploit, Stanley must have been at his best. The implausible story about Yvette having carried with her the wrong medicine and its alleged threat of danger to her life must have taken on lyrical notes in his telling.

The psychopath is a skilled storyteller. The content of his stories matter less than the style in which he delivers them.

On the other hand it must be remembered that Stanley has often carried out various extremely injudicious projects, suddenly and with no apparent regard for the consequences, and without any discernible goal that could, in terms of ordinary human motivation, account for his conduct.

Chicks dig a passionate man! Goal-directed passion, pointless caprice, same difference.

There seems little doubt that he grossly exaggerates and indulges in fantastic lies as he recounts his adventures, but there is reason to believe he attracted enough attention with the publicity he gained to persuade first class hotels and restaurants to honor his checks and enable him to live for a while in high style while he pursued his course as a dedicated man on a desperate mission of mercy.

Chicks dig a self-made man.

Here he seemed to find a role that highly elated him in some peculiarly egoistic fashion. In it he seemed to find a satisfaction somewhat similar to but greater than the satisfaction apparently given him by some of his other less elaborate lies and posings and his sprees of squandering money that he did not possess.

Chicks dig narcissistic psychopaths who show more concern for themselves than for the women who love them.

Is there any doubt remaining why women love psychopaths? The psychopath’s character and method is the distilled essence of Game. Of applied charisma.

Psychopath Game is End Game. It’s where a player will go should he decide to pursue his calling to the extremes of accomplishment. All that’s left to wonder is what of the future? Is our world becoming more welcoming to psychopaths and their depredations? Are women, freed from the shackles of reliance on emotionally healthy beta providers, seeking in increasing number the very special attentions of the charming psychopath?

If so, shudder for your posterity. Because that demon retreat awaits them.

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CH really likes the Jerkboy Charisma Game series, so expect to see more of it. Hope you’re copacetic!

Commenter Wrecked ‘Em {space reserved for a rectum joke} writes,

Yesterday, I watched my professional asshole friend run this by a hot girl he barely knew:

Him: you seem sexually frustrated
Her: what?
Him: I think you need your ass tickled
Her: what?!?!? (laughing)
Him: Put your number into my phone
Her: (puts her number into his phone)

Recall Poon Commandment XIII:

Err on the side of too much boldness, rather than too little.

Also recall CH Maxim #30:

When in doubt, ask yourself “WWJD?” What Would a Jerkboy Do? Then do that.

When all else fails, or you’re at a loss for what to do next with a girl, or all you have at your disposal is feeble beta game, then be an asshole. Asshole Game should be your default seduction when you can’t think of more ethical options. You may not like it, but there’s no arguing with results.

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