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Archive for the ‘Girls’ Category

Clio wrote an informative and entertaining series of posts about the taxonomy of femmes fatales — those irresistible women who will do a man no good if he leaves himself ignorant of and defenseless to their machinations. I’ve decided to do a counterpost explaining to men how to guard themselves against the four main femme fatale types as described by Clio, based on my experiences with women who fell into one or the other category.

The Golddigger

The gold-digger is the classic female heartbreaker, the one everyone except a few feminists loves to hate. She is not a prostitute: although she marries for money she does not have sex for money. […]

In fact, the chief characteristic of this type of female heartbreaker is her ruthlessness in pursuit of what she wants. She has to be careful not to fall in love, because it would cloud her judgment and because the type of man she requires is likely to be frightened by displays of emotional desperation and put off by neediness.

While the golddigger’s ultimate goal is marriage to a wealthy man, she will have sex with rich guys as long as the trinkets and baubles flow. Because payment for her services is not so direct, often coming days or weeks later instead of being left on the endtable by the bed, she is able to delude herself into believing she is not a common whore. But absent love, she is ideologically indistinguishable from her streetwalker cousins. She’s simply smart enough to secure payment without a pimp middleman, and to do it from one or two smitten sources instead of a carousel of johns.

The way to handle a golddigger is to establish your terms of courtship early on, before she has had a chance to suck you into her reality. You really want to sniff out the golddigger quickly, because if you don’t have the money, or you do have the money but don’t want to buy a woman’s love with it, then you’ll want to waste as little time dating golddiggers as possible. Without game, you’ll never change them. The good news is that it’s a simple matter tricking a golddigger to reveal her true inner whore.

The secret is this: Golddiggers target wealthy but gameless greater betas and alphas who deal with women in a very traditional and conventional manner — i.e. buying her drinks and taking her to fancy dinners on the first date. These are the kind of men who work all their lives to eventually purchase arm candy they can bring to cocktail parties. You can jolt the golddigger right out of her utilitarian programming by QUALIFYING HER. For example, you must make clear early on you don’t buy drinks for women and, in fact, if she’s cool, you’ll let her buy a drink for you. Another effective tactic for exposing the golddigger and putting her on the hot seat is to remark on her good taste in clothes or jewelry (golddiggers love when you share their materialistic worldview) and then say without a hint of irony that it’s a good thing you dressed up for the occasion and wore your best watch — while pointing to the Swatch on your wrist. If she laughs or compliments your watch, you have a shot to convert her. If she takes you seriously and looks around the room annoyed or cackles sarcastically, you can escape on a “bathroom break” and leave her with the check.

The golddigger is not used to the tables being turned like this. Indignantly, she will either leave in a huff or become surprisingly intrigued by your chutzpa. You win no matter which path she chooses. She leaves; you’ve now avoided spending money on a de facto whore without the integrity to put out quid pro quo on the first date like an actual whore. She stays; you have broken her and ensured her attraction for you will be genuine.

The more ruthless the woman, the bolder and more alpha you have to be in your dealings with her. An attractive and successful golddigger — and they are usually 8s and up; less attractive golddigger wannabes are simply not in the field of view of rich men — requires the utmost boldness. Beta nerds who have made a lot of money in the tech field should not attempt to tangle with them. They will be chewed up and left more misogynistic than they were before they met her.

The only time it is acceptable to play by a golddigger’s rules is when you don’t mind spending the money for access to sex with a hotter women than you could normally acquire relying on just your personality and charm. There are many men like this, so the golddigger is here to stay. I estimate their numbers in the general population of bangable women at around 15%.

One thing you have to remember about golddiggers — they are not that smart. Don’t confuse ruthlessness for smarts. Being base, corporeally-centered creatures with a crass understanding of the sexual market, they are easily manipulated into behaving by the standards you set for them as long as your game is tight. Shock and awe is how I would describe the game you need to break their will.

