Open This Set

Imagine you are at a club and you are confronted by this three set:

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Let’s examine what we have here. I’ll wait while you finish up fapping your comatose seed into oblivion.

Ok, the specs.

• Three girls, from left to right: a 7.5, a 6 and a 4.5.

Readers’ rankings may vary 0.5 to 1 point in either direction. Don’t make a production out of it. The rankings are reflective of general consensus among the male population.

• Odds of sluttiness, from left to right: 65%, 25% and 75%

I know, some of you are asking how the third girl can have a higher chance of being a superslipperyfun slut than the first girl. Gentlemen, don’t confuse sluttery with exhibitionism. While there is a correlation, exhibitionists are often decepticon sluts who want to make you think they are DTF, but in reality just get off on provoking male attention and public displays of horniness (PDH) from desperate no-game-having men.

HBhellovagina! on the left is clearly an exhibitionist (please, no contrarian insistence that she might not know her panties are showing; she knows.) Most likely, she is displaying her pantied genitalia for the cameraman (and her friends) alone, because most of the men in the background have their backs turned to her. This suggests her panty flash was likely a spontaneous action with zero forethought or preparedness to maximize the amount of attention she could receive. She hasn’t prepped the crowd, in other words. A lack of preparation boosts her slut score, since sluts act on impulse. Thus, her 65% chance to put out same night.

HBwhitedress has demure body language, a soft smile, a long hemline and tallness. She is the mother hen. You will not pull a same night lay with her, but you will pull a number and a date.

HBminiskirt has many of the signs of true sluttiness — prominent chest and buttocks thrust, sleepy demonic eyes, knowing smirk, oversized purse, gaudy accessories and, most importantly, she is the least attractive of her friends, but not so unattractive that she can’t hook a few douchebag horndogs for a night or two of sweaty delirium. She is the kind of girl who uses the easy availability of her sex to steal the spotlight from her more attractive friends. Also, check out her digit ratio: masculine! That’s almost all the proof you need that she’s DTF. If her face were illuminated with a black light, rivulets of ancient cum shots would shine brightly, resembling a Martian landscape.

• Potential cockblock, from left to right: very high, moderate, low.

Exhibitionists are second only to fat chicks for their compulsion to cockblock and their talent at doing so. HBhellovagina! won’t take kindly to the spotlight being off her for even a second. HBwhitedress may move in if she sees one of her charges succumbing to your charms. HBminiskirt has the cartoonishly sexy posture of a woman who would sooner steal you for a messy fuck than cockblock you.

• All three girls are close friends.

Girls who are close friends don’t mind when their boobs nestle against each other. They may even like it. They *do* mind when one of their friends makes a spectacle of herself, which makes me wonder if HBhellovagina! caught them unawares with her standing split.

Now that you have the preliminary analysis you need based on a quick visual inspection, I want you to describe how you would approach and open this set, either alone or with a wingman. Which girl would you choose as your primary target? Who would you address first? What opener would you use? If going in alone, how do you extract your target?

Keep in mind that three scenarios are probable here, and will determine your approach. HBhellovagina! is:

1. flaunting her goods for a lone cameraman (with maybe his buddy in tow), or

2. flaunting her goods for another girl friend(s), or

3. flaunting her goods for you because she has seen you walking toward her group (with camera in hand).

Choose from one of the three probable scenarios above and describe your opening game in detail. You confident bastards may want to describe how you would game these chicks under all three scenarios. This is just an exercise in opening game, so no need to go into panegyrics about venue bouncing or bedroom tips. Stick to the approach and extraction.

Those of you with good game will get to experience the thrill of commenters patting you on the back. Merry f’in Christmas!

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When A Girl Catches You Off-Guard

Alex bemoans:

Speaking of uncaring assholery –

I recently made the mistake of, in the split second I had to decide, taking the drink a girl asked me to hold – “hold this”, and she dove towards the dance floor. The same impulse which bade me grab her drink, also bade me drink it (downed it in one shot, then moved on to dance with some other girl).

Does this set of actions come off as the right kind of assholery? Any chance for the pick-up to be resurrected afterwards?

