A Woman Explains Why Chicks Dig Jerks

Why hear it from an evil player when you can read a normal, everyday woman tell you how much chicks love assholes? This girl confirms the Chateau maxim that Do Almost Nothing Game is an important component of any man’s arsenal of ardor.

Curiously familiar hypothetical situation: You’re at a bar with your friends when you spot a guy you recently hooked up with. You’re feeling indifferent about him, but you wouldn’t be opposed to giving it another go. You think, “Ehh, no need to say ‘Hi’ right away.” Twenty minutes later, he still hasn’t approached you. You wonder, “Why hasn’t he said anything to me? Does my hair look bad?” But granted you’re not criminally insane, you brush it off and look for someone else to schmooze. Thirty minutes later, still nothing. Well, he did wink at you from across the bar (or was there just something stuck in his eye?), but then he started talking to some girl wearing a tube dress. Your confusion escalates. “Oh god, she’s way hotter than me. I knew I should’ve worn heels.” Suddenly, your neurosis reaches “Girl, Interrupted” levels and you wonder how you got so nuts. To avoid further humiliation, you turn to a friend and ask if she wants to leave and get nachos.

Yes, the Asshole U Luv knows when and how to parcel his attentions. He knows that ignoring you to flirt with another woman in your line of sight makes you horny and desirous of him.

Fact: Girls love guys who are, for lack of a better description, total assholes.

Any man who’s lived a day in his life knows this is true. Deniers are true blue brainwashed believers in gender equalism, whores who have gotten stiffed by assholes one too may times and purify their damaged psyches within an imaginary reality, or… well… pretty much all women for whom any fact about female nature is discomfiting.

We’ve seen it time and time (and time?) again, but nonetheless, it’s an issue that riddles our minds with confusion, stress and a shitton of excitement. So, what’s a girl to do about this bleak reality?

Sit back and enjoy my beef jerky intrusion. After all, you may as well ask what’s a man to do about his lust for hot, young, slender babes with pert tits and firm asses.

The authoress goes on to list reasons why she thinks women swoon for assholes.

Most girls are turned off by a guy who showers her with attention. It bores us, it seems desperate and it can be a predictor for a slew of undesirable behaviors lurking beneath the surface. Instead, we gravitate toward guys who give us just enough attention to keep us on our toes. Here’s what I mean:

Socially-unaware-nice-guy: Hi Rachel! I saw you from across the bar. You look pretty. Can I buy you a drink? You look like a G&T gal. So, what are your career aspirations? I love kids. You look pretty.

Asshole: Hey.

She is one of the few self-aware chicks who gets it. I’m sure it’s soul-ripping for my detractors to see my Do Almost Nothing Game and One Word Game confirmed by female experience.

Think about it. Have you ever seen a guy you’ve recently hooked up with and waited an hour for him to start flirting with you? And worse, did you feel great when he finally approached you and probably said a total of four syllables that somehow made you feel on top of the world?

Forget the wordy, clever openers. Keep it succinct, stupid.

Don’t be embarrassed if that’s a yes. We’re aroused by the unpredictability of waiting for a guy to strike up a conversation with us, and the longer it takes, the more rewarded we feel when it actually happens.

Value of scarcity. Why do women love men who make their availability scarce? I submit this universal female preference has its roots in preselection — women get turned on by these types of men because in the fevered downtime the women muse that his unavailability is caused by other women occupying his time.

You know what? It’s a cop-out to say only weak girls go for assholes. Self-esteem aside, many girls crave the thrill of keeping up with a jerky guy, or better yet, putting him in his place.

This admission was like a stake through the haters’ hearts. The “low self-esteem girls fall for jerks” rationale is the go-to lie of nerdy internet femtards everywhere.

While they might not always be better at flirting per se, assholes have a certain knack for conversation that confident girls can’t wait to provoke.

Yes, it’s called passing shit tests with ease.

When you’re not looking for anything serious, few things are sexier than a well-spoken, quick-talking guy whose comebacks somehow indicate that he’ll be amazing in bed.

She’s admitting that women put up bitch shields to test men for their alpha worthiness, and that men who pass their shit tests are automatically deemed more viscerally attractive. I’m coming to the conclusion that 80% of early game, when attraction is being built, is basically passing a woman’s shit tests.

Entertaining as his drunken tales are, [Tucker Max] has spawned a new breed of wannabe assholes who masquerade as genuinely awesome guys by mimicking traits like confidence, charm and humor in the forms of aggression, sleaze and flirtatious insults. It’s difficult for our drunken brains to distinguish between worthwhile guys and those who embody that second set of qualities — and for most casual flings, we don’t care to evaluate the difference. In fact, getting attention from an identified asshole can seem weirdly special.

A clarification is in order: it’s difficult for drunken *and* sober women alike to resist the charms of the asshole seducer.