Btw, it is possible for a golddigger to fall in love with a man based solely on his money. Cash is a form of power, and women are universally attracted to male power in whichever form it comes. Beware: If she fell in love with you for your money, she’ll fall out of love with you twice as fast if the money disappears. Hopefully for you, by that time, she’ll be a has-been cougar and have no options but to deal with your gameless, poor ass.

The Waif/Neurotic

There is the more vocal Neurotic type, who is probably very intelligent and a high achiever (think Plath, left, or Wurtzel, bottom left, both excellent students), who probably suffers from depression and will do her best to ensure that you do as well; and there is the Waif, who is more obviously fragile in appearance than the neurotic, less verbal, less likely to be an academic success, and more drawn to the visual arts than to writing. What they have in common is that they suffer, and use their pain to hold on to their men. […]

Forget worrying about gold-diggers, men. It’s these ladies who will find a way to make you miserable every time. The ones on the Neurotic end of the spectrum will wear you out trying to take care of them when they’re sick; worry you to death with threats of suicide; make an idiot of you as you try to amuse them with silly jokes or make them feel loved with romantic gestures; persuade you spend all your time and money trying to make them happy. None of it will ever be enough. And then they will leave you for someone else, or have to go for drug or alcohol treatment, or decide that they need to be on their own for a little while.

The Waifs won’t expect you to spend much money, and they tend not to demand as much attention as Neurotics, but if annoyed with you they will give you the silent treatment, drifting around sadly with huge eyes, attracting other men, and suddenly leave you for one. Like Neurotic heartbreakers, Waifs tend to develop drug or alcohol problems, but theirs may be more serious, as they don’t have the same level of self-discipline as their Neurotic sisters. They won’t threaten suicide verbally, but you might come home to find one of them half-dead from an overdose. Lots of drama with these women. […]

One caution I want to make is that not all Neurotic or Waif women are heartbreakers. It’s a special type of Neurotic or Waif who is also a fatale, who learns to use sexual conquest as a temporary antidote to unhappiness.

We all know these types — think any role played by Winona Ryder or Gwyneth Paltrow. I agree with Clio, these women are more dangerous than golddiggers because they wield their feminine power with subtlety and innocent sincerity. Their coin of the realm is fragile femininity and emotional manipulation, as opposed to sex for resources barter. If you are a man who likes his girls girly, you won’t know what hit you until it’s too late and you’re in with both feet and all your heart.

The only way to learn to deal with the waif and neurotic is through experience. It’s hard to teach a man to temper his protective instinct. A waif who connects with a man’s heart and pride enslaves him more than the golddigger who connects through his loins and wallet.

The solution to the emotionally manipulative waif/neurotic is to call her bluff. I once had a girl threaten to kill herself as she sat on the edge of my bed, spastically emptying desk draws for bottles of pills she could swallow. The normal man would crumble and attempt to alleviate her pain and tears with his comfort and listening ability. WRONG. This will only embolden her to greater future outbursts. Instead, I opened the window and told her to jump, it’ll get the job done faster. It worked. She cursed and stormed out, only to return, humbled, a couple days later.

Warning: Sometimes she will actually go through with it and kill herself. Be strong. Her mental weakness is not your moral crisis. You have just saved yourself years of heartache dealing with her recurrent emotional breakdowns.

Don’t get caught up in the waif’s exploitative exhibitions. You are the oak tree, strong and rooted. Let her flail away; you are immoveable. When she sees her tawdry drama and passive-aggressiveness is having no effect on you, she’ll fall deeper in love. Remind her in the strongest terms that her happiness depends on herself, not you. Tell her that she must understand her low self-esteem is no excuse for her shitty behavior and you have little patience for it. You will not be there to validate her ego. Flirt ostentatiously with other women so she knows you can leave at a moment’s notice. Rinse and repeat, and marvel as she learns to manage her worst excesses so as not to disappoint you.

You will have to PUSH AWAY a waif to get her to come closer to you. Consoling her, protecting her, and drawing her tighter into your orbit will work to do just the opposite of what you intended — push her into the arms of another sucker man.

