Your Gay Doom

A reader forwarded me this Washington DC Craigslist ad from the W4M section:

LTR wanted ..but not romance – 40

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Reply to: xxx
Date: 2009-04-19, 2:53PM EDT

OK … before some men get all in an uproar, I will tell you that this is totally sincere, so please, no bashing. I am a divorced mother of two who would like a LTR (friendship, obviously) with a sincere, genuine gay man. He needs a woman on his arm for, well, any number of reasons, it doesn’t matter to me. I am well aware of how the world works. I am not without means, but I am in need of other “support”. I’m tired of the way straight guys treat me, I want a best friend who is supportive and interested. Maybe we can help each other. I know this sounds crazy, but lets face it, a lot of what is on this site is nuts! I am articulate, attractive, slender, brunette, educated, and have a sarcastic,wicked sense of humor. I can keep up in most conversations, and am willing to do the homework needed to be done if I feel I cannot. I am willing to relocate, ready for a fresh start…no one knows me…I’m new in town. I just want a stable, friendly, supportive relationship, no drama. To be needed, appreciated, and to give that back to someone. Is this possible? Again, no offence intended to anyone. Please put “SINCERE” in your reply with a pic (if you want mine) or you will be deleted.

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I predict we will be seeing a lot more of this in the coming decades as the culture shifts to de facto polygamy. Bitter divorcees, cougars, single moms, urban slut machines, aging yentas, used up playettes, trend whores and Samantha cliches all seeking the gossipy witty banter, emotional frivolity and fashion expertise of a gay boyfriend. Get ready for a tsunami of women scrambling to adopt their very own Best Gay Boyfriend (BGBF) so they can lock arms asexually and skip down M Street while window shopping for SWPL “antique” necklaces and giggling about penis varieties.

But it won’t be easy for women like the one in the CL ad above. Only 2-3% of men Nair their assholes and know what fuschia looks like, so women will be fighting over a very small demographic. Since I am a man of great generosity and kindness, I will offer advice to these women on how to get a leg up over the competition.

• Don’t be needy.

Yes, ladies, you are now in the position of the man chasing the woman. A gay man has his pick of the annoyingly sarcastic slut with emotional baggage litter, while you are stuck having to chase down a tiny pool of gay men for fabulously platonic commitment. Your neediness will send him running faster than a string of desperate voicemails at 3AM. I predict you will fail at this, since most women have little experience in the psychological art of practiced aloofness. Talk to your alpha guy friends for tips and tricks.

• Expect to share.

If your BGBF tells you he’s spending the afternoon with (the much better dresser) Tiffany, you’ll just have to suck it up. Don’t pout and don’t pressure. Know that you are one among many and be glad that you get a few hours each week of your BGBF’s emotional jizz.

• Be hot.

True, gay men don’t want to sleep with you, but they are aficionados of the aesthetic. They want arm candy they can dress up in size 0 clothes and admire like an art collector admires a great painting. Uglies and fatties need not apply. Might I suggest for them the Best Lesbian Girlfriend (BLGF)?

• Learn to flatter.

Many playettes and stuck-up whores have forgotten how to flatter, so used to receiving flattery are they from beta chumps their whole lives. The BGBF will not tolerate your coy circumspection. He has too many prospects who will give him the ego boosting compliments his attention whoring soul craves for him to put up with less than obsequious suckassery from you. Pucker up, bitch!

• Accept cheating.

If you catch your BGBF cheating with another girlfriend, you have no choice but to swallow your pride. Remember, you are an accessory to his life; if you get in the way of his doing what he wants when he wants, he will dump you forthwith. There is no getting between a gay man and his hedonism.

• Cultivate a thick skin.

A BGBF will let you know when the first hint of cottage cheese dimples your ass. He has no reason to sugarcoat anything, since he’s not trying to get in your hole. Take his constructive criticism with stoicism and shed those bottled-up tears late at night when you’re alone with your cat. He”ll lick your salty tears up.