And why is it weirdly special to receive an asshole’s attention? Because women imagine, rightly so in most cases, that the asshole is the apple of many other women’s eyes. And so to be the recipient of his bastard charms is to know that his quality seed is hers for the moment.

Example: If a guy won’t give other people the time of day, but he’s taking a moment of his time to be semi-decent toward you, you might think to yourself “Wow, this guy’s being nice to me. He’s usually such a douche! I must be different.” False.

Women also get turned on by the thought that they are defeating other women for the prize studs.

In the end, there’s no clear way to stay away from guys who play these games. It seems the best we can do is hold our heads high, stay on our toes and sleep with one eye open.

For me to spooge in!

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Curing Oneitis

A reader emails:

I rarely ask for help for anything, but I have been reading your blog for around two years. I have no problem attracting women, I generally bed a new girl every two weeks or so if I feel like it. My problem is one-itis. As repugnant of a feeling it is, and something I must admit, I need to help from the most powerful and knowledgeable source to handle this problem.

I pushed all in on my first girlfriend in terms of hard earned mental, emotional, and physical resources and she is a viper that is legend in circles around me now. She extorted more then half my money, conspired to put me into jail, almost gave me aids, and fucked all of my best friends at the time. If I was kidding, I wouldn’t be writing you this.

For the last SEVEN YEARS I have not been able to get her out of my head. I think of this person every day. I have dated seriously 20+ women in that span of time, and all of those relationships suffered because of this. This woman was the devil, and by and large the best fuck I have ever had. I would cum six times a day with her.

I have had threesomes (girl girl me of course), I have fucked a pornstar and a lingerie model. I am just a 25 year old pasty white hacker, but my conversations are empowering and I leave girls better then I found them. This girl though, has taken my soul.

I want it back.

Tell me lords of poon, commanders of cunt, sycophants of the “sleeve of wizard”…How do I move past this? Every girl I fuck only makes this insatiable hunger to have that kind of attraction in my life again worse. It’s starting to effect [sic] me.

Yes, the Chateau is aware this may be a fake email. But it doesn’t matter. The email provides a good excuse to riff on a new topic.

Oneitis is a disease of the amygdala that presents as a total incapacitation of the man’s logic, reason and interest in hobbies, hygiene and restful sleep. Oneitis exists in two forms, a precoital and postcoital expression of the virus. The precoital, or “#1 crush”, form occurs when two conditions are met: A girl possesses a precise beauty of the face that closely matches the beauty template the man carries in his head for the perfect woman, and this girl is within the man’s visual and aural field. The postcoital, or “no girl will ever be as good as her”, form occurs when the same conditions are met, with the additional factor that the man has boffed the girl and is now not boffing her.

More simply:

Beauty + proximity = acute oneitis

Beauty + former proximity + memories = malignant oneitis

Malignant oneitis is much more damaging to a man’s health and self-esteem because it tends to be resistant to therapeutic intervention. Acute oneitis is often solved rather simply by administering an alpha-pak of anti-obsessives, which are slutty women almost as good looking as the infectious agent but more enzymatically compatible. Side effects include drowsiness after finally busting a nut in a flesh and blood sex partner.

Once the oneitis is triggered, it assumes a life of its own, burdening the victim with crippling flights of fancy and obsessive-complusive daydreaming when the object of lust is not around. Oneitis can also blind the victim to alternative sexual opportunities in his midst, and this will later present as extreme, possibly suicidal, regret in forty years.

The reader/patient is diagnosed with a case of malignant oneitis, a particularly aggressive seven year strain. Testing revealed a subcutaneous betaness in an advanced stage of metastasization. The patient was admitted to mindfucking surgery immediately in an effort to excise the betaness and help him “move past it”. Treatment included a review of his intervening girlfriends and flings and an accurate, third party reviewed self-assessment, followed by a slap upside the head. Contraindications include memory- and photo-assisted masturbation and drinking alone. Conclusions follow.

The patient says his first girlfriend — they have been broken up for seven years — was his greatest emotional investment. If his description of her is to be believed, she is a high ranking member of the League of Extraordinary Cunts. Yet we are left to wonder why such a low down dirty blast force bitch would earn so much of his efforts? Our team of medical specialists decided she must have been one hot little minx with a golden vagina.

The patient arrived distressed, and was quick to claim he has no problem attracting women, and that he has dated 20+ women since the breakup. Each subsequent relationship ended in a flameout, because his oneitis had ruined his ability to build and maintain an emotional connection with them. (Somewhere, a lonely beta gently caresses his flaccid member, crying on the inside for a fuckbuddy with whom he can fail to emotionally connect.)

The patient also claims to have left the runner-up girls better than he found them. (Please, it is to laugh. If you are an alpha, no girl is going to feel better when you leave her. If she does, you’re doing it wrong.)