There is really nothing more annoying or frustrating than a waif giving you the silent treatment and allowing other men to flirt with her in front of you. Often, the frustration is precisely because she does not know what she is doing to you. I’ve found the best way to deal with these situations is to confront the waif in clear and calm terms and let her know you are aware what is going on. To wit:

“You’re attitude is telling. If you have something on your mind, you should let me know, or go home now. I will only allow women into my life who are capable of getting past their egos and meeting me with an open heart. Improve yourself, or leave. There are plenty of men who will gladly put up with your shit.”

If this doesn’t shake the waif out of her manipulative malaise, nothing will. And for girls who flirt with other guys in your presence, you have two options: Fight flirting with flirting, or confront her, as I explained above. Showing complete indifference to her provocations will work short term, but fail long term. You’re better off sparking her lust for you by flirting with other women in return, because waifs respond to drama, their own or yours. Otherwise, let her betrayal play out, then later in the evening pull her aside and tell her not to call you again until she’s ready to respect your boundaries. Odds are you will get a call, and notice a positive change in her behavior.

Waifs tend to be drawn to arty, egocentric men who cope with their women’s whims by ignoring them (think of Picasso and most of his women).

I have dated quite a few Waifs and this is exactly how I dealt with them. Often, I would confront her drama with my own drama. Dramafest!

Tomorrow: The Eternal Ingenue and the Amazonian Alpha!

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From the archives:

Girl: Hey, how are you! I saw you upstairs and wanted to say hi. We met already. Remember me? Sarah?

Me: [scanning her face… thinking… thinking… drawing a complete blank.] Yeah! You do look familiar! Hi, it’s nice to see you.

Girl: You too! I know we kind of left it off in a weird way. My life was really hectic at that time and that’s why I didn’t get back to you. I really was in the middle of a big move. But everything’s back to normal now.

Me: [remembering now] Oh yeah! I remember you. [shaking head] I thought that was an uncreative excuse.

Girl: No, it was the truth!

Me: You know what this means… You owe me 20 drinks and lots of flattery for hurting my sensitive feelings. You’ve got some catching up to do. You’re already in the hole, behind, like, 100 points.

Girl: Haha. Well, we’ll see about that. Anyhow, just wanted to say hi. [looking expectantly at me]

Me: Hm, I suppose now that you’re settled in we could take another shot at meeting up for a conversation.

Girl: Do you still have my number?

Me: I’m not sure. Lemme check. [SLOOOOWWWLY scrolling through my phone list, like I’m going through a thousand numbers] Here we are. Um, don’t take this the wrong way, but I’ve got a few Sarahs in here. Don’t worry, some of these are old numbers from weeks ago. Let’s see if I get the right Sarah on the first guess. XXX-XXX-XXX?

Girl: Yep, that’s my number!

Me: OK, go back to your friends. I’ll give you a call sometime. Bye.

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Also from yesterday’s post, commenter Sebastian Flyte highlighted women’s natural inborn revulsion for beta males with the example of the fun bar game Marry Shag Kill:

Another aspect I’m increasingly seeing – WOMEN ARE PITILESS ABOUT BETAS. 

Most gamers who run the routine “murder, marry, shag” quickly realise this.  For those who don’t, you and the girl point at various people around the bar and state whether you would murder them, marry them, or shag them. 

Sometimes I point at wallflowers and guys with no game. I normally just feel bad for them, there-but-for-the-grace-of-god and so forth, me a year ago, he just needs to learn… but women_are_brutal.  Murder of course, but they embellish it further with unflattering observations on their penis size, acne, relationship history, masturbation habits… the vitriolic hate they have for these guys, it’s scary.  If a couple of alphas walked in and started ripping on the betas, women would join in.

I have noticed the same thing with women when I play Marry Fuck Kill with them. After an initial hesitancy, they get comfortable playing and suddenly the claws and fangs are out, revealing in high definition surround-sound glory their barely submerged joyous hate for the hapless beta male.

The nicer ones might try to think of alternate ways to dispose of the losers.