I just noticed in the CL ad that the divorced mother of two is “willing to relocate, ready for a fresh start”. What a selfish bitch. She’s willing to pull her kids away from their father, their friends and a stable environment so she can spend more time with a fag swapping ego assuaging compliments. If this doesn’t say it all about the depths to which American women have degenerated, I don’t know what does. She must have been a repeat pump and dump victim during her 20s and 30s for her to have nursed such bitterness toward straight men. No doubt when she says she’s tired of the way straight guys treat her, she means she’s too old to get alphas to commit to her and now at the overripe age of 40 needs a compliant beta provider to help her raise her bastard children.

“[I] am willing to do the homework needed to be done if I feel I cannot.” It’s funny how eagerly a woman will bend over backwards to please a man when her market position is weakened. The next time you’re on a date, act as if she needs to do the homework needed to earn your attention. That is the alpha attitude that creams girls’ panties.

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The Worst (Or Best) Rejections I Ever Got

Culled from a lifetime of pussy hounding (and from what I can remember):

“Why would you even bother?”

“Seriously?”

[Looks at me with a blank stare, saying nothing.]

“Tch!” [Rolls eyes and turns her back.]

“Ok, I’m gonna stop you right there. See, I just saved us both time.”

“Oh my god, not again.”

“It would be better if you talked to her over there instead.”

[Grabs nearest guy and makes a big show of enthusiastically chatting him up.]

“You are SO not my type.”

“I’ve got five boyfriends. All filled up here!” (I thought that one was kind of funny and gave her props.)

“No thanks!” (This was funny considering all I had said was “Hi”.)

“This… right here… isn’t going to work.”

And the winning premeditated soulmurder rejection of all time (Happened in freshman year of high school, when LJBF was just a series of letters to me. She was a smoking hot senior. I was never one to shy away from a challenge.):

“You like me like that? Aw, that’s cute!”

It was this last rejection which ushered forth the demon unto the world.

If you aren’t prepared to brush off the bitchiest rejections like so much gossamer femsnark, you aren’t ready to play this game.

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Things Are Changing

Case #1

I’m on a date with a girl from a small, poor Eastern European country. She used to live there as a little girl when it was still behind the Iron Curtain. After the Soviet Death Machine fell to pieces in 1989, she moved to the US and has been here ever since. I broke one of my cardinal rules and allowed her to get political on me.

ME: So you must have been pretty happy when the Soviet Union fell.

HER: Well, I wouldn’t say I was *happy*. More like, there were pros and cons. Universal health care was nice to have.

ME: [thinking to myself Oh christ, a commie sympathizer] Universal health care means a poor quality health system and long lines.

HER: Hey, you’re not one of those libertarians, are you?

Precious. Girls have balls these days to just blurt out whatever obnoxious thing enters their heads. They fear absolutely zero retaliation or consequence for their actions from men they date. Are men this desperate that we have bred an entire generation of ill-mannered bitches? I wondered what would have happened if we were talking about our careers and I had said something like “Hey, you’re not one of those lame nonprofit do-gooders, are you?” She would have huffed and cut the date short, going home to call all her friends to tell them what a jerk I was.

I decided the hell with it, and switched to Nuke the Pussy from Orbit game.

ME: Whatever I am, it’s probably 180 degrees the opposite of what you are.

HER: Well, who did you vote for?

ME: I didn’t vote.

HER: Whaat?! [looking shocked as if I had admitted to serial necrophilia] How could you not vote?

ME: Easy. I stayed home. Are you a Commie? What would you call yourself politically?

HER: I’m not Communist, but I would say I understand a lot of what they believe in. I’m more of a socialist. I like the free education and healthcare.

ME: You do realize that it’s not free? Everyone pays for it in burdensome tax rates.

HER: Well, Ok, it’s not technically free. But I think we should care for the people. It’s our responsibility to make sure no one suffers without health care.

