Hookup Men Vs “For-Real” Men

Ah, the knee-slapping never ends when two feminist spinsters on a fast track to wall collision gab about their dating exploits and using men for either fun or profit. Naturally, their window for “using” men in any fashion is rapidly closing in lockstep with the degree of their drooping flesh, so any gchats that conspire bewteen these pitiful specimens often provide hours of voyeuristic entertainment watching what amounts to this:

Is anyone else down for a good, old-fashioned soul flaying? I know I am!

Chatting About Hookups and “For-Real” Dates with Sex Writer Tracy Clark-Flory

By Amanjaw Marcuntte

After reading Tracy Clark-Flory’s Salon piece from Saturday extolling the glories of traditional courtship, I knew I had to talk with her in more depth.

Clark-Flory’s (never trust a woman with a hyphenated name) swan song to her sexy and vital youth is basically an admission against interest that her high flying, alpha cock carouseling 20s are over and now that her sexual market options are dwindling she has to settle for boring dates with beta herbs who promise they will stick around like office fixtures instead of bolt while she’s coming off a multiple orgasm. Naturally, she hamsters this as a paean to the glories of “traditional courtship”. What’s the scientific term for this cognitive function? Oh yeah… making a silk purse out of a sow’s ear.

Tracy, who has been writing about sex and relationships for years, often in defense of the casual hookup, expressed a more nuanced view of the entire situation,

“nuanced” = deluded.

explaining how her increased interest in taking-it-slow, more formalized dating

“increased interest” = panic.

doesn’t, in any way, mean that she thinks that a past of more casual hooking up was the wrong choice.

The odds of divorce for a woman go way up the more partners with whom she has premaritally casually hooked up. Clark-Flory needs to think with more clarity.

Her take really cuts to the heart of what so many pro-sex feminist commentators have been trying to say for years about dating and sex, so I grabbed her on Gchat yesterday to talk more about it.

What follows is a beautiful digital mutual clit diddling wherein two mangy cougars assert they can have their cake and eat it too.

Amanda: I really liked your piece on going on a for-real date.

Tracy: This was literally my first for-real date ever.

What a catch! You know men — or should I say, desirable men with options — just love throwing tons of money and time and sexless dates at has-beens who spent their prime pussy years hooking up for free with men who agreed with them that dates were an unnecessary nuisance.

Tracy: Well, I should be clear: I’ve online dated. I’ve gone on dates. But most often they’re presented super casually. Like, hey, “Let’s hang out.” This was the first time someone clearly said to me: I want to take you out on a date, and here is the plan. Typically, whether it’s with “hang out” dates or hookups, it’s very low-investment—emotionally, financially, you name it.

A man will invest only as much as is required to get in a woman’s pants. Clark was obviously a pump and dump stock in her 20s who’s now trading for pennies but acting like a tech IPO. You know who invests in loser companies? Suckers.

Tracy: Right. I think it’s great that people can get to know each other casually. Grab a burrito and a beer! Make out at the bar! But it’s also nice to not feel totally stuck with diminished romantic expectations—as in, I can’t expect more than a taqueria “hangout” arranged last-minute via text message.

You should have thought of the danger of diminished romantic expectations while you still had the goods to entice worthy buyers. PS Having a history of being a big fat slut is not exactly an advertisement that you’re marriage material.

Amanda: That’s something I’ve noticed that a lot of friends complain about since I’ve moved to NYC: They think a lot of guys are just a little too eager to keep it casual. Which makes me wonder if it’s just that now that I’m in my 30s, my friends are developing higher expectations, or if it’s a geographic thing, where men in Texas, where I used to live, were more serious from the get-go?

No, it’s just that now that your female friends are in their 30s, and looking even more like fuzzy Chinese Crested versions of Samantha, they’re desperate to get hitched before the god of biomechanics cruelly escorts them to spinsterland, where cats compete with noodly beta males for their attention and the men they really want peer around them like they’re annoying houseplants obstructing the view of hotter younger tighter women.

Although it is a refreshing change of pace to see cathedral mascot Amanjaw give redneck Texas men a shout out for their chivalric wooing. I guess SWPL manboobs are finally grinding on her? (Double entendre intended.)

Tracy: I think both are probably very real factors! For me, at least, “hookups” have been a great way of getting to know myself, getting to know other people and getting to know what I want, romantically and sexually.