Most tellingly, the patient admitted that each new fucktoy only served to remind him of what he no longer has.

Let’s cut to the chase. There are two primary causes for malignant oneitis.

1. Investment raises the value of a girl.

You are naturally going to value that which you spent much effort winning over. We value what we think is worth more, and what is worth more is what we worked hardest to get and keep. You poured your blood and guts into a chick who stole your money, nearly gave you AIDS, got you in trouble with the law, and, most damning of all, fucked your best friends. In the end, she dumped you. In your mind’s value abacus, you rationalize your needy behavior, and her careless behavior, by assigning a much higher value to her than to yourself.

2. The girls who came after the oneitis were not as good looking.

Yeah, I know you say you have no trouble getting girls, but in every case I have examined up close, including my own, the supposed “hot” girls that couldn’t make the man forget about his oneitis ex were in actuality not as hot as the ex. Every man claims it’s “something else” about the oneitis which captivates him, and that it’s not about looks, but that is just ego assuaging bullshit. Nearly every time, the runners up are exactly that — runners up to your ex’s hotness.

I remember this six-month oneitis I was nursing. In the interim, I had gone on a tear through an assortment of women, only to discover that none could do what I wanted them to do, which was to erase her memory completely, or at least detoxify the memories by pushing them into smaller and smaller neural crevices. I wanted my oneitis reduced from a maudlin reminiscence to a harmless nostalgia. Finally, at month six, I met a girl who had a better body, and a hotter face, than my oneitis. I’ll spare you the details of what happened next, because there aren’t any details — my oneitis was instantly cured. Presto whammo. Just like that. I had a new sparkly object in which to discharge my demon seed.

So the rule of thumb is not GFTOW, it’s GFTOHW (go fuck ten other hotter women). No oneitis can withstand such an assault on its mind warping parasitism. Of course, by fucking ten other hotter women, you risk ten-itis, which is a perpetual ringing in the ear caused by all the sex screams of your exes.

The corollary to the above rules is that if you are carelessly and indifferently drowning your sorrows in uglier pussy, your oneitis will GET WORSE. Fucking less attractive chicks, (which will become ridiculously easy if you have game, since your game + oneitis-fueled aloof attitude is a very potent blend of chick crack), will throw your past success into stark relief. You are probably better off wanking it than bedding unsatisfactory girls.

There are two cures for malignant oneitis, and each depends on the man’s libido. Men who can go a few weeks or months without sex should avoid banging lesser girls in favor of putting in the work to find a girl with equal or better looks than the oneitis.

Men with high libidos would do well to fuck around indiscriminantly for a while until they settle on a girl who is the equal or better of their oneitis. A very horny man in the grip of oneitis will sulk unproductively if he doesn’t have a play pussy to occupy his attention. Such men can emotionally handle fucking lesser chicks without it messing with their self-conception.

Another important point to make is that men who have tight game will never recapture the glory of their first sexual experiences when the raw emotions flooded them with abandon. Game is like coke: The highs are always great, but each snort numbs your brain a little more. When you can attract an acceptable number of good looking girls at will, the sex is going to become less momentous. It’s an occupational hazard. In comparison to your current game-fueled bounty, an ex from long ago will seem of outsized importance in your mind simply because your emotions then were more uncontrollable and etched a stronger impression on your memory. In reality, that first love may not be as objectively good as the girls you are currently fucking, but your mind has played a trick on you and you can no longer make an unbiased judgement.

The patient is therefore released from Le Clinique Chateau with these instructions:

– Take a month off from actively skirt chasing.

– Don’t burn your ex’s photos, but do store them in a lockbox in the attic where it would be a pain for you to conveniently access. Burning photos and other memorabilia is a powerfully symbolic act that ironically reinforces her importance in your life. Better to nonchalantly store that shit like it was any other old knickknack you no longer have use for.

– When you return to the field, focus on gaming girls hotter than what you are used to. This is like weightlifting: you need to incrementally go up in difficulty to see any progress. The challenge will help you concentrate on the present instead of the past.

– When you meet a girl you really like, invest in her. Don’t go for the bang right away. You want to increase her value in your mind, and the way to do that is, one, to make sure she’s hot, and two, to take your time winning her over. Sluts are not gonna cure your oneitis, but hard-to-get girls will.

– Finally, if none of the above works, scour the earth for a woman who is as beautifully evil as your ex was, and fall in love with her before you’ve said “hi”. The ensuing passionate fling and humiliating breakup should replace your old oneitis with a new oneitis, which, if nothing else, is at least a change of scenery.

A graphical representation of the patient’s progress:

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Bristles

“Wow, I can’t believe I neglected to do this. Can I come inside and use your bathroom real quick? Yeah, I know, I should have gone at the bar.”

She cocked her head and a wisp of sandy blonde hair tumbled across her left cheek. She smiled.