ME: So why don’t you just pay for it with your own money instead of forcing people like me to subsidize your morality? [I was really beginning to enjoy myself. I noticed her body had stiffened]

HER: [getting torqued] Yes, I believe we all should contribute. It’s what’s best for society. You wouldn’t just let people die without help!

ME: It’s immoral to take my money away from me when I don’t want to give it. That makes you a dictator. Are you a totalitarian dictator?

HER: It’s not being a dictator to want to stop suffering. It’s basic decency.

ME: [sending a multi-warhead payload] I think it’s bad long term policy to prop up the poor and weak. The herd must be culled. Otherwise, they reproduce on my dime and drag everyone else down.

HER: People wouldn’t just die like that. They’d live in suffering, so you have to help them while they’re alive.

ME: [total war] Oh, they’d die. If all aid were stopped, the babies of poor and useless people would die before reaching their first birthdays.

This date ended without the close, but I have to report that despite my Nuke the Pussy game, there was a spark of electricity in her eyes. I bet not a single herb or SWPL had ever spoken to her like that before.

Case #2

I approached four sets. The first two sets I went in with casual game. This is where I make some innocuous but humorous comment about something situational, and let the chit chat move the interaction along into more fertile fields. For example:

ME: [after seeing a girl pick a piece of lint out of her girlfriend’s hair] You have excellent grooming skills. Guys would never do that for each other. We’d leave it in there and laugh at our friend all night.

HER: [smiling] Thanks, she would do the same for me.

Our conversation went back and forth like this for a minute, then died out. Friendly asexual vibe: 100%. Sexual tension: 0%. This was the kind of game that would have been more than adequate for my father’s generation, but today it means nothing. I did another set the same way with the same results. Then I switched gears to Asshole Game for the next set.

ME: [noticing her mode of dress and curling my mouth downward in reproval] I can’t believe you’re in here.

HER: What? What’s that supposed to mean?

ME: You should really be in Georgetown. This bar is a little too edgy for your type. Not that that’s a bad thing, but you know, I’m trying to save you any uncomfortable feelings being outside your element.

HER: That’s an asshole thing to say.

ME: Yup, I guess.

HER: And what exactly is my type?

ME: Prim and proper. Boring but dependable.

The conversation continued in this way for a while. She reacted with obviously faux indignation. But the results were much improved. Number close. Friendly asexual vibe: 0%. Sexual tension: 100%.

There is change in the air. The culture is shifting right under our feet. What I have noticed lately with more frequency is that I have to act like a dick to get anywhere with a girl, even the good girls. This isn’t necessarily a bad thing, as my dick game is pretty good and I enjoy doing it. But it seems that only dick game can break through a girl’s perimeter defense to the pulpy, juicy center of animal desire.

It wasn’t always this way. Sure, there were sluts who were so inured to getting played by cads and assholes that they could only respond to asshole game. These girls used to be around 20% of the population back when I was in high school. Today, that number has risen. It’s closer to 60%, and in bars and clubs in the city it may as well be 100%. The sweetest girls who grew up in happy families with mom and dad still together are turning into little playettes with adamantium bitch shields. This change has picked up the pace in just the last year. It’s finally happening. The game is causing girls to adjust, and screen for the biggest most congruent assholes, in spite of their intentions to the contrary. It’s evolution, baby.

I cannot respect a girl who dances like a puppet to asshole game. She will get the worst of me.

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Hormonal Surge

Conventional wisdom is that human females don’t go into heat — that is, their ovulation is hidden from male discernment — but I believe this is only partially true. The bars and clubs during the last couple weeks have been drenched in intoxicating estrogen. I notice this each year when spring begins, right around the end of March and beginning of April. The women are on the prowl, and the men are slabs of beef dangling from meathooks for inspection.

What does a roomful of sexually excited women look like? ADHD liplicking gigglebombs with perpetual pelvic grind syndrome.

