Archive for the ‘Girls’ Category

How To Outgame Manipulative Women

PrettyWi$e, a possible troll whose question nonetheless serves to impart a useful lesson, asks,

My girl sent me a nude about 20mins ago… And replied saying “oops wrong number”. I will admit it did get under my shit, but should I even respond to such crap?

What this reader’s girl is running is a form of Reverse Eavesdropping Game. Or, if you prefer simplicity, she has dropped a massive shit test on him.

This is why I suspect the reader is a troll. A common troll tactic on game blogs is to lie about a girl the troll “knows” who uses the game tactics found here to befuddle men. The suspicion is justified because in the real world women hardly ever resort to arcane male game tactics to get men into bed. If a woman wants to bed a man, she only needs to look cute enough and signal her availability.

Troll or not, if you play the field you will encounter the occasional playette who co-opts male game for shits and giggles, or who loves to incite dramatic bursts of jealousy to externally validate her sexual worth. You should know how to handle them.

The correct response to a girl “accidentally” sending you a nude she wants you to think was meant for another man is “bad lighting”.

Other good responses:
“you and ur dad have a weird thing”
“nice save”
“if you want me you just have to ask”
“your flirting technique needs work”

The attitude of indifference and non-reactiveness conveyed by these responses is what matters. There are other responses that would work well, as long as whatever you say has an air of nonchalant condescension and assumed high value. The brilliance of such a reply is that it simultaneously robs the manipulative girl of a victory dance while instantly flipping the script so that she is on the defensive, riddled with doubt about her attractiveness and scrambling to regain the upper hand.

Game doesn’t have to be this malevolent to work, but some girls are just begging for the hamster whip.

PS If this reader’s scenario ever happens to you, it’s a good bet the girl wants you badly and is showing it by making you chase her. Think about it. If a girl really did accidentally send you a nude of herself meant for someone else that she didn’t want you to see, she wouldn’t follow up with an implied apology. She’d go into hiding and hope you don’t bring it up. Or she’d already be two steps out the door on you and in that case not give a shit what you think about her antics.

PPS Another countermeasure to manipulative bitch game is radio silence. If you don’t respond to her incitement to jealousy at all, the next time you and her meet she’ll be chin-deep in hamster turds wondering what you’re thinking about her mischief-making. Keep up the ruse of feigned obliviousness as long as possible, even post-coitally, and she’ll hardly be able to contain her frustration with your inscrutability. An added bonus is that this gives you time to determine if she really is cheating, and to execute the “pump and surprise dump” finishing move should you discover she’s been disloyal. “Ah, that was great. I hope I left some in your tank for that other guy you’re banging. You’re gonna need it.” Right after, toss a razor blade at her. She’ll probably need that too.

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Remember this post about the romantic Kiwi betaboy who followed an American woman around all night on New Year’s Eve like a puppy dog, only to part at 6AM with nothing to show for it but her coy instruction to “find me”? The niceguy romantic beta had one photo of her on his phone, which he promptly enlarged to masturbation size and uploaded to Facebook hoping she would see the green light at the end of his pier and the world would help them reunite in McLovin bliss.

There’s an update to this story. The girl found out about his Facebook campaign to locate her. Guess what happened.

A lovelorn New Zealand man who asked the Internet for help finding the American girl he met in Hong Kong last year on New Year’s Eve has found her – and she doesn’t seem too happy about it.

Reese McKee, 25, gained thousands of followers when he posted a picture of ‘Katie’ and his story of dancing the night away with her last December. She left him only with a first name, a hint that she lived ‘in D.C.’ and the alluring request: ‘find me.’

He has now revealed that online sleuths did, indeed, find her. And they mobbed her with so many messages that she deleted every single one of her social media accounts within hours. [...]

Mr McKee says he hasn’t reached out to her yet – he’s waiting for the online furor to die down.

But, as one slightly horrified blogger points out, it’s likely she has no desire to to speak with Mr McKee now. Their romantic night took place nearly one year ago.

‘A year is enough time for someone to get married, go through several relationships, or even have a child,’ blogger amiantos writes.

It takes a lot of beta to convince a blue city American girl to tear down her Facebook wall. She must have felt the kind of disgust that’s typically reserved for mutilated bodies, dog shit, and flabby male feminists.

Moral of the story: Women are so predictable.

Some good does appear to have come out of this niceguy’s romantic abandonment.

Even Mr McKee seems a little sheepish about his quest to be reunited with the girl he had a chance meeting with a year ago. He told the Herald that he has turned down multiple media interview requests – including from ABC’s Good Morning America.

