Newsflash! MILF Beats DILF

It’s not every day you see a mother-daughter couple where the mom is hotter and more bangable than her daughter. In fact, it’s so rare that the existence of such earns a place on this hallowed forum.

The mother is on the right. Judging by the somewhat prominent manchin of the daughter, my guess is that mom married a very testosterone charged alpha male, perhaps a corporate lawyer or a baseball player. You know how it is with genes; you do everything you can to ensure the best possible recombinatorial outcome but occasionally those damn genes throw you a curveball, like a daughter who looks more like rock ’em sock ’em pop, or a son who glows with the feminine softness of MILFy mom.

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The Beta Crisis of American Men Marrying Older Women

Take me to the club where the boobs all hang
Give me old poontang that’s what I bang yeah
Hey take me to the club where the MILFs are queen
And from what I’ve seen that cooch is free

-Gonna use no game
-No need to mack
-Gonna get me some old maid
-Got a cougar on my back

Take me to the club where the ass hang down
Gonna grab that round – (yeah yeah yeah!)
Take me to the room where the young’s all old
And the old’s all bold take me back to her shack

-She don’t take no prisoners
-Gonna give me the business
-Got a cougar on my back
-It’s a cougar attack
[righteous drum solo]

Reader “Silver Fox” included a link in the comments to this New York Beta Times graphic showing that over the past 30 years more American men are marrying older women than themselves.

The betatization of the American male proceeds apace.

Naturally, the perpetual lie machine known as the mass media will play up a stat like this as proof that cougars are coming into their own, and strong men “secure in their masculinity” are beginning to “appreciate the older woman” and everything she has to offer, including her “higher sex drive”, “experience” and “full blossoming of her mature womanhood”.

As usual, they would be wrong. I will explain.

If we liken the typical cougar to a 1975 Toyota Corolla…

…then we can see that, if we were in a rush to get to the hospital and had no car at our disposal except this one, the Corolla with 250,000 miles on it would serve in a pinch to take us from point A to point B. Sure, it wouldn’t be the most fun ride, or the quickest ride, or the ride with the best handling (the torn vinyl on the heavily used bucket seats symbolize deep cleavage wrinkles), but it would do the job when we had a motor vehicle dry spell. Hell, tooling around in the Corolla for a few days might even be funny as an ironic hipsterly statement embracing the working class.

But goddamn if you’d be caught alive driving this POS on a daily basis, picking up your friends with it or tossing the keys to the valet to have it parked when you pull up to Bar Pilar. No man with car options would choose a 1975 Toyota Corolla as his daily commuter.

Analogously, you might entertain the notion of riding a cougar for a night if you’ve been suffering a six month pussy dry spell. You might even rationalize your decision to bang the cougar as a sort of statement against the patriarchy, or a mighty enlightened blow for 10th wave feminism. If your friends saw you leave the bar with the cougar, your face-saving embarrassment would compel you to sing the false praises of older women and how much they love sex and how well they suck dick.

But in the glaring, pore revealing light of morning, you’d turn over, take one look at your cougar conquest snoring fitfully next to you, and make for the exits like Road Runner. You would then feel so shitty about your dumpster diving that self-doubt would cripple your game for months. You’d retreat to the pallid glow of Creampie porn.

The NYBTimes graphic showing more men marrying older women should be viewed in light of my Corolla analogy. Men aren’t marrying older broads because they mysteriously and suddenly find them hotter than younger women; they’re marrying them out of necessity BECAUSE IT’S GOTTEN HARDER FOR THE AVERAGE BETA MALE TO MARRY THE YOUNGER WOMEN HE PREFERS.

What you are seeing in that graphic is a massive, paradigmatic shift in the sexual market. As the economic empowerment, entitlement complexes, and slut celebration of American women has reached epic proportions, they are living it up in their late teens and 20s with the alphas and settling down in their 30s and 40s with younger, desperate, easily controlled betas who serve as sub-par alpha substitutes when the alphas no longer desire them. The betas, for their part, would prefer to date and marry women younger than themselves, but they are being priced out of the younger woman market, and for many men a wet flabby hole is better than no hole.