The women jump from one man to the next, heaving their bosoms and smiling with glossed lips, expressing the full sensuality of their bodies in arched backs, thighs rubbing together, fingertips lightly grazing every available surface. They want the men to suffocate on their womanly bouquet, to lose control. Attention whoring is at DefCon “I’m on PornoHub” level. It’s been a hassle lately to keep one woman’s attention for long because their raging hormones are driving them to sample every man within sight, until the best cock they can afford presses its chub against her belly. That’s been the downside. The upside is that there’s a new woman eager to talk to you everywhere you turn.

Unfortunately, this nirvana won’t last long. By mid-April, the estrogen surge will have depleted itself, and most of these horny chicks will have either gotten themselves boyfriends or regressed back to their usual bitchy, arms crossed selves. Your window to act is short. Smart men know that this is the time of year to go out every night of the week to fatten up on the bounty. Be like the crocodiles gorging on the stampede of wildebeest crossing the treacherous river during their annual migration.

Men don’t understand the compulsion of the springtime female hormonal surge because our hormones surge year round. We might have a downtick in our libido now and then, like after brain surgery or a death in the family (immediate relations only), but mostly we’re good to go regardless of the season. I’m especially immune to hormone surges because my libido is at a constantly elevated state. If it goes any higher the tip could explode.

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Results From The Female Beauty Rankings

The rankings of the ten girls from last Friday’s post are in, and the results, as expected, are pretty much in line with the general concept that men by and large share a surprisingly similar perception of what constitutes female beauty along the 1 to 10 scale. If a woman had two scores that were within 20 votes of each other, I gave her a two number ranking.

Woman                                             Readers’ Score            My Score
(a) TBG’s asian 10                                         6                                  5
(b) wino                                                        9,8                                8
(c) Rain And’s Mom                                        7                                  7
(d) fur smile                                                  9,8                                9
(e) red beret                                                 2                                   2
(f) heavy wool skirt                                       3                                   3
(g) IOI                                                          10                                 10
(h) chocolate fry                                            5                                   6
(i) schnoz                                                      1                                    1
(j) chipmunk                                                  4                                    4

A few thoughts:

There was more agreement on the 4s, 5s, and 6s than I predicted. Obviously, I chose this category well.

There was more variability/less agreement at the upper end of the scale, and firmer agreement at the bottom end. This was intentional. In the first installment of “Female Beauty 1 To 10” I stacked the deck in favor of strong contenders for the 8, 9, and 10 spots by using such world beating hotties like Alizee, Sophie Marceau, and Monica Bellucci. This time I made an effort to fill the upper slots with plausible girls. That is, girls you might have a chance of seeing in your daily life from one week to the next. Naturally, “daily life” 10s in most locales excluding fashion districts and playgrounds of the rich and famous are not going to be as hot on average as supermodel/celebrity/actress 10s. Truly superb specimens of female pulchritude don’t stay in general circulation for long. Hence, the greater difficulty in finding a round-the-way girl who could qualify as a bonafide 10.

As one commenter astutely noted, TBG’s asian 10 looks like what the future sexbots will look like. Doable, but also a little bit “off”. Perhaps this is because it is easier to model an Asian’s face as they have flat, nondescript features compared to other races. And their skin is smoother, facilitating a realistic transference to high tech plasticine. The voting also confirms that TBG has no taste and is probably a woman impersonating a man impersonating a woman.

Throwing in a couple girls from different races didn’t seem to affect the voting much. This is a point in favor of the hypothesis that macro beauty standards tend toward universality.

Chipmunk looks nothing like Schnoz. Not even if they were the same woman separated by 30 years. Some of you need Lasik. But since the conspiracy theories will continue to fly, I chose those two randomly off the internet. If they are the same woman taken at different times then that would be a ridiculous coincidence.