“Uuumm… yeah I guess I would kill him [pointing at rumpled shirt herb]. Do I really have to kill him? Ew, yuck, could we just have him shot into space or something? Or moved to China?”

If the guy is really emanating the stench of loserness, her killing instinct sharpens:

“Yeah, kill him. Oh god, yes, just kill him.”

You have to understand why women have this curdled reaction to betas deep in their bones. If a man spills his seed in the wrong woman, no biggie. He can still bang other women and fulfill his genetic programming. If a woman gets her eggs polluted by the feeble seed of a beta, she’s stuck for nine months, and probably longer.

This is why Marry Fuck Kill is an excellent litmus test. I now use the game to screen for women with good character. If she is *really* uncomfortable killing off men she doesn’t want to fuck or marry, and refuses to pull the trigger, I know she’ll be more likely to want to please me and less likely to cheat. I put her in the “long term prospect” mental bin. If she chooses to marry what I consider marriage-worthy men (and I pick sample targets for her with my screening process in mind) I give her an extra point. If she chooses to fuck the dude wearing the skull and bones bandana with tribal tattoos on his arms and a perpetual sneer, I subtract points from her and put her into the “short fling” mental bin.

Marry Fuck Kill does not work the same for men. When the girl plays the game with me, and I haven’t yet fucked her, I have to be careful how I answer.

“Her? [looking at the fat girl she picked] Hmm, I dunno… If she was good to animals I miiiiiight marry her. I guess I have to kill someone here, eh? Maybe that chick over there. [pointing at the hottest chick in the bar] She looks high maintenance.”

If I simply told the truth and chose all the hot girls for fucking and marrying and killed all the ugly and fat chicks, occasionally with unbridled glee, she would become self-conscious and never agree to be videotaped during sex.

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Commenter LauraByNight wrote on yesterday’s post:

This seems to suggest that a good strategy for finding quality girls is to avoid looking in bars and clubs, and maybe to avoid spending most of your time in places full of high-powered, high-strung women. I realize that this could be difficult for some men, depending on their jobs.

It also suggests that the old-fashioned idea of meeting potential mates through family and friends, or in school or at work (rather than a place where most people are hoping to find someone to fuck) would yield a higher return rate.

I hear this assertion all the time from those who believe that quality girls can’t be found in bars — “Oh, well of course if you go to a bar you’ll only find bar whores, what did you expect?”. The time has come for yer not-so-humble narrator to grind this idiotic meme into dust.

Here is a representative sample of the occupations of ten girls I met in bars:

Lawyer
Med student
PR flack
Pharmaceutical saleswoman
Smithsonian curator
Art gallery owner
Bartender (different bar)
Marketing
Teacher
Waitress/student

Here is a representative sample of the education levels of ten girls I met in bars:

Ivy league (2, including one Harvard grad)
Seven Sisters (1)
State school (3)
Grad school (3)
Never went to college (1)

Here is my informal judgement of the IQs of the last ten girls I met in bars:

150 (1, she was weird)
130-150 (1)
115-130 (2)
100-115 (5)
under 100 (1)

Here is a representative sample of the dress style of ten girls I met in bars:

Conservatively dressed (5)
Sexily dressed (4)
Sluttily dressed (1)

If it isn’t yet obvious to the “bar girls are low quality” brigade let me spell it out for you: Girls who go to bars are the same as girls you meet anywhere else. They are not an exotic subspecies of womanhood. I understand the impulse of the Loser Mafia to want to disparage girls who are confident enough to go to bars and scoop up tons of male attention, but the facts don’t bear out the comforting belief. That classy, smartly attired girl with her pink Ipod who’s picking through the organic bean sprouts at Whole Foods is the same girl who was at the bar last night hitting up chumps for free drinks.

Think about it — if you were an attractive girl why wouldn’t you go to a bar while you’ve still got it? You’d be negligent not to. A girls’s urge to feed her ego and take the measure of her sexual market value is intense, and bars are perfectly suited for maximum assuaging and feedback. Where else can she command the attention of so many men in such a short amount of time and limited space? (Tip: this is why you should never consider a bartender for a long term relationship. Any girl who chooses to go into bartending is a Ninth Order Attention Whore who needs hours upon hours of male flirtations and social stimulation just to feel human.)