The alphas, meanwhile, know it’s in their interest to use a woman during her prime and jettison her before marriage legally and financially binds him to an old jalopy. When an alpha does marry, he makes sure to marry a younger woman (preferably 10 years or more younger) so that he enjoys the ripeness of her sexuality for as long as possible. There are other benefits to older man-younger woman pairings — when he’s 50, and his younger wife is 35, she will seem relatively more attractive to him than she would to a 35 year old man. He will be more loving and attentive toward her than he would be to an “age appropriate” 50 year old wife.

The graphic above is a stark visual of just how betatized American men have become. They are so bereft of game and economic leverage over women that older wives now seem like an acceptable deal to them. They need to be schooled in the fine art of the ugly truths. First, I’d helpfully remind them that marrying a woman is a raw deal on its own, because all women are rapidly depreciating assets after age 25 or so who can take you for half your worth for no other reason than that they sport a vagina. Then I’d point out that marrying an *older* woman is like buying at full retail price in 2009 dollars a 1975 Toyota Corolla; she’s already past her physical peak, and he’d be lucky to get ten more miles out of her once he pedals her off the lot. It would be pissing money, and opportunities for better vehicles, away. It’s such an affront to nature when a younger man with the world before him marries an older woman that the Catholic Church should qualify it as a mortal sin.

Speaking of younger men marrying older women…

PS: A blast from the archived past!

PPS: And another!

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Which Is Harder On A Woman’s Looks: Fat Or Aging?

The pursuit of deep philosophical inquiry is a heritage of the West. This post continues in that noble tradition.

For purposes of comparison we begin our thought experiment with two slender (~ BMI 19) 20 year old women of above average attractiveness. They are both at the peak of their beauty. Which will steal their most valuable asset the quickest and render them sexually worthless — the horrors of aging or the disfigurement of obesity? Let’s find out!

Girl A is our gluttonous subject. Boy, does she like food. Recently, her boyfriend got complacent with the regular sex and regressed to a house trained beta, prompting her to fill the emptiness in her vaj-shaped soul with Krispy Kreme donuts.

Girl B is our control. She has good eating and exercise habits (read: primal diet. not a vegetarian. lifts weights. doesn’t run marathons.) and stays slim. The only force that takes a toll on her beauty is aging, which happens to everyone. Assuming average genetics, she will age about as fast as the typical woman, meaning a slow decline up to 30, then a rapid acceleration to the wall between 30 and 40, followed by an afterburner turbocharge at the point of impact sometime around age 45, after which she will be invisible to all men except the most desperate herb dregs.

We begin the experiment. There are 3500 calories in a pound of body fat, and 200 calories in a Krispy Kreme original glazed donut. Girl A goes on a donut bender and eats 1.05 Krispy Kreme donuts per week per year. 1.05 Krispy Kreme donuts per week doesn’t sound like much, does it ladies? Keep reading. She does not substitute smaller portions in her other meals or increased physical activity to counterbalance the extra calories from the donuts. At this rate of donut consumption, Girl A adds 5 pounds of unsightly fat to her frame every year. Keep in mind, too, that Girl A is aging as well as getting larger.

Meanwhile, our control, Girl B, has been suffering the indignity of aging without her even knowing it for the first five years or so after age 20. But unseen at the molecular level, her body is breaking down. From age 20 to 21, no one will really notice a change, especially not her boyfriend who sees her every day. Only in the aggregate over blocks of a few years will an outward change become noticeable. From 20 to 25, her body remains tight and right, while her face sheds some of that exquisitely soft baby fat of her late teen years and becomes more chiseled, angular. At age 25, she is still near-peak in facial beauty, but subtle changes have taken hold; her skin no longer glows without artificial accentuation (ladies pinch, whores rouge) and her flesh has lost some gravity-defying firmness. She would not pass the quarter bounce off a Marine’s cot test, but her ass remains delightfully squeezeable.