Shortly after Katie was found, he deleted his Facebook profile and the Facebook event that invited fans to help find her.

What’s that sensation hiding between the lines? Oh yes. Burning shame. Enough time has passed since the RealTalk Revolution invaded the public consciousness that it wouldn’t be a stretch to think betaboy here caught his eyeballs on a few websites such as this one and experienced a rude awakening about the nature of women and his own self-defeating courtship missteps. Two people win when a man is saved from incel purgatory: The man, and the woman he dates who gets to experience the joy of a proper seduction.

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The post subject says it all. A reader asks,

Read your site regularly. Thanks for the time and effort.

Interested in your thoughts: I’ve got a recent girlfriend- good looking, moneyed background, sweet girl but lots of confidence.  She is, however, outright jealous- or at least catty- about an ex of mine who she has found notes from and a couple pictures of us together.

She recently lost her phone and asked to temporarily borrow my old one.  While sanitizing it I found found a few nudes my ex sent me.  She looks good.  Do I leave them and stoke the flames further? Or leave it to simmer? Opportunity or foolishness?

A girlfriend who is excessively jealous of an ex-girlfriend of comparable SMV is projecting a desire to have a boyfriend who is adept at attracting other women. The catty jealousy is manufactured drama that she indulges because it serves the purpose of making her more attracted to you. You may consider this flattery… or a warning sign of troubles ahead.

If your ex is hotter than your current girlfriend (be honest with yourself), the jealousy is nothing less than raw insecurity. Women know, despite their socially acceptable protestations to the contrary, what really matters to men. A hotter ex-girlfriend translates as a greater risk of you trading up in the near future.

My answer is partly dependent on which of the two contexts above is relevant to you. If you get the sense that your girlfriend is very much in love and her jealousy is revealed insecurity, the smart move is to delete the photos so she doesn’t see them and melt into a puddle of manic self-doubt. (The smarter move is to not let her borrow your phone so that you may keep the photos for your old age when the nostalgic masturbation material will come in HANDY.)

But if she seems like the drama-prone type (INFIDELITY ALERT) and her jealousy strikes you as deliberately hyperbolic, you may want your girlfriend to “accidentally” come across those nude photos of your ex as a means of assuring she stays in your orbit. A drama queen needs these occasional reminders of your surfeit of sexual market options. Keep the ho on her toes.

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I wonder if the dam is beginning to burst on public discourse, leading to growing awareness of converging androgyny of the sexes. CH was out front informing the masses of a strange trend toward sexual unipolarity characterized by a psychological and physiognomic swapping and sharing of normal sexually dimorphic traits. Men appeared to be getting womanlier and women manlier.

But it was the stuff of quirky anecdote and peripheral observation, out there on the bleeding edge of heartistian thought. The science had yet to catch up to CH’s eagle eye. But now the ♥science♥ is here, and as per usual the boys in the lab are busily verifying precocious CH insight.

Commenter chris writes,


In your posts.


[ed: see also:

https://heartiste.wordpress.com/2013/11/28/is-humanity-becoming-androgynous/ ]

You discuss the masculinisation of western women [and feminization of western men].

This article might explain a mechanism for it:


“Androgens, a class of hormones that includes testosterone, increase waist-to-hip ratios in women by increasing visceral fat, which is carried around the waist. But on the upside, increased androgen levels are also associated with increased strength, stamina and competitiveness. Cortisol, a hormone that helps the body deal with stressful situations, also increases fat carried around the waist.

Hormone levels linked with a high waist-to-hip ratio could lead to such health benefits, which would be particularly useful during times of stress, Cashdan said. These benefits could outweigh those attained from having the tiny waist, hourglass figure, she said.

Perhaps the differences between predominant body shapes in some societies have to do with sexual equality, Cashdan said.

In Japan, Greece and Portugal, where women tend to be less economically independent, men place a higher value on a mate’s thin waist than men in Britain or Denmark, where there tends to be more sexual equality, Cashdan said. And in some non-Western societies where food is scarce and women bear the responsibility for finding it, men actually prefer larger waist-to-hip ratios.

“Waist-to-hip ratio may indeed be a useful signal to men, then, but whether men prefer a [waist-to-hip ratio] associated with lower or higher androgen/estrogen ratios (or value them equally) should depend on the degree to which they want their mates to be strong, tough, economically successful and politically competitive,” Cashdan writes.”

So as we head to a female forager/matriarchal/feminist society, in order to compete and WIN, the women will have to, and are, masculinising.

It’s interesting how the feminists who agitate for a society organised along these lines are the females most likely to be successful in these societies. Feminist women win, non-feminist women lose.