Hilariously self-serving cliché. How many penises does she have to straddle to get to know herself? Does the penis imbue some sort of special “consciousness raising” enlightenment once it has parted the labia? Should high school guidance counselors tell graduating girls to hop on a cock for career advice? I bet Clark has no trouble, being a member in good standing of the feminist cooperative, explaining to her acolytes that women require penetration by erect penises to discover the strong goddess inside them.

Now, personally, I think that a good rogering does help clear a woman’s head, but I’m not sure feminists would be happy to hear that from me.

But as I’ve gotten older—how I hate that phrase—I’ve wanted a broader spectrum of romantic scripts. And that’s when the hookup/low-commitment default became frustrating.

“broader spectrum” = loosened standards. “romantic scripts” = hiding her slutty compulsions. “hookup/low-commitment default” = couldn’t get a high value guy to stick around. “frustrating” = pumped and dumped.

Amanda: I think that’s what I really liked—your high regard for diversity.

Gabba gabba hey.

It’s not that hookups are bad, you said, but that they seem mandatory.

When all you have is a lack of options, the world looks like a mandate.

Why do you think it got to that point?

Gee, I dunno… age, attitude, obliviousness?

Tracy: I can at least speak to my own experience: I think I gravitated toward casual hookups during a time when I wasn’t quite ready for more serious commitment. I needed some time to play and experiment.

It’s all fun and games until no one wants to play with you anymore.

I think many people feel that way in their 20s.

There’s a reason why, historically, women were encouraged to get married before they hit 30. People used to be wise to the fact that women can easily forget how little time is on their side.

Amanda: That’s something that really was brought home in Hanna Rosin’s Atlantic piece about hooking up. She spoke to researchers that said that women were driving the culture as much as men, in no small part because, frankly, boyfriends can get in the way of other goals like getting your career underway.

Higamous hogamous
man is polygamous
hogamous higamous
woman is oblivious.

Amanda: A lot of people still buy the line that it’s something that men impose on women, that men are taking advantage of women’s, uh, “easiness”.

Well, men won’t exactly look a gift whore in the mouth.

That always bothered me, because there was never really a clear line for me between how quickly you slept with someone and whether or not it turned into wuv.

Here’s a clear line for ya: The hotter you are, the more quickly it will turn into wuv for the man, the other party involved in the interaction.

Amanda: Your point was really satisfying,

“Thank you, I needed that.”
– Ego

which is that what we really need is the ability to diversify: hook up if we want, go slow if we want, just do a bunch of different stuff depending on where we’re at.

Feminists, and women more generally, hate the idea of judgment and of consequences for their actions. They want to slut it up, take it slow, hook up, hang out, drag it out, do the woo, and try a bunch of different stuff without the judgment of men or other women cramping their uteri, and without worrying about the consequences which might ensue as a result of their panoply of choices. This is what is known in the literature as a fantasyland: a wonderful place in the puffy white clouds where human nature doesn’t exist and actions don’t cause reactions, except those reactions that the feminist dearly desires, which desire is subject to change at any given moment depending on the feminist’s whim.

But reality, so ugly in its clunking machinery, has a different plan for such utopian fruitcakes. Women *will* gossip unfavorably about sluts because those sluts represent a mating threat to their interests. Men *will* push for sex faster, and avoid commitment more studiously, with women they perceive as slutty. Sluts really *do* have tells that experienced men can clue in on. Cockteasers really *do* risk losing alpha males if they drag out the waiting period for sex too long. Aging, unfeminine spinsters with hairy chins and cheese grater attitudes really *will* have to settle for less desirable men than they could have gotten when they were younger, better looking and more docile. And hamsters really *will* spin their wheels more feverishly the higher the pile of delusional self-medicating lies grows.

I think that sort of thing causes a lot of men anxiety, though. I’ve noticed a lot of men in online spaces clamoring for a script.

Nah, that’s just you noticing that men are noticing your stupidity.

Tracy: Yes! There’s anxiety now about falling back on the more traditional dating script (which is not an entirely bad thing, mind you).

Can you blame these men? I’d be anxious too, if I had to traditionally (i.e., sexlessly) date a woman I knew gave it away for free in the past. And maybe present.

I think it feels too desperate, too eager to many young men. And, of course, intimacy and vulnerability have always been absolutely terrifying.

Why do feminists assert nonsense that intimacy is terrifying to men? Answer: it’s a female-friendly response that explains in elaborate mental calligraphy why they can’t keep a man around for more than a few ruttings, conveniently sidestepping the role that their physical unattractiveness might play.

Men are terrified of large, charging predators, like bears or lions or drunk fat chicks. They are not terrified of showering your overworked vagina with their warm seed. Get some perspective, will ya?