Now we do the first set of comparisons.

• At one year in (21 years old) Girl A is five pounds heavier. Since she is young, the fat sits on her well. Her boyfriend notices the small weight gain, but his boner is largely unaffected. He continues fucking her joyfully, although his eye wanders a little more when they’re out in public together.
• At 21 years old, Girl B has aged one year. Superficially, no change in her beauty. Her boyfriend is none the wiser of the tragedy that will eventually befall his beloved.

What happens at age 25?

• At 25, Girl A has gained 25 pounds. Trouble brewing! Her boyfriend definitely notices her added padding, but mostly chooses to avoid confronting her about it, instead prefering the method of passive aggressive mutterings about other women’s skinniness, hoping that will spur her to get back in shape. He is beginning to regret spending 20K on that diamond engagement ring. His eye wanders a lot more now, he showers her with fewer compliments, and the frequency of their sex has dropped in half. He stays an hour later at work.
• At 25, Girl B has aged five years. Her face has become mature, having sloughed off the last remnants of teen years softness and firmness. A tiny hint of crows’ feet appears, along with a few dimples of cottage cheese where the bottom of the ass meets the hamstrings. She is attractive, but in a different, less feminine way now; her’s is the attractiveness of a strident hard-charger, piercing the air before her like a wedge of sharpened flesh when she walks down the street. Good exercise habits have delayed any major drooping of her ass. Her boyfriend still finds her hot, but familiarity and the ancient stirrings of his manly seed-spreading spirit have caused his eye to dilate with greater gusto when appreciating the delicacies of younger women.

On to age 30.

• At 30, Girl A is 50 pounds heavier. Oh my. She has formally left “chubby” and “pleasingly plump” euphemistic territory and entered the land of lardasses. The fat refuses to sit on her well; it hangs dolorously, it balloons insultingly. Her tits, while bigger, are also more pendulous, completely negating whatever benefit larger tits normally confer. Her boyfriend has stopped looking at her naked body entirely, and sex has dwindled to once a month with the lights off. She attempts to assuage her bruised ego by reigniting his passion with sex toys, lingerie, and pole dancing, but the effect on him is like that of watching a dog poop; sort of intriguing in its repulsiveness, and darkly humorous in the straining which accompanies the act. He has stopped giving her compliments or gifts, and forgets important dates, like her birthday. He stays at work two hours late. On the bright side, all that fat helps conceal the wrinkles normally associated with a woman turning 30.
• At 30, Girl B has aged ten years. She, like Girl A, has crossed a Rubicon. There was a quickening diminishment of her beauty from age 25 to 30, but during that time she at least could console herself that dim lighting, exercise, and makeup were sufficient to hide from the general public the horrors besieging her from every quadrant. She looked in the mirror and she could still say to herself, with eroding certainty, that she was a hot commodity. Her boyfriend mostly seemed to agree with her self-assessment. After all, he was still with her, despite a couple episodes of cheating and that unfortunate incident when she found the receipt for a cubic zirconia ring. He doesn’t compliment as much, their sex life has become a bit routine, and he works an hour later every day, but mostly things are good.

35.