“Of course, you can use my bathroom.”

“Just the bathroom, that’s all. I’m gonna hold you to that.”

She giggled. “Ok.”

Her place was smartly decorated. A geometric mobile acted as a partition between her bed and the room. She pointed to the bathroom and I closed the door. Lifting the toilet seat, I let my gaze relax on her patterned wallpaper. This pissing felt particularly pleasurable. I flushed and exited, walking to her studio apartment window.

“You have a good view of the students across the street. Are you an exhibitionist?”

“I don’t think so. Are you a voyeur?”

“Yes.” I walked into her personal space. She held her ground. “Who isn’t a voyeur?”

“Well, I’m not a pervert, but if that’s your thing, I won’t stop you.”

“If I want to be stopped, I’ll let you know.”

She parted her mouth as if about to formulate a reply, but fell short. I noticed her palms had opened and were facing my thighs.

“I really… like your place…” I leaned in and softly brushed my lips sideways across hers.

Her tongue escaped with a fury, pushing for the dark recesses of my mouth. I withdrew, pulled back, and examined her pupils. She became shy.

“Oh god, that makes me nervous.”

“What does?”

“You doing that. Looking at me and not saying anything.”

“Good. It’s hot when you’re nervous.”

Kissing resumed. I could taste a little of the artisanal beer on her tongue. She pressed into my face, and a whimper echoed in her throat. Something scratched my upper lip. I pulled back, then returned to her mouth. Still more scratching. Pulling back once more, I spot checked her upper lip. All clear. A visual inspection revealed nothing but soft skin. More kissing. More irritating scratching. Like a Brillo pad scrubbing my philtrum. Five minutes and a semi-chub later, I disengaged to allow my upper lip a moment of relief from the interminable stinging.

She opened her mouth for more, eyes half-lidded. I paused. Her eyes widened quizzically. Reluctantly, I rejoined the oral battle with her tongue, lips, and whatever phantom torment occupied the tender region between her upper lip and nose. The pain resumed, and I could no longer deny it; she had a hedgerow of invisible bristles above her mouth — scratching, scraping, scrubbing the epidermis from my face. I could not even fool myself these were soft female hairs; I was kissing 5 o’clock stubble. Once more, I stepped back and microscopically perused her face and mouth. I could see nothing. But the bristles were there, invisible and abrasive.

“You know, it sounds cliched, but I’m not that kind of girl.” Her red face and swaying hips belied her words.

“Hey, I’m trying to turn over a new leaf. I’m a different guy from the old me. I’m a gentleman now.”

“Oh… Ok.”

“I’ll give you a call.” One more kiss, this time with my mouth pursed defensively, and my fingers already deleting her number.

Outside, I passed a group of undergrad girls reveling in the 1AM street lamp glow. All tits and ass, bursting into existence. Their philtrums glistened, danced and swayed, and I wondered which of them held no secrets.

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The Problem With Women Is Too Much Self-Esteem

The mantra for the past two generations in America has been that women suffer from low self-esteem brought on by a multitude of negative influences such as teacher bias, misogyny, old boys’ networks, parenting favoritism, double standards, gender stereotyped toys, etc.

Le Chateau representatives are here to tell you the low female self-esteem industry has been one giant scam perpetrated on gullible liberals and cowed conservatives. Women — American women in particular — don’t have a low self-esteem problem; just the opposite — they have a problem of unwarranted high self-esteem. What kind of woman do you get when you combine a cultural apparatus designed to maximally extol the virtues of womanhood and cast all fault for any female shortcomings on male bias and discrimination with a biologically innate evolutionary imperative that renders men more expendable than women? Answer:

A woman with a big fat head.

From the cradle, women are groomed by their peers, family, society and DNA-coded algorithms alike to embrace the joys of big-headedness. It used to be only beautiful women had this problem (and with at least a semblance of justification based on real value), but now ugly women, fat women, and lawyers are all riding the phony low self-esteem grievance chariot to the entitled princess winners’ circle. The result has been to produce a nation of broads hell-bent on seeing themselves as god’s gift to god himself.

The worst thing a man could do would be to feed this beast even further with traditional courtship game. It’s not for nothing that modern game focuses so much attention on breaking down a woman’s self-esteem into manageable chunks — negs, qualification, teasing, push-pull, takeaways, calculated indifference — all are game tactics with the primary purpose of knocking bigheaded chicks off their royal, gilded vaj-shaped thrones. And these tactics are effective precisely because girls want to be dethroned by a man of higher value than themselves, whether they admit to this or not.

The funny thing about female self-esteem is that it doesn’t take much to help it grow wildly beyond the bounds of the pot it was planted in. All women are born with a self-entitlement complex preinstalled. Eggs are biologically more expensive than sperm, and the brain of each sex has evolved to reflect that immutable procreative reality; in women, their minds are primed from birth to regard themselves as the more valuable sex, and this regard is not without merit, at least in the reproductive realm, which is the realm that underpins all other realms. Men, by contrast, are primed to regard themselves as less individually valuable than women, and this manifests as a willingness to take more mortal risks.