For those of you (women and Peter) who were saying “Oh, red beret woman just needs to lose the glasses and she’ll look better” or “If heavy wool skirt girl just lost 15 pounds…” or “If schnoz fixed her hair and used some skin lotion she’d be an attractive woman”, all I have to say is:

BETA PLEASE!

You are so full of shit you must actually believe the nonsense you write.

In the future, I plan to do a “1 to 10” post with another race — all Asian or all black. And maybe a NSFW post with just naked bodies minus the attached faces, to see if your ratings of women’s bodies corresponds with facial beauty. I’ve always suspected that, despite the uncommon butterface phenomenon, hot bodies are normally paired with hot faces. Most of the time you can safely approach a girl from behind if her ass is round and she has a slender hourglass shape and lustrous hair — her face will not disappoint.

I will also change the ranking system in future installments to allow you to vote any way you like. I’ll continue choosing candidates according to my personal 1 – 10 rank ordering just to see if, given the looser rules, your voting still matches up with mine.

Evil Easter Egg

Rain And’s Mom was not the Evil Easter Egg, though I can see why some of you thought that. It *is* pretty evil to put someone’s younger-version Mom up for the ultimate judgement and then to demonstrate by the voting that thousands of men would like to bang said Mom in every available hole and splooge on her face for the cum de grace. The Subprime Splooge of a Thousand Betas. Who said romance was dead?

It took a while, but after an impressive cooperative effort the discovery was made. (I think commenter benjack was the first to stumble on it.) The Evil Easter Egg was IOI girl. Yes, the girl you all ranked as a 10 is… 14 years old. She is a Polish model who was kicked out of a fashion show last summer for being underage.

You sick pervs. How does it feel knowing that you imagined kissing, fondling… face fucking… a 14 year old girl? That you chubbed out to a bubble gum teen? We’re all Aqualung now.

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Female Beauty From 1 To 10

It’s Female Beauty Friday! You know the drill. You rank order the ten photos below, assigning a number between 1 and 10 inclusive for each photo. DO NOT USE A NUMBER MORE THAN ONCE. The photos are in no particular order. I was careful to choose pics that represent a woman at each point on the 1 to 10 beauty scale.

The best way to do this without biasing your ratings is to first look at all the photos before ranking them. Then go back and judge like a god.

The idea behind this rather pleasurable exercise is to demonstrate the conformity of men’s attractiveness standards, even across races. I get a thrill up my leg by smashing cherished shibboleths like “beauty is in the eye of the beholder”, and I especially love watching people twist defensively in the face of stone cold reality as they vainly try to prop up their pretty lies.

In the interest of giving my detractors their due, I’ve gone the extra mile in this post and chosen “real” women from among the submitted female photos (and a few of my own choices) whose rankings are less clear cut than expected. I’ve also included other races, and I’ve avoided using celebrities or otherwise well-known women. Nevertheless, I predict, despite the increased difficulty level, that most of you will agree in the rankings, plus or minus one point.

I also predict, as before in the first female ranking exercise, that the most disagreement will occur in the middle rankings — 4,5,6 — where a woman’s looks tend to blend in with the masses of other women along the fat part of the bell curve, and at the very upper end where great battles will be fought to decide who is the 10. The latter is because once you get into rarified beauty territory personal whim looms large.

Note: Women older than 40 (barring rare exceptions) and obese women are disqualified from the competition, even as fodder for the rankings below 4, because age and fat introduces a potent variable that will skew the results too drastically away from underlying facial beauty. Obesity especially is the Beauty Destroyer, the Leveler of the Playing Field, that can turn a 10 into a 2. The problem with America today is that so many women are fat that they’ve pushed the beauty bell curve into an unsightly leftward bulge, where we are now overflowing with 3s and 4s at the cost of fewer 6s and 7s. Goddamn shame it is.

After the voting is complete, you can compare your preferences to those of your peers, and to me, in the follow-up post I will write.

For those who don’t like arched eyebrows and giant fake smiles, here is another photo of “fur smile” girl.