Amanda: Did you go on a second date with flowers guy who wanted to do nothing more but make out on the first date? Do you mind my asking? (I’ve been in a relationship for over six years now, so other people’s stories are my entertainment.)

The parameters of her… relationship… must be unique. Try to imagine the epic manboob who would have to settle for Amanjaw for six years, and then try to picture how long a normal man, such as yourself, would be willing to listen to her insane yapping.

Tracy: Actually, we’ve gone on something like five dates in a little over a week!

Lessee… guy wants to do nothing but make out on the first date. Clark dismisses his rapist effrontery by going on five more dates with him in the span of a single week. The femborg will be disappointed to hear this.

Tracy: Yes! It’s incredibly refreshing. And a large part of it is that I’m ready for that for the first time in my life, you know?

We know, Tracy, we know. You’re ready… because you have to be ready. That door won’t stay open forever.

It’s not like I’ve been yearning for that this whole time and have only now found a guy willing to give it to me.

Funny how you suddenly yearn for the self-abdicating loving lovingness of a desperate beta willing to lap your weirdo feminist shit when your expiration date is coming into focus.

Amanda: LOL yeah, that strikes me as an incredibly critical point.

Strike while the ego is exposed.

But that really leads to the question I know a bunch of men are asking themselves, which is how do you know what script a woman is interested in?

You misspelled “how do you know what script a hot woman is interested in?”

How do you know if you should keep it light or show up with flowers and a request that you take it slow?

False dichotomy. A man can keep it heavy and fast, too. In fact, that’s the best way to get a woman into bed, if you’re needing a script that has a high success rate.

Worst script: Pre-sex flowers. Never do that, at least not with women who still have more than a few eggs left in the chamber.

Tracy: Well, see, I think timing is so much of it. It really isn’t something that can be faked.

Oh rilly? I’m pretty sure in the history of the world there were more than a few men who successfully faked long-term romantic intentions to get speedy sex.

You can only do what you’re ready to do.

Bromide pie to the face.

If you want to bring a woman flowers, do it.

Hey, you can do anything you want, but that doesn’t mean it’s an advantageous course of action.

If you want to have casual flings, do that.

What if Clark’s flower guy decides during week number two he wants a casual fling?

Eventually you’ll find a lady who wants the same thing.

A lady now! How polite of you, madam. Will a Furry who likes to masturbate into soft bunny costume velour eventually find a lady who wants the same thing? What about a Bronie? A street flasher? A serial killer?

Oops, scratch that last one.

Amanda: That’s something I think gets lost in the overflow of dating advice out there, which is that it really is something you can figure out for yourself.

Then why the hell are you flapping your gums? And more relevantly, why the hell do media outlets continue giving shell entities like yourself a publishing platform? Mysteries of the universe.

Allow me to cut a serrated swath through this post-gender, social constructivist swamp muck. Amanjaw Marcuntte and her ilk absolutely hate men in the abstract and loathe unrestricted male desire. They work tirelessly for a world, however ultimately fruitless the endeavor, where female sexuality is free to roam wild and unjudgeable and male sexuality is straitjacketed, regulated, restricted, demonized, ridiculed and made obedient through law or eunuch alliance to female, particularly feminist, caprice. This is modern, critical theory feminism in a desiccated ovum. It’s a farce, but the bigger joke is that media organs happily provide advocates of this farce a forum to dazzle their awomen choruses.

Her’s a little slice of truth… just a little mind you, enough to qualify as hope and change but not so much to entice pointing and sputtering… for the Slate and Salon crowds and the Clark-Flory-Hamster-Hi-I’m-A-Useless-Self-Gratifying-Hyphen contingent:

There is no difference between hookup men and “for-real” men. The men you skanky, aging broads want “for real” are the hookup men who weren’t interested in the same thing you wanted back when you had more to offer. So you dropped your standards and unilaterally declared the more pliable men willing to play by your newly-discovered “traditional cougar courtship” rules the “for-real” men you claim you always desired.

That hatetalk is drawn from real world observation. Mine, and the collected wisdom of millions of men like me. Now, if you don’t like common sense derived from real world observation, then you can always turn to science, which has a funny habit of frequently confirming what we can all see with our lying eyes, and of debunking cherished feminist narratives.