So now that we know that women start with a higher basal self-esteem than men, wouldn’t it make more sense for a healthy, functioning society to turn its cultural apparatus toward the project of boosting men’s self-esteem? In fact, this is what quasi-patriarchal Western societies used to do, before they were infected with the late decadent, postmodern deconstructivism and victimology virii. Now the optimal pattern has been completely turned on its head — intrinsically high self-esteem women are administered supercharged booster injections of ego-stroking, while intrinsically low self-esteem men are, either deliberately or coincidentally, pushed further into ego-deflating self-abnegation. See: March 2009 BOTM.

The goals of this outpost of bristling reality are, one, to acquaint readers with the truth of the female (and male) condition that exists past the boundaries of mainstream-approved polite discourse and, two, to arm the male readers (and, by extension, the female readers) with the tools to capitalize on that taboo knowledge. Thankfully, there are plenty of readers here who contribute to that knowledge base. Reader PA comments:

Gentle and friendly teasing is not intimidating, and creates a sort of rapport that makes one feel at ease.

Exactly. This is true even with non-sexual interaction. Think the last time you saw a man who is good with kids. He will ‘neg’ the girl by saying stuff like: “hey! you’re cheating! no red crayon allowed!” or whatever.

Boys, on the other hand, don’t like to be negged. If you’re good with kids, you will build him up with stuff like “that’s really cool. Can you draw it bigger?” etc.

If you have young nieces and nephews, you will quickly recognize the truth in PA’s comment. Nieces respond positively — with glee, even — to prototype negs and teasing; the sort of banter that modern feminists would describe as demeaning. In contrast, little boys, with their fragile egos, wilt under negs and teasing, but respond well to compliments and encouragement. Mothers instinctively know this, as they will often reprimand the fathers for being too discouraging or too critical with their sons while giving the fathers a pass or a semi-serious chiding when they tease the daughters.

The great irony here is that what makes good parenting is exactly the opposite of what feminists claim is the best way to raise boys and girls. Parents know, deep down, that to raise a good daughter you must keep her ego judiciously pruned, and to raise a good son you must suffuse his ego with promise.

Game theory — in fact, most social theory — has much to owe to the instinctual rapport that emerges between father and child, before diseased memes intrude and sully the message. When you want to better understand the nature of game and how it helps attract women, think of how you treat your niece, or how a father you know treats his young daughter. Recall how effortlessly the negs and teasing spilled from your lips when you were goofing around with your little niece. Recall, too, how she squealed with delight. Then take that knowledge and apply it — almost verbatim! — to your seductions of adult women. Their vocal pitch may change, but the squeal remains the same.

Today, in the era of the bloated female ego, the mark of a quality woman is a humble woman. Meet a pretty woman like this — usually foreign, and usually from a strong lower to middle class family — and marvel how refreshing she seems to the typical, mind and body bloated American chick you are used to dating. Unfortunately, more likely you will meet another egotistical bitch with self-love issues and will have to invest months training her (i.e. running game on her) to grace her with a proper and realistic humility. For those who love the game for what it is, this is not such a burdensome sacrifice. But for those who struggle to hear the strange tuning of women’s feminine nature, the required training may be a cost too high to pay.

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Tough Times Are A Bounty For Betas

Think we might be heading into a double dip recession? Or, worse, a decades-long economic retraction with hyperinflation and a general growing business and government incompetence thanks to a dumbing down of the population? Rejoice, betas! This is your moment in the sun. Chicks who were reminded of their mortality were more attracted to soft, less masculine herb faces, and this preference was most pronounced for women at the peak of their fertility cycle. (Regrettably, their desire to have kids also went up, so make sure you strap on that condom if you’re going to bang a chick recently diagnosed with cancer.) PS: Mortality salience refers to reminders of one’s death.

Previous research has shown that individuals who are reminded of their death exhibited a greater desire for offspring than those who were not reminded of their death. The present research investigated whether being reminded of mortality affects mate selection behaviors, such as facial preference judgments. Prior research has shown that women prefer more masculine faces when they are at the high versus low fertility phase of their menstrual cycles. We report an experiment in which women were tested either at their high or fertility phase. They were randomly assigned to either a mortality salience (MS) or control condition and then asked to judge faces ranging from extreme masculine to extreme feminine. The results showed that women’s choice of the attractive male face was determined by an interaction between fertility phase and condition. In control conditions, high fertility phase women preferred a significantly more masculine face than women who were in a lower fertility phase of their menstrual cycles. In MS conditions, high fertility phase women preferred a significantly less masculine (i.e., more average) face than women who were in a low fertility phase. The results indicate that biological processes, such as fertility phase, involved in mate selection are sensitive to current environmental factors, such as death reminders. This sensitivity may serve as an adaptive compromise when choosing a mate in potentially adverse environmental conditions.