Feminism is a war of women against other women.

It’s about making the feminist/female forager mating strategy the winning mating strategy.

And any woman who isn’t a masculinised female/feminist, will be a loser in this world.

Fitting, yes, that the Western leftoid project to economically and socially equalize the sexes is literally equalizing men and women in body mass, shape and temperament. Fuck with the forces of nature and nature will fuck you right back, hard.

But I wouldn’t make too much hay of this latest study. One, there is a mound of accumulated evidence that male preference, at least in Europe and Asia, is for women with waist-hip ratios of 0.7 and BMIs falling between 17 and 23. Two, the enlarging (heh), sugar-fueled and automobile-enabled Western obesity epidemic is likely distorting measurements of the natural WHRs of women under a layer of belly blubber. Three, what the above study could be measuring is not changes in innate, unconstrained male preference but rapid female adaptation to environmental pressures that occur *despite* male sexual preference. (Note, also, that the majority of sampled countries in the data set were non-European. A good rule of thumb: Female beauty standards are universal, EXCEPT in Africa. “Except in Africa” is a clause that could be appended to a lot of generalizable observations about human nature.)

Nevertheless, this study is hinting at something that CH has noticed: Western women are looking, and acting, manlier. We have cast about for reasons why, and now we have one plausible mechanism: When propagandized sexual equality pushes women into the workforce and away from children and home, their bodies respond by jacking up their tiny reserve of male hormones until they more resemble the men with whom they now compete in arenas historically occupied only by men.

And so what kind of women does our post-biology, androgyne culture beget? Manjaws. Narrower eyes and hips. Thinner lips. Wider waists. Aggressive posturing. Leering, focused gazes. Snarls and snarks.

Recall this contrast between composites of Golden Age Hollywood starlets and modern actresses:

progress... but to what?

The face composite on the left is of actresses from 2008, the right of actresses from the 1940s. Neither are unattractive, but the left one clearly has undergone some masculinization. Anymore, and she veers into tranny territory. What does this mean for men? Most men will feel like sexually conquering the girl on the left, and romantically protecting the girl on the right. Funny, that seems to be the way our sexual market is heading.

What else do our present and future masculine women offer? Shrieking feminist agit-prop. Wall to wall lies to deny sex differences. “Art” made from menstrual blood. Pussy riots. Delayed childbirth. Women breaking their bodies competing in high-impact sports traditionally dominated by men. And, in a final middle finger to the god of biomechanics, a simultaneous war to feminize men so that women’s descent to maleness can proceed unhindered.

That last part is happening too, in case you were wondering. I could show you a pic of John Scalzi as proof and call it a day, but as demonstrated by the CH links above there is similar data-rich evidence piling up that something weird and disconcerting is happening to Western men to turn them into mewling manboobs, overweight male feminists, slope-shouldered hipsters, and huge beta sycophants. Although it isn’t (yet) making the nightly news, far-flung quarters are beginning to pick up on the CH-identified disturbing inversion of men to a physical and psychological female form.

None of this is good news, except to ugly feminists and socially awkward male toadies who never stood a chance in the grindhouse of the mating bazaar. I don’t see how civilization sustains itself under these conditions, not demographically at any rate. There will be a price to pay for messing with nature’s prime directive. I don’t know exactly what amount, or what currency we’ll pay it in, but the bill is coming due.

The title of this post is not an affectation. The convergent masculinization and feminization of the sexes to a shapeless, infantilized alien gray is a deliberate project by the elites as much as it is an emergent phenomenon of uncontrolled environmental insults. The ruling class wants this. People in power, people who don’t want to relinquish even a speck of their power, want their nearest competition — white middle class men — gelded. They want them soft and blubbery and pliable. They want women unfeminine, self-supporting, aggressive and ballcutting, because they know that a culture dominated by such women will reinforce and solidify the slavish adherence to the preferred propaganda matrix of the elite.

The elite’s most dangerous enemy are men like themselves, competent and hungry, but with less to lose. And so the elite play social engineering with the sexes, in hopes of ridding themselves of men capable of rebelling. If they taste success, they will move on from social engineering to biological engineering of the wider culture of men to cement their rule. You scoff. Ask yourself, are you, at this late hour, willing to place your faith in the benevolence of your ruling elite should such technological game-changers drop in their laps?

Ultimately, whether our ruling class knows it or they bumble along like drug addicts seeking the next pleasurable injection of power at any cost, their sex-swapping project will turn the West into matricentric, female forager Africa. And it shouldn’t be too hard to figure out what comes next.