• 35 years old. Girl A is 75 pounds over her 20 year old weight. She is a whale. Her boyfriend, having neither the courage nor the game to leave her for a sexier woman, sticks around out of a false sense of duty, and pity. Sex has stopped, except for those few times he’s so horny that he wakes her up with his dick in her mouth. She loves these times, as she imagines it shows he still desires her, but when she sucks him off and tries to guide his hardon down to her flabby distended pussy lips, his cock goes limp, quivering in fear. He has nightmares of her bloated labia attacking him, two roast beefs slapping him in the side of his head, over and over. As he no longer feels any urgency to please his fat girlfriend (he appealed to her lofty feminism and stated that marriage was a patriarchal conspiracy), he has regressed to a lesser beta, whacking off constantly to porn, throwing himself into his meaningless career, and playing video games til 3am. Girl A cries herself to sleep every night.
• At 35, Girl B is 15 years older than her peak beauty. The deterioration has begun in earnest. There is no more hiding the ravages of aging; makeup, exercise, yoga, and night vision goggles can’t stop her face from betraying her lost beauty. Crows’ feet and laugh lines are permanently embedded. Hollowness perpetually encircles her eyes. Her skin has become inelastic, and her ass, finally, after years of squats in the gym, droops resignedly, as if to say “You gave it your best shot, but I’m tired. Let me go.” Luckily, she is still thin, almost at the same weight she was at 20, and her boyfriend, though he cannot deny that younger women excite his member more vigorously than she does, still finds pleasure in boffing her. Sure, it isn’t the visceral pleasure it once was, but he gets off, and that’s a day’s pay. But much else has changed for the worse. Compliments have dropped off to the level of the boyfriend with the 25 year old fattie girlfriend. He used to surprise her with flowers and nights out on the town. Now he surprises her if he comes home from work on time. He has cheated with a much younger woman, but hides it. He feels no shame for his infidelity, only a compulsion to continue doing it.

40.

• Girl A is 100 pounds overweight. She is so disgusting to look at it arouses her loser boyfriend to physically strike at her in anger and hopelessness. She is having health problems, struggling to climb stairs or walk a few blocks. Her boyfriend refuses to go out in public with her; one time, when they were at the mall, he purposefully walked 20 paces ahead of her, and when a cute Banana Republic salesgirl asked him, when his fat wife was out of earshot, if he and his wife needed assistance, he, like the apostle Peter, denied his affiliation with her.
• Girl B is on the cusp of sexual worthlessness, and she knows it. Wrinkles adorn her face, dimples dot her flesh, gray streaks her hair. Depressingly, her areolae have grown to the size of small saucer plates. But she is thin, which puts her head and shoulders above 80% of women her age in attractiveness. She can continue denying the reality closing in on her like a ripper in the night, because older men, chained to fat wives and out of the running for younger women, eye her up like an oasis in the desert. When a man thinks he has a chance, he allows his arousal to reach a fever pitch. Her boyfriend, though, has finally given up pretending to be attracted to her. Sex has become perfunctory, a chore not much more pleasant than taking a good piss. He throws himself into his career, his genetic algorithm impelling him to amass status and resources for a trade up to a more fertile woman.

Conclusion

Fat is the boner killer. Five years into the experiment, at age 25, Girl A’s relationship has degraded to the point of hurting her pride as a woman, while Girl B continues enjoying the love and affection of her lover. At age 30, ten years on, both women suffer the indignities associated with losing sexual market value, but Girl A, at 50 pounds heavier, has hit the wall sooner, and harder, than Girl B. At 30, Girl A is sexually worthless, and unlove-able. Girl B remains sexually enticing, though less so than at age 20, but enough of her value remains that her boyfriend does not entertain leaving her to try his hand at an upgrade.

At age 35, Girl A has gone from bad to worse. She is not only unfuckable, she is unwatchable. Whatever other good she does in her life (feed the homeless, help the starving children in Africa) is overshadowed by her grotesque rolls of blubber. People avoid interacting with her for fear of contracting a loser virus. Meanwhile, Girl B continues getting sex from her boyfriend, if not love. People enjoy talking with her, though she can’t help but notice that men’s eyes don’t light up like they used to when she walks in a room with a low-cut blouse and a thigh-revealing skirt.

At 40 it’s all over for Girl A. She is ballast on society. If she died, no one would miss her.