This exact same thing once happened to me. And it’s particularly galling because the “Hold my drink for me” shit test is one of the most blatantly obvious shit tests that chicks with no ethical boundaries employ. She had asked me to hold her cocktail and I didn’t have a second to analyze the transaction before my fingers straightened to receive it. Then she trotted off to grab a scarf off her girl friend’s shoulder. Looking down at her drink in my hand, I felt a wave of disgust with myself. And I responded the same way as Alex: I gulped it down. When she returned and saw the empty glass she said “Hey, you drank it! That’s rude!” I answered Corey Worthington-style, “Oh… sorry I guess”, and walked away.

There will be times when your game acumen lets you down and a chick manages to sneak an artillery shell loaded with toxic vagina gas past your defenses. When that happens, the best you can do is recognize your error of judgment quickly, and rectify your demonstration of lower value as best you can without crossing the line into strident acts of vengeance that will socially ostracize you beyond the confines of one bitchy, manipulative girl. What Alex did in response was perfectly acceptable. In ascending order of face-saving effectiveness:

1. Continue holding her drink until she returns, then greeting her with “here you go!” as you hand her drink back.

So beta it actually hurts my balls a little just to type that out.

2. Hold her drink until she returns, then give it back coupled with a sarcastic riposte like “I should charge you for this”.

Not as beta as number 1, but still supplicating.

3. Leave her drink on the bar and walk off.

Better than acquiescing. But not as satisfying as number 4.

4. Gulp her drink and hand her the empty glass when she returns.

Congratulations, you are an acolyte asshole. Pussy lips will begin parting in five minutes.

5. Spit and burp burrito gas into her drink, then hand it back to her with a big smile.

This is personally satisfying, but you will be robbed of the priceless look of incredulity on her face when she sees an empty glass. Nevertheless, the glowing feeling you get from this private act of revenge will put a bounce in your step and turbocharge your game for the rest of the night.

The best way to reply to a girl who tells you to hold her drink is to pretend to agree and amplify. (Girls will try to pull this off by thrusting the drink into your hand and not waiting for you to reply.)

“Hold my drink. Thanks!”

Leaving your hands by your side: “Would you like your glass slippers polished too?”

Whatever happens, always leave your hands down at your sides. She will attempt to foist the drink on you and will expect you to reach out for it. When you don’t, the drink will crash to the ground. I’ve seen this happen. It is hilarious. The guy who did this told the girl to “go home” and “sleep it off”. That is some transcendental game, right there.

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Comment Of The Week

Mark C sez:

The essence of uncaring assholery is simple. “And?”

“I have a boyfriend” “And?”
I want to see that chick-flick.” “And?”
“You don’t love me” “And?”
“you don’t care about my needs” “And?”
“I wish you would shave your mustache so I can see your face” “And”
“You would look so much better if you dressed like _______” “And?”

In my experience, that one simple word, accompanied by a smirk and a raised eyebrow, is the single most powerful word in the English language. Even more effective than “I dont care” because it encapsulates “I dont care” within it, along with a whole host of other phrases.

This is a good singular example of the tactical essence of uncaring assholery. “And?” is ambiguous. “And?” is ambivalent. “And?” is mischievous. “And?” is all the things women love in men.

If you are new to the game of uncaring assholery, and struggle to say the right words at the right time, have ready in your back pocket the simple expedient of “And?”, for use when your state control is challenged by a curious woman. It is practically failsafe.

Beware overuse, though this warning applies to just about any game tactic. Try to resist the temptation to lean too heavily on an effective rapport technique, because when you witness the results you’ll be greatly tempted, indeed. But remember, chicks dig unpredictability, too.

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Street Smarts, Game And The White Underclass

How’s that for an omnibus blog post title?

A reader sent a link to a hilarious blog called ‘Texts From Bennett’ which is a compendium of text message conversations between some dude and his 17-year-old white cousin who, with great pride, thinks, or rather wishes, he’s part black.

I’ve been a reader for about two years now and your site has changed my life, so thanks.

I’m sure by now you have heard of Texts From Bennett. It is a blog that went viral a few weeks ago.

One of the posts shows the cousin asking Bennett why he always gets LJBF’d. The cousin is a beta who, according to Bennett, “crys wen u watch football,” and “enjoys capshuring butterflys.” So when he asks Bennett what to do, Bennett gives some apt advice. More here.

Despite his lack of education, Bennett understands game and I have no doubt he cleans up with the dregs of Kansas City.