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

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

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

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


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

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

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

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

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Facebook Likes are a cancer on society. They glorify feels and enervate reason. They abet lies and exile truth. But they do perform a valuable service for the keen observer of civilizational decay. The FB Like, and what gets Liked most, are revealing glimpses into a nation’s character, and especially the character of its women, for whom Facebook Likes are happy drugs for their gluttonous egos. Remove the Like, and severe withdrawal symptoms manifest, similar to the effects one sees from the psychological damage that incurs after an extended stint in an isolation chamber.

A reader passes along two telling examples.

I found these two pictures today on my FB friend’s feed.  (They aren’t my friends, fortunately, but they are friends of friends.)  Both got lots of “likes” and supportive comments.  I thought of you as soon as I saw them.

Since most of Facebook is a wasteland of middling SMV women patting each other on the backs for awe-inspiring accomplishments like getting knocked up by a black guy or sucking down in one gulp a boat of sugar through a straw, it’s fair to say that what gets Liked is what American women like. And what American women like is, to put a coarse point on it, a mountain of shit.

What do American women and their yappy beta orbiters like so much that they feel compelled to craft a public consensus of their PC boilerplate?
- Mystery meat fetuses.
- Interracial dating.
- Male empathy pregnancies.
- Fat chicks.
- Fat chicks feeding like swine on ice cream sundaes that could sustain a family of four for a week.
- Fat chicks feeding like swine while insouciantly arched eyebrows that demand acceptance leap from their bloated brows.

Could this country and its people be going down the shitter any faster? Forget Rome’s historical precedence. America is in double-time decline, setting new records of scraping bottom as we speak. I think I will dub this Millennifag cohort the Like Me Generation. “Like me, because if you don’t I’ll have a mental breakdown as the realization that I’m a mediocrity sweeps over me. Nothing less than total unanimity in judgment of my awesomeness and the rightness of my knee-jerk emotional opinions will keep me alive another day.”

Yeah, no. I think instead I will take this shiv and give it an extra twist in your guts, just because I like… yes, Like… watching you effete nancies and spluttering mutants scream bloody murder. And you know what? The country will become a place truly worth liking for your suffering.

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A very homely, urbanely decayed spinster has taken photographs of herself posed with male and child mannequins, presumably as some sort of statement on the present condition of her bifurcated ego.

If you thought 21st Century American women have plumbed the depths of crazy, you’d be wrong. There’s totes crazy left in those desiccated wombs and cock-ravaged holes where their feminine hearts used to reside. Expect to see a plague of crazy visited upon the women of the West, as the modern diversity industrial complex and no-holds-barred sexual market drives the wedge deeper between their mothering and materialistic desires. We have only begun to bear witness to a total meltdown of the American woman’s psyche.

My advice to American men: If you didn’t get lucky and find yourself a sane, feminine American woman before this late-stage twisted empire in rapid decay corrupted her, head overseas. You’ve got to know when to hold an American woman, and know when to fold her. And right now, she’s coming up 2-7 off-suit.

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

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

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

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

1.”You look really tired.”

Tingles are born in the defensive crouch.

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

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

3. “You remind me of my mom.”

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

4. “Are you on your period?”

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

5. “Are you wearing that?”

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

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

Spin, hamster, spin.

7. “Your sister is so hot!”

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

8.  “You have a really pretty face.”

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

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

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

10. “You’re still hungry?”

#FatShamingForever. Nip that Jabba wannabe in the bud.

11. “Why are you freaking out?”

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

12. “Didn’t you wear that last week?”

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

13. “You ask a lot of questions.”

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

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

Great challenge that can lead to a funny conversation.

15. “It’s not you; it’s me.”

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

16. “Is that your real hair?”

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

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

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

18. “Are you sick?”

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

19. “You’re crazy.”

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

20. “You have a lot of feelings.”

:lol: Love the ambiguity.

21. “Calm down.”

Sean Connery knows how to calm a woman down.

22. “How much do you weigh?”

“Excuse me?”

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

“What does that mean?!”

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


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

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A year late and a neural synapse short, the New York Beta Times has stumbled upon a dusty CH tome and (re)discovered an obvious fact of the sexes: Domestic servitude makes a man undesirable in the eyes and loins of his woman.

A study called “Egalitarianism, Housework and Sexual Frequency in Marriage,” which appeared in The American Sociological Review last year, surprised many, precisely because it went against the logical assumption that as marriages improve by becoming more equal, the sex in these marriages will improve, too. Instead, it found that when men did certain kinds of chores around the house, couples had less sex. Specifically, if men did all of what the researchers characterized as feminine chores like folding laundry, cooking or vacuuming — the kinds of things many women say they want their husbands to do — then couples had sex 1.5 fewer times per month than those with husbands who did what were considered masculine chores, like taking out the trash or fixing the car. It wasn’t just the frequency that was affected, either — at least for the wives. The more traditional the division of labor, meaning the greater the husband’s share of masculine chores compared with feminine ones, the greater his wife’s reported sexual satisfaction.