At 40, Girl B has accepted that the greatest source of her power, and hence, her happiness, is gone — her beauty teases with hints of a former loveliness, but that’s all it is; a tease. The men she finds most desirable don’t even see her. The men she sorta finds attractive are barely moved in her presence. The men she used to find unattractive and ignore she now talks and flirts with unabashedly, and only after much effort on her part does she get nibbles of sexual interest from some of these men. But worst of all, the absolute bottom of the barrel men hit on her relentlessly, like they never used to do, and this depresses her mightily. Girl B, lonely from the inattention of her boyfriend/husband, seeks an affair. To accomplish this, she has learned the art of the coquettish cougar pawing, whereby much skin is displayed and all coyness is tossed out the window.

What we have learned from this thought experiment is that fat hastens the day of reckoning by about fifteen years. So if you are a young fat chick, lose the weight pronto, cause you’re throwing away the best years of your life.

My advice to the ladies: Stay slender, and stay 21. Then you, too, can enjoy relationship exactness and complementarity!

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The Mother-Daughter Coefficient of Fading Beauty

A lot of guys fret about meeting their girlfriends’ parents, but it’s important to do so for reasons having nothing to do with making a good impression. Your girlfriend will never catch onto the real reason you went with her to visit her parents: To collect vital information on how badly and how quickly your precious flower will wilt over the years.

Nothing — not your girlfriend’s eating or exercise habits, her worldview, or her desire to please you — will tell you more about how she will age than what her parents look like. Genetic fate uber alles. I know it’s difficult to grasp that the cutie who gives you solid wood could one day turn into the sunbathing walrus that is her mother, but no man should underestimate the brutal toll ten to twenty years takes on a woman’s looks. And brutal it is. Her beauty will begin the slow fade after 25, and then plummet like a rock over Angel Falls after her early 30s. The uglier and fatter her mother, the harder and faster your sweet rose will smash into the wall.

You’ve seen those incomprehensible mother-daughter pairings at the mall. That’s what awaits you. Remind me again what’s the upside to getting married?

Every man should be pushing his entire life to date women at least ten years younger than himself, with the average gap growing wider the older the man gets to account for the massive deleveraging of women’s sexual market value after age 35. Remember, 35 in female years is 50 in male years. So your schedule should go like this: You hit 30? Date 20 year olds. When you’re 40, don’t go higher than 30. 50 and you set the upper limit at 35. If you’re especially high status, you can adjust the optimal age gap to twenty years. Of course, this plan is a lot easier to do as a free, unmarried man.

The mother-daughter coefficient of fading beauty is such an accurate predictor of the daughter’s future beauty decline that it’s a wonder more men don’t visit their girlfriends’ parents to size up their beloveds for their worth as long term partners. When men commit to a single woman, they are making a huge sacrifice, similar to the sacrifice women make when they have sex with a beta. It’s a cramping of style. So men would be wise to unblock any information bottlenecks regarding the expiration date of their girlfriends, and that means sizing up her parents for a glimpse at your honeysuckle’s shelf life. This is where I can help.

Let’s say you’re dating a hot, slender chick. Now let’s say you’re thinking about going the distance with her and foreswearing all other women to be with just her. Whoa, tiger! Don’t make any hasty decisions until you’ve consulted my handy chart for determining how your cute girlfriend will hold up after ten years. To help you realize the power of my chart, you’ll need to know what your girl’s parents look like and what they looked like back when they were young.

The daughter           The father          The mother           The daughter
looks like                  looks like            looks like               in 10 years        

the father                Clark Gable         a manatee              still hot, but check
                                                                                       for telltale signs like
                                                                                       upper arms or thick
                                                                                       wrists that resemble
                                                                                       mom’s

the father                an inbred            a former               *future fatty alert*
from his youth         beer keg              hottie                    keep her away from
                                                                                         beer and beef jerky

the mother              a fat redneck      a MILF                  still hot, but dump her
                                                                                     if she drinks schlitz with
                                                                                     her dad in the garage

the mother              a normal           the seacow            *future fatty alert*
from her youth        dude                 formerly known       expect massive
                                                        as princess              weight gain

neither                     a herb              a plain jane            *wildcard* proceed
                                                                                         with caution

both, before           a fat slob           a fat slob                 *DANGER* cut and run
they got fat                                                                       after monopolizing
                                                                                          her best years

both                       handsome          still fuckable          *winner* she’ll stay fresh
                                                                                    for years. get down on one
                                                                                    knee and… tie your
                                                                                    shoelace