Did you find yourself lingering longer over some photos than others?

PS: There is an Evil Easter Egg in this post. If you’ve found it, try not to blurt it out too soon in the comments. Give people a chance to stumble into my dastardly ways for themselves.

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Used

Three girls, two guys. One of the guys was obviously gay. (hellOOOO) He had gay face. The girl closest to me, a blonde with a wholesome midwestern look, strokes my jacket sleeve.

“I like the way your jacket feels.”

“Any excuse to cop a feel, eh?”

“What’s it made of?”

“Silkworm. It’s very rare.” I scan the group trying to figure out the social dynamic. One girl was talking to the (presumably) straight guy in intense, eyes locked conversation. She would not cockblock. Another girl was glancing expectantly around the room, perhaps waiting for a boyfriend? She was a cockblock threat. The gay guy was a fat black man playing the role of the mother hen. He was a high risk cockblock.

I address the gay first. “Is your friend here always like this? Touching random stranger’s jackets?”

“Don’t we all!” (Boy, do I know how to call it). “She’s a sweetheart. Isn’t that right, Katy?”

“Yeah, that’s what I want him to think.” She winks at me. The gay turns away and begins sipping his drink through a straw loudly, exaggerating the purse of his lips. He would no longer be a threat. She must have signaled him. I missed the signal. Too subtle.

I talk with Katy for ten minutes before remembering to check her single status. Gotta be smooth when screening for BFs. “How do you know everyone here?”

She gives me the rundown. The other guy is the BF of the girl talking to him. I lean in a little closer to her ear.

“Your friend here,” I motion toward her single friend craning her neck and searching the room, “looks like she’s waiting patiently for someone.”

“Yeah, her boyfriend is coming.”

I lean back and let a few seconds pass. She smiles at me. Ok, I was in the clear. Katy was the odd girl out. Fresh unspoiled meat.

We talk for a half hour. My game is not the sharpest it’s been, in fact I’m a little bit sloppy, but she eats it up like a hungry she-wolf. In hindsight, her extremely positive reaction to my less than stellar game should have been a red flag, but I carried on as if the number close, or even the same night bang, was inevitable. As evidenced by all the arm touching and flicking of hair, she responds very well. Time for a calculated reposition.

“Hey, looks like your friends are pretty busy having fun in their own world. There’s an empty space just over there where we can sit and be a little more comfortable. Let’s move.”

Her smile goes crooked. “Well… I’m waiting for my boyfriend. He’s coming here, too.” She shrugs her shoulders and raises her eyebrows apologetically.

BEEEEEYOTCH.

I stare at her with steely eyes until she gets slightly uncomfortable. I am not smiling at all. I want her to notice my displeasure. I think about calling her out in the manner of Roosh’s campaign to call out cockblocks and shame them in public. Perhaps say something like “I didn’t think you’d be the type of girl to conveniently forget to mention your boyfriend just for attention from other guys. I wonder what he would think of that?”

Instead, I held my tongue and simply gave her the backturn. She didn’t attempt to re-engage. She knew she had committed a grievous lie of omission and the jig was up.

I was used. Emotional rape. She had exacted her tribute — a half hour of my valuable time and energy that could have been better spent on available women. Mission accomplished: Ego validated.

Thinking back, I see a pattern. Girls with boyfriends are often the happiest girls to be the target of my game. They are bored; they need that constant revalidation of their desirability to new men. They may or may not be in love with their boyfriends, it doesn’t seem to matter much. The need for male attention is an addiction that never really goes away, even when they’re 70 and the young man tells them how fetching their blue hair is. Only girls who are deeply in love are granted temporary immunity from the urge to whore attention. This phase usually lasts about 6 months. Two years tops.

Soulmates who never need validation from anyone else but each other are as rare as pink diamonds. If you are in this type of relationship, count your blessings. You have won the quality girl lottery.

Later, I chastised myself for not getting her to cough up the BF information sooner.

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