This news so shocked the NYBTimes readership that the high IQ assembled emptied their bowels en masse and vaulted the article to #1 most-emailed. In a den of liars, a simple truth is meme-king. Quoting the CH bastion of enlightenment,

When men are men and women are women, the sex is more frequent. And probably hotter, too. When men are scalzied manboobs and women are manjawed feminists, the bedroom is an arid wasteland of dashed passion.

Sexual polarity — the primal force that adheres the cosmic cock to the celestial snatch — is the truth of truths that belies every feminist assertion ever made in the history of that insipid, leprotic ideology. May the losers of the world quake and fall to their knees before its divine directive.

You may now take a moment to ponder what terrible, horrible, no good, very bad truths the high priests of leftoidism will scare themselves into noticing next. Down the hall, second door on the right… what’s that you’ve found? Biological race differences? Good God, man! Brace yourself against something sturdy! Third floor, door at the end of the hall… women love badboys? Lawdy it’s another breathtaking nugget of common sense! You’ve just loaded your diaper. There there, dear.

Let them have their circus act. Whatever they need to keep those UES cocktail party invites flowing, and their naughty thoughts checked before their self-admiration is wrecked. It’s all fun and games unless $$$trillions$$$ are wasted on turning their self-medicating lies into public policy. Woops.

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Overheard In [Redacted]

Out of their sight but not my earshot, I overheard the following conversation between two late 20s-early 30s SWPL girls giggling about a man one of the girls recently dated.


“Did you check him out?”

“I googled him… got his accounts… {unintelligible}”

[ed: silly me, thinking her question meant to ask if she looked at him before meeting.]

“His accounts?”

“Yeah, you know. Facebook, LinkedIn…Instagram… thank god he didn’t have a Tumblr, as far as I could tell.”

“You should probably check those cheater sites too. You know the ones?”

“I did! I tried those… lol… but there aren’t enough women participating yet.”

“So what did you find?”

“Oh wow, a lot of douchy pictures of him at parties with skanks.”


“But at least he doesn’t have love children… {unintelligible}.”


“Unless he’s hiding them, but I feel like it would be tough to hide secret kids.”

“I dunno, I dated this guy once who had a son, and I didn’t find out until three months later.”

“Except for the stupid photos…oh yeah, and the creepy military history stuff he collects… he seemed all right.”

“Did you go out with him?”

“Yeah. But he said something weird, which makes me wonder.”


“He said I’d make a good event planner for bachelorette parties.”

“What does that even mean?”

“I asked him. He said it was my upbeat vibe, or whatever. He said I had the personality to manage a lot of high maintenance girls. Can you believe that!”


“But the thing is, I was at a bachelorette party recently. For my friend. He must have saw the pictures on Facebook. I was wondering the whole time if he was checking out my friends. Like, if we didn’t work out, he’d call one of them up?”

“lol… that’s crazy creeper.”

“Eh…. it’s not a huuuge deal.”

“I guess you didn’t see him again.”

“No, we’ve been on three dates. He’s out there, but kind of funny. Thank god he hasn’t talked about any military stuff.”


Folks, you simply cannot make up the utter lack of awareness and pathological solipsism exhibited by today’s modern Western woman. It’s like if you threw a woman into solitary confinement, she would claim the world was banging on the cage door to get in and join her.

The lesson, as if it needed to be stated, is that you can expertly game the post-modern dating market by seeding the online world with self-glorifying disinformation. That is, if you choose to have an online presence. Women may cast a suspicious eye at massive online DHVs, but the power of social proof to redound to a man’s benefit is not a trivial thing; if asked, she’ll express disbelief in your sexyman antics but a part of her inner world will want to believe.

Also, don’t fear the douche. You can be all the douche you wanna be, skanks draped over your arms with a wall of duckbill mouths trumpeting your greatness, and women will come running to discover the “good man” underneath. But if you show the good man right away you’ll get a pat on the shoulder and a bored look.

Your other option is zero net presence. ZNP is the safe alternative, and it will certainly stoke curiosity in women in this day and age of pajama-concocted character story lines uploaded to social media megacorp spy machines. But it will also invite more questions than you may be comfortable batting away. If you prefer to go more with the cultural flow, you’ll have to manage your online presence. Welcome to the age of endless self marketing.

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