But there are girls who insist they never go to bars. I believe them. These are the kinds of girls you will rarely find in a bar at night when the mating bazaar is wide open for business:

Fat chicks (usually not more than 10%)
Over 30 women
Ugly chicks

Fat and ugly chicks don’t need their fragile egos pummeled any more than they already are by exposing themselves to the hormonally heated competitive environment of a bar. If you are a fatty fucker you don’t need to go to bars; just step outside and walk the earth. If you’re a freak who likes ugly chicks, trawl Craigslist W4M. Fucking horror show.

Over 30 women are either married and off the market or unwilling to go pert breasts-to-sagging breasts with the younger competition. I don’t blame them. It’s easier to maintain an illusion of desirability if you never leave the house.

Attractive single girls who, for reasons of principle, heavy work schedule, or visceral dislike of the scene, never go to bars are a tiny subset of the total number of attractive girls. But just because they loathe bars to the point of active avoidance does not automatically impart them with a glowing halo. They just get their attention fix through other means, like, oh, to pick an example completely at random, blogs.

Attractive girls who are in happy, committed relationships are often the biggest propagators of the “bars suck” meme, because in their lovestruck haze they have forgotten just how many nights they used to go out to bars. Their opinion is of no use to any man trying to figure out where to meet women.

I once did the smart, enlightened thing and dated a “quality girl” I met at a painting class I had signed up for. While we were dating, I bumped into her at my favorite bar at 1AM, drinking with her friends.

Only suckers throw away their time and money chasing the elusive “quality girl” through events, classes, or expensive but socially approved status-whoring hobbies. Bars are free.

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Quality Girl

I’m often asked “What do you consider a quality girl?” This is a good question, if by quality we mean a girl I’d be willing to date long term (>3 months), to invest more than the minimal amount of my time and energy, and to feel secure, if I were so inclined, in committing myself exclusively without worry that she might spread her legs for any random guy who happens to catch her alone on an especially drunken night and says the right things about how good her forehead looks in the reflection of the beer bottle.

Very few… and I mean VERY few… women in DC have met my exacting standards of quality. I’d estimate that of all the girls I’ve dated in this city less than 10% were worthy of my full attention. I’d hazard to guess that if all men held themselves to the same high standards I do and didn’t kowtow to the first chick who deigned to bless them with a crumb of affection there’d be universal agreement among DC men that my 10% figure is accurate. Maybe in flyover country the number of quality girls hits 25%. In Poland it is 80%. The times have changed and quality girls are no longer the norm.

So what makes a quality girl? Well, I know what *doesn’t* make a quality girl.

  • She has cheated more than three times in her life, or has cheated more than once on the same boyfriend.
  • She forgets to say “thank you” when you buy her a drink. Buying her a second drink confirms her ingratitude.
  • She dates around. Dating around — specifically, seeing more than one person concurrently — is a prerogative of men only, for reasons having to do with the greater leverage men need to arm themselves with to compete in a dating market that is fundamentally tilted in favor of women. Any girl who makes a habit of dating more than one guy at a time, especially if the parallel dating lasts longer than one month, in order to milk her options is a bad seed. In all my years of banging, one soulsaving thing I’ve learned is to walk away from any girl who I’ve discovered is also dating other men. Even if I beat the competition and win her over, it never ends well.
  • She tells you she has a long distance boyfriend she loves, then proceeds to bang you anyway. A few months later, you see her groping a new guy, and she’s still with her boyfriend. (That relationship is doomed.)
  • Her default mode is sarcasm, negativity, coarseness, and shamelessness.
  • She spends twice as much time getting ready for a house party than she spends getting ready for a date with you.
  • She can’t control her impulse to flirt with other men. Double minus points if she does this in your presence.
  • She doesn’t seem nervous undressing in front of you the first time.
  • She fucks you on a pretense of less than the sum total of an hour of conversation, and calls you the next day worried that your condomless sex might have given her something. (She’s been down this road before.)
  • She is proud to be on the pill and considers her dependence on it a carte blanche slut sanctioner instead of a safety net affection fortifier.
  • She is cavalier about casual sex.