In short, women who thought about their own death suddenly found feminized beta providers a lot more attractive than masculine alpha cads. This preference was largest for ovulating women, who normally show the exact opposite preference when times are good and death is a faraway abstraction.

If you are a beta male, then you will hope and pray for another Great Depression, war, or alien invasion. It seems counterintuitive, (after all, wouldn’t a highly masculine man be a better choice for protection during tough times?), but it makes some sense if you remember that alpha cads also bring with them the threat of abandonment, which would be disastrous for women trying to survive in a bad environment. Since the free-for-all, stoically unjealous polyamorists can’t grasp why male abandonment is a bad thing, the Chateau will helpfully remind them —

In tough times, betas will be especially loathe to assume the child-raising duties of another man’s bastard spawn.

Some more study results:

The present results provide new evidence about how environmental factors, such as the presence of death reminders, can influence human reproductive behaviors, such as mate selection. […]

First, it has been shown that people in a MS condition will adhere more strongly to socially acceptable norms and will react negatively towards those persons who do not uphold these norms (Greenberg et al., 1990; Greenberg et al., 1994; Rosenblatt et al., 1989).

Troubled times breed collectivism. Are the notoriously monogamous, norm-following and shame-avoiding Northeast Asians the product of millennia of living off marginal land constantly raided by tribes to the north?

In the present research, the face selected by ovulating women in the [Mortality Salience] condition could be considered a more average face than faces chosen by high fertile phase women in the control condition and low fertile phase women in the MS condition.

Average = herb. Exceptional = lantern jaw and heavy brow ridge. Interestingly, non-ovulating women showed a slightly lower preference for herb faces when they were confronted with their mortality. So alpha cads are not out of the running completely when the shit hits the fan. But you gotta notice just how upside-down bizarro world the mating market looks when the good times come to an end. This might explain the rise of the beta male during the first half of the 20th century, when world wars wracked societies.

High fertile phase women in the MS condition may have viewed the masculine face negatively because of the association of masculine faces with socially negative characteristics and would view feminized faces more positively because feminized faces are shown to be associated with more pro-social attributes such as being helpful, cooperative, trustworthy, and a good father (Boothroyd, et al., 2007; Jones et al., 2008; Johnston, et al., 2001).

Sure, the herb may be a bad lay, but when the cupboard is bare he’ll be out there scrounging up food for his lady. Personally, Chateau hosts prefer being known for their lay expertise. It’s more fun.

Second, it has been shown that following [Mortality Salience], women and men may find the physical aspects of sex and sexual attraction unappealing, as the physicality of sex may be a reminder of one’s eventual mortality (Goldenberg et al. 1999; Landau et al. 2006). In the present research, it may have been the case that high fertile phase women experienced the highly masculine male faces as associated with physical sexuality and, therefore, death.

Sex is the little death (if you’re doing it right).

Following MS, women who are at a high risk of pregnancy may view mates with highly masculine faces as involving more risk than mates with more feminized faces.

Reminders of death and hardship usher an alternative universe where highly fertile ovulating women prefer pasty-faced betaboys. In good times, just the opposite preference is observed. Ergo, late empire prosperity and decadence may go a long way toward explaining the rise in rates of single mom-hood — in good times, these womb-lubed women choose unreliable alpha cads as fathers, subconsciously figuring that if the alphas bolt it won’t much matter since resources (in the form of ample food supplies and government largesse) are plentiful. Chateau Heartiste wrote about this dysgenic trend nearly three years ago.

In future research, it is necessary to investigate the extent to which highly masculine faces increase death-related thoughts in high fertile phase and low fertile phase women.

Our results suggest that mortality salience may result in an over-ride of the high fertility phase-induced preference for masculine faces and a strengthening of the predisposition for less masculine and likely higher investing mates.

The study results show that it makes sense for a betaface to remind girls of their impending demise. Call it Death Game. You casually mention a lady friend who died prematurely from some rare disease or freak accident, and then lament how little time we all have on this earth to pursue our goals and realize our dreams. Say “Life is so precious, and death is always around the corner, so grab what’s in front of you and live like it could all end tomorrow!” while touching the spine of her back with the chill fingertips of your best Grim Reaper impersonation. Throw in a bit of NLP for good measure: “My afterlife is probably… beLOW me. Sex is a great way to fight death… with me, I love each day I’m alive.”

Our sample was composed primarily of White, middle-class college women who have been shown to express a preference for mates who will invest heavily in her and her children.

D’oh! Talk about saying a lot in so little. How do black and asian women respond to mortality reminders? Are their natural tendencies strengthened, or do they enter a bizarro world just like white women?