There’s an interesting side effect to the mother-daughter coefficient of fading beauty. Oftentimes, a cute chick with an ugly, fat mom will have low self esteem because she has spent her life in the shadow of her future self. She has probably had nightmares about turning into her mother, and as a result does not perceive her own beauty very well. Insecure hotties are often the best kinds of chicks to date. They will always strive to earn your approval while you will have to pinch yourself that it can be this easy. You should jump at the chance to visit her parents because she will feel ashamed of her fat mom, and that shame will redound to her own feeling of self-worth. For added impact, raise your eyebrows in surprise when you meet the mother, and tell her her daughter mentioned she was a great cook.

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Your Gay Doom

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

LTR wanted ..but not romance – 40

---

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.

***********

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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All The Lonely Cougars

I’m never surprised when another study comes out confirming the Poon worldview. I’m that omniscient. Thanks to Days of Broken Arrows for passing along this Boston Globe article called “The Myth of Ashton” about dating events specifically targeted at cougars:

Maureen Trickett, an event organizer for 8minuteDating.com, had an idea based on all the hype surrounding younger men dating older women. She decided last year to plan an event specifically for that demographic – a night of speed dating for women-of-a-certain-age and the boyish men who love them.

Trickett posted the event online, and women quickly signed up. But the men – they were slow to show interest. After only six men registered, the event was canceled.

“I need eight men,” Trickett explained. “If I don’t get eight, the system cancels the event.”

Maureen Trickett could have saved herself a lot of time and energy if she read this blog. On the other hand, maybe not. That would require facing reality.

Trickett decided it was worth a second try. She set up another speed dating event for a recent Sunday afternoon at Tommy Doyle’s in Kendall Square, this time for older women and younger men, as well as older men and younger women. The room would be split in half – age-inappropriate on both sides.

Self delusion is an unlimited resource. See: Just about every single social policy since 1960.

But again she had a shortage of younger men. The “cougar event,” as Trickett was calling it, was canceled.

And Nelson went “Ha haaw!”

The older men/younger women event went on as planned, but only because Trickett waived the fee for a few women so that they’d sign up and the numbers would be even.

Older men with younger women is much more natural than younger men with older women. While women are suspicious of older men’s motives and station in life, they are at least willing to give the sophisticated gents a chance to pitch themselves. Waiving the fee for men at the cougar event still would have resulted in few men except the desperate loser dregs showing up.

Despite what magazines and tabloids might suggest, Trickett said, despite all the talk of cougar culture, men still want to date younger women, and older women . . . well, their options are limited.

If you’re taking your cues from mass media, you’re hopeless. Magazines and tabloids serve to perpetuate the pretty lies. Else they wouldn’t sell.

Sure, Demi Moore broke a mold, and I know a few couples – family members and friends of friends – who represent the highly publicized demographic of older women and younger men, but the dating industry will tell you that for the most part that demographic is a myth.

If you arrange your life with an eye on the exceptions rather than the rules, you deserve the sorrow, loneliness and failure coming your way. Demi Moore-Ashton Kutcher is a one in a million oddity. 99% of 40+ women aren’t in the ballpark of Demi’s looks, and 99% of men with Ashton Kutcher’s fame, looks and money won’t date washed up broads like Demi when there is a world of hotter, younger girls available.

“With men dating women, it tends to be up to six years younger but it will only be up to two years older.”

And why is that?

“Guys tend to have unrealistic expectations,” said [Mark] Brooks, who bragged that he is one of the mythical Ashton Kutcher-types (he recently dated someone nine years older than him).