A quality girl does the opposite of all the above. She doesn’t cheat, and if she does she has a plausible rationale. But she will still feel bad about it. She is generous when it is risky to be so. She is positive and lifts people up, not pushes them down to lift herself up. She laughs at the absurdity and beauty of the world, but never at the expense of others. She is warm, and this is something that can’t be taught. She says “I love you” early and often out of conviction, not inquisition. She understands that her heart is more important than her pride.

A high quality girl is good for standing by, sticking with, supporting always, loving fully, defending righteously, and if the timing is right, embracing for life to the exclusion of all others. She is the type of girl who can enthrall you with her words alone. She can make you smile over the phone. She can be far away but feel near. She is often discovered in the unlikeliest places, and her magic is the energy that animates her pretty face, rather than the other way around.

Low quality girls are good for fucking, a few laughs, some funny digicam pics, and that’s it. Spare your hard-earned manly capital — your time, your resources, your protection, your commitment, your LOVE — for those few quality girls you might meet if you’re lucky. And speaking as a man who has seen, heard and experienced enough to turn the most naive optimist into a stone cold cynic, if you do meet a girl like that, you would be a fool to pass her up. Her kind is going extinct.

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Like a swarm of locusts or a flock of shitting geese, the bachelorette party is the most loathsome sight in the club. When I see them stumble into my favorite bar holding hands like a train of circus elephants I don’t think “Oh, here comes fun!”, I think “If they ask for my underwear I’m really going to give it to them, skid mark and all.” All I want to do when I see the girl wearing the white veil is shoot a load of my hot spunk in her hair until she’s crying that I’ve ruined her $300 wedding coif.

My friends secretly hate me for getting married first.

My friends secretly hate me for getting married first.

Bachelorette parties come in two varieties: The bride-to-be is really ugly or she’s the hottest chick of the bunch. There never seems to be an in-between. You can tell which one you’re dealing with without even looking for the one in the veil. The friends of the ugly bachelorette will have a look of genuine happiness and relief on their faces for the good fortune that the least marketable of them managed to snare a guy. (My buddies and I are left to imagine just how beta the unlucky bastard must be.) They have inflated egos because joy has filled their hearts with the thought that their own chances must be very good if their incendiary warpig friend beat the odds.

The friends of the hot alpha bachelorette smile just like the friends of the ugly bachelorette do, but their smiles are masks covering their seething envy and resentment. Their yearning to be seen as desirable means that you can make some headway with one who is a little less attractive than the bride-to-be.

In my experience, bachelorette parties are dead-ends for pickup. (Bachelor parties, on the other hand…) The girls are too drunk, too insular, too bitchy, and wracked with too much Freudian drama to bother with. And have you ever been mass cockblocked? Try hitting on a girl in a bachelorette party and watch in wonder as five girls swoop in to make your life miserable.

In a righteous and virtuous world, bachelorette parties would be shunned, and those girls who participated in them would be shamed by other women. There is no good reason for a girl who is about to vow sexual fidelity to the man she loves for the rest of her life to suck from a veiny penis-shaped straw and dare horny drunk men to bite candies from the necklace nestled in her cleavage. (The bachelor party is perfectly acceptable because men sacrifice a lot more when they get married.) This insipid, low class cultural trend should be used as a litmus test for men who still have a shred of dignity – if he finds out she cavorted around town sloppy drunk and wildly flirting with every guy within shouting distance he should call off the wedding immediately. No self-respecting man marries a closet slut.

Here are a couple of stories to give you an idea of what I mean.

Story one.