Let’s assume for the sake of expediency that Texts From Bennett is a warehouse of legitimate conversations by a real teenage whigger living in the crappy part of Kansas City expounding on the issues of the day, and not a clever hoax for the amusement of the blog host. (The numerous assurances by the blogger that the texts are real makes one suspicious of its authenticity, but whatevs.) Even if fake, Bennett is an iconic Millennial generation representative of the white underclass. He is funny because he strikes so many true chords: the thug-lite attitude, the exaltation of ghetto black dysfunction, the proud anti-intellectualism and its substitution with the elevation of street smarts, the defiant middle finger to the mores of the SWPL and upper classes… all lamentable customs and affectations if the survival and thriving of first world civilization is your thing.

But hidden amongst the pile of manure is a gem of a discovery. As the reader notes, Bennett has game, and he has the best kind of game: primitive natural game that knows not what it’s doing.

Here, for instance, is Bennett showing that he understands women don’t swoon for betaboy idealistic romanticism:

Who can deny the wisdom in these words? Weepy, emotionally available betas are LJBFed. Insensitively aloof alphas are sexually pleasured. And this is particularly true of women in the prime of their attractiveness and allure, that glorious window between ages 15 and 25.

Here’s Bennett on the interchangeability of women as sexual pursuits and the universal female attraction for the badboy:

Bennett is a great illustration of the sour stereotype that dumb but socially savvy men will do better with women than smart but nerdy men. No one would imagine that Bennett is acing Algebra II. But a lot of people can easily imagine him pulling more ass — and higher quality ass* — than the typical studious middle-class white boy.

*Higher quality in the context of the sexual market refers to a woman’s most valuable attributes: namely, her looks and the cut of her curves. They may be dregs by socioeconomic standards, but that won’t prevent them from stimulating wood in the most landed of gentry.

It’s been remarked here before that thugs and assorted assholes and asshole-wannabes often exhibit more natural game than smart, agreeable professionals who second-guess themselves at every turn. This is completely understandable once you come to terms with the reality of the prime motivating force behind vagina tingles: a man’s attitude. The right attitude — an insouciant mix of devil-may-care whimsy, impulsiveness, self-centeredness, vanity, cruelty and often-undeserved confidence — is the winning formula for scoring lots of hot babes. Or, if monogamy is your thing, for piquing the interest of that one hot girlfriend, to be leavened later by shows of provision and calculated vulnerability.

A hopeless fap-happy beta can’t go wrong observing the fauna of regressives like Bennett in action and heeding his crudely reductive advice. This fact of life surely disheartens a lot of you educated and sophisticated readers. A visual is drawn of some of you cursing the dbags on Jersey Shore and the hot ass they’re tagging that you aren’t.

If the country is filling up with Bennetts — and Bennetts exist in all classes — this says something about the nature and demands of women, who, after all, are the gatekeepers of sex and the primary molders of male behavior. Even if Bennett is a fantasy character devised by a mischievous imp trolling coastal reporters salivating at the thought of interviewing a white trash caricature who rationalizes their hate, a rising sea of his kind is undoubtedly swamping the US, hidden in plain sight from gated communities and invidiously creating a new norm, like dumbfuck kudzu. A culture teeming with shameless Bennetts and dotted with islands of antagonistic SWPLs and tribalistic snarkers is a doomed culture, too far gone to resuscitate. Stick a fork in it, it’s done.

On the upside, the sex lives of alphas may be experiencing its cultural zenith. And Bennett, like the “Umm, sorry?” guy, are our time’s prophets.

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Should Game Be Taught In School?

Reader “Harkat” asks:

Should game, or at least socio-sexual dynamics, be taught in middle/high school? It’s a significant part of life, and knowledge of these topics would help the vast majority of confused teenagers (at least the boys).

The little that was said about sexual dynamics in my high school was extremely idealist egalitarian and far from reality, and did nothing to help us (at least not the boys). We got delivered phrases like “Do not feel pressure to have sex!”, which hardly resonates with the average teenage boy.

In a perfect world, sex and love education is left to family (parents, friends, older siblings, cool uncles) and experience. But we are far from that world, and condoms are rolled over bananas while men are rapped for phantom sexual repression in the halls and classrooms of almost all our venerated institutions. That being the case, it’s more effective to undermine suffocating elite orthodoxy by working within its confines, instead of feebly fist-pumping from outside it. So, yes, in a world designed according to Chateau tenets, game would be taught to high school boys — preferably in classes separate from the girls.