“Under the hormonal influence of ovulation, women delude themselves into thinking that the sexy bad boys will become devoted partners and better dads,” Durante said. “When looking at the sexy cad through ovulation goggles, Mr. Wrong looked exactly like Mr. Right.” […]

“When asked about what kind of father the sexy bad boy would make if he were to have children with another woman, women were quick to point out the bad boy’s shortcomings,” said Durante. “But when it came to their own child, ovulating women believed that the charismatic and adventurous cad would be a great father to their kids.”

“While this psychological distortion could be setting some women up to choose partners who are better suited to be short-term mates, missing a mating opportunity with a sexy cad might be too costly for some women to pass up,” said Durante. “After all, you never know if he could be the ‘one.’”

If you didn’t get that, what it means is that women want their alpha hookups to turn into “for-real” men, but, unlike Clark’s assertion that she’s the one making the choice in which men she considers “for-real” dates, it’s actually the men (coupled with her desperation fueled by her rapidly closing attractiveness window) who are indirectly deciding for her which of them she’ll have to settle with in happily “for-realness” after.

Yes, the hookup jerks chicks love are also the jerks chicks wish would stop dicking around and CHOO CHOO CHOOSE them.

If you are a man, the lesson is obvious:

Do you want to live free as a hookup man with the option to convert to a “for-real” man, or live knowing you’re the backup plan as a “for-real” man with no option to convert to a hookup man?

I think I know which man most men would prefer to emulate. But don’t tell it to Clark-Flory. She might ask you out on five straight dates in the same week after your tongue has been down her throat wooing the shit out of her.

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The Wall Survives Intact

Shiva the Detroyed Feminist locates a crumb of feminist hope amid a sea of feminism-crushing scientific studies and reality-assaulting dissonance:

I think this will win comment of next week:

This just blew open the “wall” theory. [ed: she wishes.]

sure, women may not be at the prime of their beauty in the future but they’ll still be in prime fertility at , say, 45.

Wow.

[ed: just wow.]

The schooling shall commence…

The wall is a function of women’s looks, which are, evolutionarily-speaking, a proxy for women’s fertility. Ovary transplant tech may extend fertility but it won’t do a damn thing for aging women’s declining looks. Men’s eyes don’t see women’s ovaries, they see women’s bodies and faces. Men are wired to respond sexually and emotionally to youthful female looks, not to a hidden working uterus. A 70 year old woman could be rejiggered to bear children thanks to the intervention of science, but she’ll still look 70 years old, and so men won’t be turned on by her. She will suffer the indignities of wall victimhood, having to settle for conceiving children with a turkey baster or a blind old goat who gets around on tennis balls. Tragically for feminists nursing delusions of sustained desirability, in the gene-governed sexual market where visual cues are men’s primary information medium it’s the proxies that matter, not the actual biowiring underneath.

There’s really no point to explaining the facts of life to feminists and other assorted grievance groups with real reasons to fear and loathe the truth — beyond its entertainment value as a button-pusher — because in three weeks’ time the same lot of them wander back into this happy hunting ground babbling the identical, debunked bromides all over again. Logic and reason hurt their wee egos for a brief spell, and then when enough time has passed for their self-medicated ids to baseline to normal and reconcile their cognitive dissonances, (say, ten minutes), they are right back to chanting pretty lies, sticking their fingers in their ears, and stamping their ascii feet. Never underestimate the lengths to which humans will lie to themselves and, consequently, to others to maintain an illusion of high sexual or social market value in the face of rapid deterioration or expendability.

If I had to put a number on it, I’d guess 80% of the human population is aggressively self-deceiving, with the number reaching close to 100% in backward societies and within certain ideological sects. With those numbers arrayed against you, it’s fruitless to battle for hearts and minds. The best you can do is mercilessly mock their pretensions to high holy hell, preferably in front of an audience, until some tiny illumination of self-preservation sparks in their limbic chimp systems and they sulk off to lick their ego wounds rather than face the psychic torture of further debasement on a public stage. Even the most blockheaded deluded dumbass will think twice about shrieking his or her stupidities when Total Ridicule is the only reward.

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Women’s Unrealistic Online Standards Are Like Ice Cream

A reader claims to note a trend in online personals:

[T]his is a trend I’ve noticed online, women who are QUITE comfortable with dating someone a handful of years younger but do NOT want anyone more than a few years older than they. What accounts for this trend? I mean, you could meet a 28 year old fat dude, or a 40 year old paleo-hardened guy who looks young. Why pre-emptively discount age like that? Most women I’ve met prefer someone same age or older.