Mark Brooks is your typical feeble-minded betaboy who licks the crusty anal dirt of his feminist overlords and begs for more. How do we know this? One, he dates an older woman and is proud of it. Two, he thinks the reason men prefer to date younger women has to do with unrealistic expectations. No, Mark, that’s not it. Men date younger women because they are biologically impelled to seek the love and sex of women who show healthy signs of fertility. No doubt Mark is highly jealous of guys like me dating all the young babes he covets from afar as his old lady slaps his face with her droopy tits.

Those HurryDate age ranges mirror what most men ask for online. I asked Kate Bilenki, a spokeswoman for Plentyoffish.com, a dating website with 10 million members, if she’s ever seen a male profile call for an older woman. “In my experience, no, I can’t say that I have,” she said.

Brutal.

Bilenki adds another depressing tidbit: “For every 55-year old male, there are three 55-year-old women.”

Soul ripping.

Why are there cougars if it’s such a hellish existence? Some cougars were too unattractive in their prime mating years to get a decent man to commit to them. Some are divorced and overestimated their competitive value on the sexual market as older versions of themselves. Some have given up attracting the men they really want (i.e. older men with means and options who don’t want them) and have chosen the pathetic life of offering their aged, floppy pussies free of charge to horny younger guys who just want to dump a quick fuck in any available hole, no muss no fuss.

Then there are the women who became cougars because of their own stupid choices. These are the sad detritus of former urban slut machines; the women who spent their valuable youth hopping from one alpha cock to another only to wake up a day late and a wedding ring short in their early 30s wondering why the alphas no longer look at them with lust in their eyes. Now, even the beta males don’t want them. They are forced to settle, and settle hard. If they can.

Here’s a juicy irony: The anti-aging industry that cougars cling to like life support is the brainchild of betas. Those same dull, socially awkward nerds the cougars ignored when they were kittens are busily inventing the science and technology that may one day grant them a reprieve from the horror of fading beauty.

If the betas disappear, well… so do the cougars’ hopes.

Which way do you think America is heading?

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Predator Sluts

Welcome to the New Whore Order.

The author of a controversial new book says she was so desperate for a baby she got pregnant ‘accidentally on purpose’ in a one-night stand. KATE SPICER admits that – like many women  – she’s played the same dangerous game…

Three weeks ago, I bought a pregnancy test. As a single, childless woman in my late 30s, my exact thoughts while I was waiting for the result were as follows: ‘If I am not pregnant, then good. I’m happy.

Life continues as before. Panic over. If I am pregnant, then that’s terrifying. But thrilling, too. A happy accident that was meant to happen, whether I stay with the father or not.’

If you’ve been a regular reader here, you could see this coming a mile away. Aging careerist shrikes on the cusp of sexual invisibility, like spent fuel rods from years of putting out for pump and dump alphas who wisely chose not to marry these damaged goods, are feeling the pangs of childlessness. Awash in discretionary income and free of the constraints of social shaming, they could afford to avoid dating the provider betas in favor of slutting it up with the same rotation of cads their girlfriends are banging. Oh, the drama was so enticing!

Then she woke up one morning, pressed a hand against her vacant, nearly barren womb, and shuddered in silence as the icy finger of irrelevant spinsterhood sent a shiver down her spine. She had made a mistake.

So what does she do now?

Why, she tries to rope utterly self-interested guys like yours truly into fun-killing fatherhood!

Some of these women approach the task in a far more ruthless manner than Mary Pols did, purposefully going out and sleeping with men when they know they are at their most fertile.

In America, they even have a name for this – they call them ‘gotcha’ pregnancies. Many of the women involved deliberately avoid birth control and have no intention of letting their unwitting bedfellow know this.

Never mind that these succubi claim to have no intention of hitting the guy up for child support. Women, bless their amoral hearts, are known to change their minds on a whim when it suits them. A woman’s slapdash principles and the vast anti-male legal industrial complex are cold comfort for the modern playboy. You must look out for yourself.