I can see it now.

Week 1: Introductions to male-female sex differences and Syllabus (Included readings from various respected sources in evo psych, game and social dynamics, e.g., Ridley, Markovic, Carnegie).

Week 2: Why chicks dig jerks. (Students expected to fully understand sexy son hypothesis).

Week 3: Alphas and betas, the hidden hierarchy.

Week 4: Sycophancy and involuntary celibacy, the connection.

Week 5: Men and women have an agenda, and how to recognize it.

Week 6: Game as revolution in sociosexual thought.

Week 7: Core game principles.

Week 8: Dating to maximize one’s happiness.

Week 9: Sex, guilt and expectations: why society has an interest in corralling male desire.

Week 10: Relationships and marriage: making them work.

Week 11: Finals: In-field exam.

Music to my ears. Of course, this will never happen. Teaching young men the unvarnished truth about women, sex, dating and marriage would throw grit into the gears of the beta cog molding machine that supplies a never-ending procession of obedient housetrained quasi-eunuchs. What good does it do the dealers of consumerist opiates if they can’t domesticate a suitably pliable army to staff their globocorporate offices?

The channeling of male vitality with the help of useful lies has been a central element of the civilizing process in the West and elsewhere for eons. It has its place, even for the poolsiders who need a prosperous nation in which to pursue their lifestyles. But the last fifty or sixty years (monarchists would argue the effort goes back at least 150 years) has witnessed the twisting of this process into a monstrous form, under whose shadow the lies have multiplied and tyrannized free-thinking men, restricting respectable thought to a narrow range of groupthink.

A public policy to make the teaching of game and its underlying concepts mandatory for high schoolers would have to overcome so many obstacles and entrenched thought and interests as to limit the notion strictly to the realm of fantasy. But that doesn’t mean current sex ed classes can’t be deviously rippled with pebbles of thoughtcrime by sympathetic operatives.

Instead of starve the beast, you could call this the “stuff the beast” philosophy of saving civilization by feeding it too much of its own late-stage bile. A hastening and amplifying of consequences, come to reckoning in technicolor exuberance. And you might even help a few tormented betas get laid on their own timetables.

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Are Ugly Women Necessary As Stepping Stones?

Alert: Intrapickup squabble!

Is it true that an aspiring womanizer — or even a typical man in a billowy button-down who wants to improve his love life — must pay his dues with ugly women before he can achieve the goal of banging hotter women? The question hints at a significant fault line in current pickup thinking, precisely because it throws into stark relief the ego-shattering human impulse to judge men based on the quality of women they pull.

I’ll paraphrase a reader’s objections, who asked not to be directly quoted:

Roosh’s idea that you have to bang a lot of unattractive women to get hotter women is not persuasive. What helps is getting laid regularly, which doesn’t necessarily require cutting your teeth on ugly chicks. You only need one woman to get laid regularly, so such a strategy obviates the need to fill up your notch post with lots of uglies and plain janes. Ideally, your “regular lay” should be in the 6 to 8 range, but if you’re a newbie you may have to start with 4s and 5s. Picking up large numbers of less attractive women may give you experience with logistics and help with honing your routines, but that is the relatively easy part of game. Getting laid regularly, even if it’s with one woman, is all a man needs to step up to the next higher beauty class.

My opinion on this matter falls somewhere between Roosh’s and the anonymous reader’s takes. Roosh is entirely correct to note that men who use the “I have standards” excuse are, more often than not, men who aren’t living up to their professed high standards. It’s similar in spirit to the internet nerd sour grapes syndrome, in which hot chicks that are unavailable to them are deemed unworthy of their loving nerd attention because of some ridiculously trivial flaw, like pointy elbows.

Roosh is also onto something when he advocates for having flexible standards. If 8s and above are all you will deign to approach, then there are going to be times and places when and where you will endure some long, tough dry spells, and this is especially true if you are an average guy with average game and above average horniness. Unless you have rock solid inner game and unshakeable confidence that enables you to weather extended down times without losing your pickup magic or your aura of charismatic fuckability, those dry spells will hurt your interactions with women. Like dogs can smell fear, women can smell celibacy.