I don’t know how widespread women’s aping of men’s standards in online ads is, because I don’t do online dating (at least not recently). However, from what I’ve read about the subject, most women’s preferences in online ads is for men older than they are; which makes sense, since age is a status marker for men in a way it isn’t for women. But assuming for the sake of argument that there is a small but growing contingent of cougars explicitly seeking younger men in what amounts to a mirror image of the universal trend for men to seek younger women, I believe I have an explanation.

First, keep in mind that it doesn’t matter what women demand in online ads, because outrageous standards that are far removed from reality are quickly weeded out of contention, leaving such delusional women sad and alone in real life. A lot of loser women who do the online thing subconsciously know they aren’t going to get laid by the man of their dreams, so they throw all reason and sobriety to the wind and just go hog wild laundry listing their fantasy criteria. For these women (admittedly greater in number now than every before in Western history), it’s more about ego catharsis than about actually meeting a man. ASCII therapy with a public audience of like-minded Medusas one-upping each other to the top of the entitlement heap.

Happily punching in a feverish list of ridiculous expectations in an online ad is the emotional equivalent of plopping in front of the TV (all shows cater to women except ‘Mythbusters’ and sports) and wolfing down a tub of ice cream. Feels SOOOOO good, even if it’s SOOOO bad for her health, looks and love life. Kinda makes a tidy little metaphor for civilizational decline.

Second, the few cougars who aren’t ugly, ragged or grossly obese but who left their prime years far behind in a haze of drunken binges and cock hopping, will sometimes recognize, on a primal level, that their odds of getting a good (read: high value, sort of charmingly dickish) man of the type they pined for at age 20 to commit to them in a loving long-term relationship are very low, and that their efforts are best spent putting out for horny younger men who will at least offer a short term thrill in the sack. This phenomenon — of older woman transforming into clitorally turgid quasi-men — is not common, certainly not nearly as common as the media would have you believe. But they do exist, and you can be pretty sure that most of them could cut glass with their jaws and suffocate small dogs with their jungly, frosted pube patches. Do note, as well, that as women age their testosterone levels rise in step with their lowered expectations, making the prospect of loveless one night stands more palatable to their still feminine egos.

Let’s just say that these horncat cougars are not exactly the sorts of women older men with options want at all, and they aren’t the sorts of women younger men with no options want for more than a few no muss no fuss bangs in which to drain their aching teen balls. Because younger men, just like older men, prefer the exquisite intimacies of young women. Cougars probably know this on some deep supraegotistical level, so they respond to their constrained sexual market choices by pretending to prefer the company of younger men when in reality all they’re trying to do is avoid the soul crushing loneliness that would inevitably result if they adhered to the standards of their real desires and had to face the brutal and merciless cruelty of the sexual market head on.

Women never really lose the ability to extrapolate a one night stand into some fantastical dramatic relationship story arc, so a cougar having a couple of perfunctory fucks with an indiscriminately horny college student in a dating slump can sometimes mean the difference for her between having the will to live for another day and resigning herself to gardening and obesity. It’s not an avenue most older single women are willing to take, but for a few desperate specimens with male-like sex drives and bodies that haven’t yet gone completely to shit, it beats suddenly and unceremoniously being dumped into the invisible fringes of forgotten wastelands. At least for a few more years.

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Newsflash! Sexually Obsolete Jilted Wife Reconsiders Divorcing Unfaithful Alpha Male Husband

This is what happens when a woman who has passed into sexual worthlessness has to contemplate the stark reality of divorce from a cheating alpha male husband who fathered a child with his mistress, but who still tingles his wife’s tangle.

Is Maria Shriver having second thoughts about divorcing Arnold Schwarzenegger?

That’s what we heard.

Tipsters cite the Kennedy princess’ strong Catholic faith as one of the main reasons she might be reconsidering tossing the husband who cheated on her.

The religion excuse is squid ink. Maria has lost her looks and is facing the merciless indifference of the zero sum, free-for-all dating market as an aged divorcée. She knows, on some deep primitive level, that as a newly single woman she could very well wind up living out her years unloved by any man. Or at the least unloved by any man even close to Arnold’s level of alphaness.

A woman in this position, and swirling with these feelings, can forgive a lot. I mean, A LOT.

Arnold, for his part, is reported to be treating her nicely. What’s that sound… cha ching.

It’s almost as if there is a powerful sexual market guiding people’s decisions. Weird.

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Sinead O’Connor: Proof Of Women’s Rapidly Declining Sexual Market Value Trajectory

Sinead O’Connor’s first marriage at age 21: 5 years

Sinead O’Connor’s second marriage: 1 year

Sinead O’Connor’s third marriage: 8 months

Sinead O’Connor’s fourth marriage at age 45: 16 days.