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The Two Exceptions To Game

If I had to distill the essence of all the hate and doubt that is a regular feature of the comments on this blog, it would read like this:

“Game doesn’t work, and if it did you’re a loser for having to learn it to pick up girls because alpha males (who, by the way don’t exist except in your imagination) don’t make any effort to attract women, and anyhow the only girls that would fall for it are low self esteem bar skanks who wouldn’t give you the time of day because you’re a phony they will see right through. Try being yourself if you want a real woman to like you, except that will never happen because you are a celibate beta loser.”

It is, of course, self-contradictory nonsense. The average hater cannot string three sentences together without refuting what she (and they are usually shes) said in the first sentence. Their logic is so muddled that toying with them until I drive them insane with spittle-flecked rage has become something of a fun hobby for me.

But because I am a decent and kind person of magnanimous temperament, I will throw the haters a bone in this post. There are, indeed, two specific situations where you, as a regular, fat part of the bell curve man, do not need game to make a girl swoon. I will tell you what they are, but first, a little context is necessary.

Why do the haters offer up so many trite and transparently false objections to game to begin with? Are they trying to confuse us, or themselves? Have they been burned in the past by men doing to them exactly what I write about here, and thus project their angry bitterness on the symbolic manifestation of their real life pain, namely me?

Or do they really believe the idiocy they preach? Are they… TRUE BELIEVERS in the conventional wisdom school of JBY (just be yourself)? Is it possible, in other words, that in their own lives they met and fell in love with men who won them over running NO GAME AT ALL, natural or otherwise?

So… what motivates the haters? Answer: all of the above.

I suspect a few haters really do live in a lala land relatively free of the sort of easily observable human mating machinations that confound 99.9% of the rest of humanity, and thus can’t comprehend the reality of male-female psychological differences or the influence that game exerts over female attraction and courtship. They live in a platitude bubble; but like all bubbles, it will eventually burst.

Which brings us to the two exceptions to game.

• The girl you are dating is head over heels in love with you.

When a girl loves you so deeply that she wants to see you every day, and gets nervous when your text replies are delayed five seconds too long, you are in the DO-NO-WRONG ZONE, my friend. The DNW zone is a magic land where you can fart and belch and scratch yourself in the genital region and show up late (or early) for everything and buy shit for her all the time and cuddle for hours after sex and let her plan every date and dress in gym shorts and pit-stained t-shirts all the time and “yes, dear” her to death and constantly praise her beauty and whine like a beta bitch when you get a mosquito bite AND SHE WON’T LOSE AN IOTA OF ATTRACTION FOR YOU. She will happily take your deflated castrati ballsack slaps to the face and beg for more. You are a TEFLON LOVE GOD; no bad behavior sticks to you. You can be quite literally a NO GAME HAVING CHUMP and she will still think about fucking you every minute of the day.

Sounds like paradise, right? There’s a catch — this magic window only lasts about three months, after which if you do not shed your pathetic beta habits and step up your game, you WILL find her slowly and inexorably withdrawing her love and sex from you until one day you are wondering when such a good thing went so wrong.

So, you will need game before and after the 3-month DNW zone, but not during, if she is truly madly in love with you. Love… fuck yeah!

• The girl you are dating is two or more points below you in sexual market value.

This is cut and dried. Want to “be yourself” with a girl? Date a warpig! She will put up with EVERYTHING and ANYTHING and never bitch once. You will need to put in ZERO effort to keep such a woman satisfied. No game, no nothing. I know men who slum it for this very reason, and while I personally find that lifestyle incomprehensible and utterly distasteful — I mean, you may as well become a monk since you’ll be living a life completely devoid of any beauty or hedonistic pleasure — it does lend itself to a certain simplicity in managing affairs and obtaining the necessary freedom to pursue alternative pleasures. MMO playing sperg tards take note.

The downside with this scenario is that you have to date at least two points lower than your market value equivalent if you want a game-free dating experience that makes few demands on your time or energy. So for instance, if you are an 8, you need to date down to at least a 6 to enjoy the fruits of a drama-free relationship. If you really don’t like women acting out like women, and you want to be able to wallow in your clingy betaness without learning a lick of game, you will probably need to date lower than two points down.

The exact mechanism of the chick market value-game requirement nexus deserves further explication in a handy chart.