The reader suggests that the ideal route for men to take to avoid sexless purgatory while keeping the ladder-climbing option open is to gun for the decent-looking regular lay. This allows a man to avoid the dispiritment that accompanies fucking too many uglies while also sparing him the stink of celibacy that erodes confidence and spooks hot chicks.

And that’s where I part company with Roosh and favor the life strategy of the anonymous reader. Fucking uglies, in even small quantities and in temporary bouts, risks flirting with depression and slumping into a long-term rut. I don’t come by this view speculatively. I have some real world trials by trolls from which to evangelize. I’ll give you an example I’m thinking of from years ago:

I had spent a few weeks fucking a 5. It was only four bang sessions, but that was enough to alter my self-perception and mood. I had gone through a bad breakup and she (the 5) presented herself, fortuitously, almost immediately after the final severance from my ex. She was friendly and sweet, and open to meeting someone. I gamed her but hardly needed more than my first wave artillery; she melted quickly. She had a good body, so despite her plain face the sex was good. But I couldn’t help notice it was not as good as   sex with hotter women.

Just at the point I was getting the full measure of my single man’s confidence back, the 5 conveniently left town, rescuing me from the awkwardness of a messy dumping I knew had to be done. However, upon leaving, the sexless rut began to reappear. Two weeks went by with no acceptable nibbles on my penile line. A buddy who was a wingman at the time suggested I meet up with a girl he had failed with himself as a sort of friendship offering in difficult times.

“You’ll really like this girl. She’s totally your type. A solid 8. Very hot, blonde.”

“Oh yeah? If she’s so hot, why aren’t you working on her?”

“I did. I got nowhere, but it’s OK, I prefer brunettes. We hang out together. She makes me look good when we go out.”

“So you want me to meet her? Hmm.”

“Yes, you’ll thank me.”

We met, all four of us — me, the “hot blonde 8”, my friend, and his current girlfriend — late at night under cover of a dark lounge. I didn’t know where my friend’s head was, but she was no 8. Yes, she had blonde hair, but that was about where the confirmation of my friend’s powers of observation ended. From what I could glean through the dim club light and my alcoholic haze, she was no better than a 6, and maybe even a 5.

Nevertheless, I was horny, and feeling down. I could use the pickmeup pickherup. We trundled outside, into a cab, and I took her back to my pad. Inside my place, lights at full blast, I was sorely disappointed to realize my friend’s “solid 8” was a weak 4. I had never fucked a 4 before, and never would again.

Too late to reverse course, and bored into conspiracy, I lamely escorted her into my bed, and quickly swung her into the doggy-style position where exposure to her face would be limited. Her body wasn’t half-bad, but not good enough to compensate; my dick went limp inside her vagina. I imagine that has to be a girl’s worst nightmare; up front rejection in the form of a backturn or a wandering eye is bad enough, but getting rejected in the most softeningly obvious way possible when you are literally giving it everything you’ve got, your womanhood deeply committed… well, that’s gotta sting.

I couldn’t be bothered to make excuses. She dressed and left in silence. My blue mood hardened. I cursed my friend’s taste in women. I took a shower to wash off the dirt that had alighted upon my soul.

Two women, one borderline ugly and the other plain as unsyruped pancakes, in a row and I was done with the idea of it. Their company, however genial and accommodating, did nothing to lift my spirits or gird my confidence. Just the opposite, in fact: I fell deeper into self-flagellation.

One week after the limp-out incident, I hit up a local lounge and met an 8.5 whom I would spend the next five months fucking in gloriously hedonistic abandon. I have yet to share my bed since then with a woman lower than a 6.5. I learned my lesson.

I’m as horny a guy as you’ll find, but I have to admit not so horny that I’ll start rummaging through the 3 and 4 kitchen trash if there’s no four star restaurant available. Maybe that’s a problem of getting laid too regularly — you lose that wall-climbing horniness that would compel you to stick it in the most convenient wet hole. Ugly girls as stepping stones to hotter women sounds good in theory, but in reality sex with them too often — and too often can happen a lot faster than most men realize — is not only a time and energy suck, but a depressive drug that corrodes self-confidence.