A bachelorette ran up to Zeets and implored him to bite off one of the life savers glued to her white t-shirt. He obliged and, naturally, targeted the life saver perched over her left nipple. Like a hungry bear mauling prey, he ripped off the life saver and took a swatch of her t-shirt with him. She shrieked, her left boob exposed for hundreds to see, while Zeets had a piece of cloth dangling from his mouth like a hunk of meat, and a shit-eating grin on his face. What a touching photo to add to the wedding album!

Story two.

This past weekend a hot blonde from Texas in a slinky black cocktail dress came up to me and started dirty dancing, rubbing her crotch on my thigh and turning around to grind her ass into me. We flirted and laughed for 20 minutes while my hand was on her back, hips, and ass, feeling around her thong strap. She pressed her tits into my chest. I leaned in and she was about to kiss me when her drunk friend wedged herself between us.

“She’s about to get married! Look!” She held up Texas girl’s left hand.

I squinted in the dim light and saw a barely noticeable silver ring on her finger, turned around so that the very large diamond was inside her palm, out of sight. I asked her why she had her ring like that. She looked ashamed. “Oh, it gets caught on my dress.”

Word to the wise: $20K on an engagement ring won’t banish the inner whore from your dearly beloved. Save your money.

***

Recap for girls who love love love romping through town in a bachelorette party and think it makes them famous for the night:

There is nothing cute or charming about you.
You and your bridesmaids are annoying, which is the opposite of fun.
Your bachelorette party games are retarded.
You take up space better used by girls who actually want to hook up.
Your fiancee is a sucker.
You don’t have that bride-to-be “glow”. It’s just drunkenness.
You’re still fat in a tiara.

If most “men” (and I use the term loosely) weren’t such tools they’d stop giving these dorky bachelorette party girls the acknowledgement they crave. Ignoring them is the only way to end the plague.

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Sometimes I’ll be walking down the street, checking out a fine looking specimen walking in front of me, her wide, child-bearing hips sashaying left to right, the outline of her ass cheeks barely visible against the sheer fabric of her summer skirt, a hint of side boob, her hair long and complicated, and I’ll whisper to myself “Damn, that is hot”, and she’ll turn around and an ugly face will be staring back at me. Duped!

The above scenario isn’t common. Usually, whatever genes contribute to a woman’s sexy figure are paired with genes that make for a pretty face.

surprise!
surprise!

The fathers of hot daughters aren’t wasting their unprotected alpha seed on mothers with butterfaces. The good face and body go hand in hand, like a hair pull with a forward thrust. 90% of the time you see a great hourglass shape from the back it will be attached to a 7 or higher face, so you can safely approach a hot girl from behind whose face you haven’t yet seen.

Borderline unattractive faces on top of hot bodies do happen occasionally, and it is usually a tomboy or fitness nut. These are the women who have worked their bodies into incredible shape from intense physical activity, but never bothered to learn proper makeup application or sitting with their good side facing you to smooth the rough edges of their faintly masculine faces. The next time you’re admiring the long luscious legs of an unattractive horse-faced girl ask her if she’s ever done a triathlon. Odds are, she’ll say yes.

A girl with a great physique but an ugly face immune to the effects of makeup has been the unfortunate victim of poor inheritance — she is the one who got her dad’s masculine face and her mother’s feminine body. She was born to pleasure men doggy style.

The reverse disturbing scenario — the pretty face perched on the ugly body — is much rarer. This is the classic chubby girl whose fat hasn’t yet migrated to her face, making her the perfect conversational and BJ partner. The reason you will not see this “oh, but she’s got such a pretty face” type as often as it’s talked about in popular culture is that it doesn’t take much extra body weight for the face to show signs of unattractive bloat. 20 pounds over normal weight is enough to puff out the cheeks and double up the chin, which will be especially noticeable every time she looks down to adjust her cheap hooker shoes.

In extremely rare hot face ugly body cases, it is a hot girl with some kind of bodily deformity, like a vestigial tail or a hunchback, or a moon surface of cellulite, that ruins the overall effect. For these girls, concealing clothing and advantageous body positioning are the answer, plus radical cosmetic surgery or settling for a grateful beta.

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