She is…                                          % game required to keep her interested

>=1 point higher than you             100%

At your level                                    90%

1 point lower                                   60%

2 points lower                                 10%

>=3 points lower                          -% (reverse game)

Interesting phenomena appear when you dumpster dive so low that you enter reverse game territory. For example, if you are a 7 male and you date a 4, not only will you need NO game to keep her attracted for a long while, but running any sort of game can actually push her away from you. The 4 will feel she doesn’t deserve you and will be on pins and needles with you all the time, regardless of how you treat her. Running game will then send her into a vicious downward spiral of self-doubt and neediness so crippling that she will preemptively dump you to prevent a night alone overdosing on pills and cutting your name into her forearm. To keep the 4 in line, paradoxically, requires almost as much effort as keeping a hot girl into you — except instead of game you have to run the opposite of game on the 4. You have to beta yourself to the max; cards, gifts, compliments, slow and attentive lovemaking, hours of cunnilingus, super snuggles, etc. So there are diminishing returns to the strategy of dating down to avoid putting any effort into relationships. Not to mention diminishing boner hardness.

The ultimate score for the no-game, no-life having beta chump who hates the idea of working to change himself to get better quality women is the very low value woman who falls in love with him. Imagine a nasty, fat cape buffalo — one of Obsidian’s exes, for instance — who cries a little when she thinks of you. Or a single mom on the cusp of sexual irrelevance who forgets to pick up her kid from his ghetto school because she’s doing her nails and febrezing her pussy in anticipation of you coming over that night for dinner. When you’ve got shitty goods falling in love with you, dating becomes one giant lounge chair in which to lazily recline and be fed moldy grapes all day long. Yeah, you can barely get it up with women like that, but at least you can rip a wet fart in their faces, pull WoW all-nighters, and forget their birthdays and never pay a price for it — and tell everyone within earshot that getting “hot chicks” was really easy for you, so those other guys learning game to find good women must be losers.

With obesity and single motherhood rampant, more American men than ever are availing themselves — intentionally or not — of the dating down option. So while game may be more necessary than ever to land that genuinely hot babe, for increasing numbers of men game and the knowledge contained therein are simply not on their radar. Which may explain why we are currently witnessing such a growing effete chorus of manginas, pedestalizing evangelicals, and limp-wristed SWPLs parroting the feminist and Iron John shibboleths. They aren’t trying to convince us so much as they are trying to convince themselves of the awesomeness of their fatass and bastard spawn-towing lovers.

Some of the few true believer haters living in lala land that I wrote of above likely fall into the category of people dating easy-to-please losers that they have tricked themselves into rationalizing as good mate choices. (Some of the haters are truly in the midst of love and can’t think straight without a gauzy filter Disney-fying their saccharine musings.) Perhaps for them, their beta soulmates appeared — warts and all — and they settled, wondering disingenuously and retroactively why people make such a big deal of finding someone. So when you hear their lame jeremiads against game, translate that as an admission that they are either a) naturals who aren’t smart enough to reflect on what they are doing right, or b) bitter bitches and betaboys trained in the art of justifying their crappy love lives.

Men without fame or vast wealth who want to date and fuck hot women need to know game. It’s as simple as that. There’s no such thing as a free lunch. Men who don’t care about porking the flabby wet hole of some she-beast will never understand the need for — or the truth of — game, for to understand it is to understand the miserable depths of their own lives, and that is a dark road most are not willing to travel. The low value women who love these men will likewise never understand game, and will lash out at those who do. Ironically, their garbage lives insulate them from the redemption that exists just beyond their pitiable horizons.

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Brits Voted Ugliest Women In The World

Well, no surprise here. Have you seen Brit chicks lately? Fuggin fat, pasty, unfeminine, alcoholic tubs. An empire is no better than the aggregate beauty of its women, and an empire wheezing its last breath is characterised by this:

“Oh but she has such a pretty face”… for me to render into soap!

It isn’t just the fatness and ugliness (but I repeat myself) that is repugnant, but the exultation of the depredations visited upon the female form to a moral and aesthetic imperative. Such weak-minded thinking is best observed in this comment left by a reader to the article:

How thoroughly predictable to see a story about drunken and anti-social Chav behaviour twisted as usual into being all about appearance – and in particular weight and size. There are plenty of quiet, well-behaved bigger women who never touch a drop let alone would consider behaving in a loud and obnoxious manner, just as a good proportion (probably the majority, in fact) of those falling out of nightclubs vomiting and fighting the police are thin, but don’t let that get in the way of yet another opportunity to demonise and stereotype fat people.

Fatness is a leading indicator of character deficiency. Fat apologists are heralds of ugliness, lies, loneliness and death. The Chav and The Chunky and their watery-eyed advocates are nothing less than the degenerate bilge of an enfeebled, dying society predictably coughing up one rationalization and excuse after another for its self-inflicted failures and loss of nativist pride.

Meanwhile, America’s models are getting manlier-looking by the day while her SWPL men get womanlier and her lower classes get fatter. In that international survey linked above, America was voted to have the second ugliest women, followed closely by German frauleins.

Which brings us to….

Maxim #102: The hottest babes will not be found in prosperous countries, but in countries on the verge of prosperity. The world’s ugliest women will continue to be found in backward primitive societies.

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