Perhaps this feeling — this sex dynamic — varies by race, age and baseline dignity. If so, more power to the guys who don’t mind dumping fucks in seacows and butterfaces. I can’t bring myself to do it, even if it’s all the local talent has to offer. My minimum threshold in women’s looks is 6, under which it becomes almost physiologically impossible for me to complete the bang.

My inner game is strong enough now that I can afford to risk a month or two downtime without getting too rusty or too doubtful of my skills. I would only use an ugly girl who fell below my minimum looks threshold as a stepping stone in the most dire of circumstances, such as if my dry spell extends beyond two months, or I’ve taken to, ahem, “mood enhancers” that give me 24 hour wood.

So you might say that the reader’s strategy is the way to go if you are a high risk for lengthy dry spells, and your game and self-possession aren’t strong enough to carry you through a slump slumming it with ugly chicks. Alternatively, Roosh’s strategy — to skip the “regular lay” girlfriends and just focus on getting laid even if the talent available is not up to snuff — is better if you can’t tolerate any kind of dry spell, if your dick is indiscriminate, and if your game is good enough that regular pickup with little downtime is within the realm of possibility.

TL;DR Don’t make a habit of banging ugly chicks. It can be as bad for your self-confidence as involuntary celibacy.

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Anti-Flake Tactic

Le Chateau and its guests have offered many battle plans for combating flakiness in young women. (I stress “young”, because older women with fewer options don’t knee-jerk resort to flaking as often as women in their attractiveness primes do.) Non sequitur game is a great method for dissuading women from flaking by switching their pursuit dynamic from chased to chaser. Trial texting game is effective at screening out girls who are more likely to flake on you. The archives abound with other techniques for dealing with, and dismantling the female impulse toward, flakiness.

Now a reader has offered another anti-flake tactic, and it is a good one.

Her: 24 year old half Finn, half French, internationally raised (diplo-brat?), a 7-8? (we’ve never met)
Me: 33

Met on okcupid (judge away, it’s great where I live), arranged a Friday evening first date, I get a text 30 mins before we’re to meet:

Her: Salut, i just got to my friends bday, u have to get up early, so maybe another time? Sunday perhaps?
Me: (next day at noon) Can’t! I’m busy tomorrow.
Me: (8 hours later) Sorry I was working. We can reschedule but you’d have to put forth the effort. Self-respecting men don’t play those early twenties games…
(I assumed I’d look bitter and never hear from her again. I didn’t care.)
Her: (on OKC the next morning) Hey, sorry about Friday, it was not very polite to cancel last minute, sorry.
I have a friend staying with me next week until the 21st, so I’m not sure when I’ll be available to meet up.
Have a nice Sunday,
Me: (by text a few hours later) Hey, got your note. I’m not too busy to swing a drink today. Can you?
Her: (5 mins later) Am at [museum] now but free after that
Me: (45 mins later) Ok how’s this evening?
Her: (15 mins later) Great, tell me where and when and I’ll be there

A solid turnaround, I’d say.

Tight, my good sir, tight. You could call this “next day service” game, where you don’t respond to a foot-dragging, flaky woman until the next day. (Forget about the planned date; a woman who has flaked on you 30 minutes before a date does not anyway deserve your company should you manage to change her mind about meeting you at the originally scheduled time.)

A woman will not be able to resist her hamstery compulsion to perceive your status higher than she first judged if you make her sweat a little, or a lot, with a non-response when she is expecting a response, and with a non-spiteful or non-needy response when you do eventually respond to her.

There are only two acceptable and effective attitudes to cop with flaky chicks:

1. She is a lost cause, so any forward progress is merely icing on the cake that is your life, or

2. you assume the sale and handle her as if she really wants you and is just playing the brat for make benefit of her glorious ego.

The reader quoted above had an attitude that encompassed a bit of both. He was sufficiently unimpressed by her that he could afford to wait a day to respond to her flake, and when he did respond he did so with the confident, non-pussyfooting-around air of a man who assumed the flake just needed a little prodding.

Most flakes won’t go anywhere, and, assuming you maintain a full love life otherwise, that’s a good thing. A flaky woman has tipped you off that she is a specimen of poor character, and will, truer than not, eventually resolve herself into a pain in the ass. You’re better off screening out flakes quickly than dealing with them in perpetuity.

But anti-flake game will give you a shot to turn it around with a nontrivial number of flaky chicks. For such a low cost investment in your time and energy, it’s worth the attempt.

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