How to spot a potential predator slut with designs on the babymaking power of your ball juice?

There ya go. Just look for the crows’ feet, saggy tits, and chest age spots.

The most dangerous woman in the world to sleep with is the childless, unmarried cougar. Their clock is rapidly winding down, their dying eggs are sending out distress signals, and they have no cuckold beta husband upon which to foist a bastard child. Either avoid them like the plague or double up on industrial strength condoms.

Here’s a handy reference guide for precautionary measures to take when banging the childless woman.

• If she’s under 25, college educated, lives in the city, has had an abortion, spends more than 40% of her take home pay on drinks and clothes, concurrently dates, has slutty girlfriends, and talks about spending a couple years to travel the world:  Skip the condom and enjoy some skin on skin action. Blast inside her, you renegade! Odds are she’s on the pill, and if not, no worries — she’s on a first name basis with her abortionist. Bonus creampie if she’s a lawyer.
• If she’s 25-30 and all of the above, you had better start being careful where your boys lodge themselves. Use a condom for the first few weeks, then tentatively move to rawdogging. Check if she’s on the pill, but that’s not always a guarantee of child-free bliss. Too many girls — woops! — forget to take it the day you shoot inside her. To avoid this breach of contract, exercise the pull out option. Over the years collecting notches, your timing will become exquisite. You’ll be able to calculate down to the millisecond when you’re about to unload, and pull out at the exact moment you jizz. When you get really good at this, the narrow escape, optimal money shot reposition to her belly, back, or eye, and first stream of jizz will all happen elegantly in one smooth motion, like a hardcore ballet dance — The Nutbuster. It is crucial that you wipe her off with a towel or dirty sock yourself. Don’t leave that responsibility to her. I’ve heard horror stories of girls taking a dollop of the guy’s bellybutton load onto their fingers and inserting it into themselves while he was in the bathroom pissing.
• If she’s 30-35 and has a stupidly fluffy cat or toy dog, you are sailing into stormy waters. Why you would even bother with this kind of woman is beyond me, but let’s assume for purposes of discussion that she is well-preserved and has a hot body. Not only is this chick desperate to get impregnated, she is also more likely to be loaded down with a petri dish worth of STDs. If you insist on rawdogging it with her and blasting on her belly or back, scrub her down with sperm killing soap afterwards. You can do this by gently cajoling her into the shower after sex. Keep an eye on her hands, making sure they don’t go anywhere near your spooge or her vaj. If you use a condom, dispose of it in the toilet, not the garbage. Remember to flush!
• If she’s over 35 and without child or husband, you cannot be too careful. Use two of your OWN condoms (pinprick free) and drop them in an incinerator when you’re done. If no incinerator is available, place the used condom in an airtight iron lockbox for disposal at the local landfill or off the side of an ocean liner. If you make a mistake and blast on her belly, vacuum that shit up. Wiping with your underwear isn’t failsafe enough. If you are truly stupid and blast inside her — drop to your knees and start praying to the god of infertility (Jennifer Aniston) while arranging for your accounts to be moved overseas.

Whatever you do, never let a girl dispose of the condom for you. It sounds crazy, but I’ve been with more than one woman who would do just this. She would grab for the soiled condom and say “I’ll take care of that for you.” I was smart enough to know not to trust a woman with my spermed up condom by herself in the bathroom, so I told her she was acting weird, and flushed the condom myself. Fucking nutso broads.

People have asked me: if you don’t want kids why not just get the ol’ snippity snip? If you treasure your glorious package as much as I treasure mine, you’ll understand why I don’t want scalpels anywhere near there.

It’s too bad men don’t have a right to rip unwanted fetuses from the wombs of women who duped them into fatherhood. At the very least, a law predicated on true fairness would allow men to abort their financial responsibility for any child they didn’t agree on having with a predator slut. I won’t be holding my breath for that day to come.

PS: The title of this post is the working title for my coming magnum opus.

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