Sez it all, really.

(The typical benighted SMV trajectory of women is even worse when you consider the quality of men with whom Sinead progressively got hitched, which, if photos and lifestyle status are any indication, demonstrates that Sinead had to gradually settle for ever more beta lovers.)

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Facebook Is SMV Time Compression Info

Rollo Tomassi writes:

Thank you Mark Zuckerberg for creating the single greatest time-comparative engine men have ever known. I’m not a big fan of Face Book from a male standpoint, but if it has any redeeming aspect it’s that it provably shows men, in stark contrast, how women’s SMV declines. This is driven home all the better because the subject women are usually ones he’s known personally for a few years.

I entered my 20s in the early 90s, well before the internet went mainstream. I can vividly remember the women I was banging then and the ones who wouldn’t have a thing to do with me. Now I see them 20 years later thanks to social media and every single one is just ravaged by time and lifestyle. I’ve accepted friend requests from women whose memory from 20+ years ago are ones of flirtatious, beautiful lust-inspiring youth, all to be shattered when I see photos of them in their late 30s and early 40s. Then I pray to God and thank Him for sparing me from being yoked to cows like that in spite of my consuming desire at the time to get with them.

Take a minute to digest this: we are really the first generation of men to have such a convenient comparative tool. There was a time when a man could get with (or not) some girl he fancied and never see her again. Young men hear all the time how inconsequential the women they pine for really are in the grand scheme of things. Now the older men giving him advice have a tool to prove and emphasize that advice, and women have cause to lament the ugly, provable truth.

It used to be that you had to extrapolate the deterioration of a hot girl’s looks by seeing her mother, preferably side by side. (The mother-daughter couples I see at the mall are testament to the chasm of difference in attractiveness. In a mere twenty years, the majority of women go from deliciously fuckable to sexually worthless. Rampant obesity worsens the decline, as most American women don’t hit their fattest, blobbiest years until after their 30s.)

Even then, the extrapolation was never anything more than an academic exercise. After all, it is easy to compartmentalize the mother from the daughter. Men could logically tell themselves this is what their lovers would look like in short order, but it didn’t have the visceral impact that actually seeing *an older version* of their young lovers would have.

Looking at old photos of exes was always a dreamy nostalgia trip, because men have rarely had access to newer, updated photos of exes or high school and college crushes: you left a girl or she left you, and that was that. You never saw her again, unless you really went out of your way. So your memories remained untainted by fresher biosystem information.

But now Facebook gives us that instant-comparison tool, and holy shit on a breakfast platter, is it effective, and disheartening. As Rollo said, there is now, for the first time in human history, a whole generation (or two) of men who have millions of saved photos of their younger lovers, not to mention sweet memories of them, side by side with instantly accessed photos of those same lovers five, ten, even twenty years later, thanks to the proliferation of social media and female attention whoring. And as the Facebook culture becomes entrenched, this “time-comparative engine” will only become more widespread, and eye-opening to millions of men.

There could be no more powerful way to inculcate to a man new to the game the first principle that women are largely interchangeable in the dating market than by handing him the keys to Facebook and the dangerous secrets locked within. The female aging process of past lovers compressed into seconds will shatter the hardest pedestals and deflate the headiest romantic idealism. There is no poem in the world that can fully express that disenchanting feeling.

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Ex-Stripper Describes Her “Girl Game”

I’ve noticed a trend in the MSM. Men invent something controversial, get little mainstream press, women follow up with their watered-down version, get tons of mainstream press. In this case, an aging ex-stripper has landed on the front page of the New York Post where she discusses girl game: the female version of getting “what you want” from men, which in femspeak means getting love, money, attention and resources with, presumably, the ultimate goal being marriage. (Although you have to wonder about the kind of man who would be willing to pony up big bucks for a useless rock and ceremony to geld himself by marrying a road-worn and tossed away wet ex-stripper single mom with enough cock notches on her vagina wall to make it look like a gynecological cave painting.)

I don’t much write about girl game — aka The Rules — because it is, for the most part, ineffective relative to the thermonuclear game that girls already have at their disposal; namely, their youth and beauty. An ugly girl can run all the “girl game” she wants; it won’t make a lick of difference to her prospects. Conversely, a hot girl will often get what she wants without any girl game. In fact, girl game can actually hurt her chances with the alpha males she loves because those are the kinds of guys least affected, and most turned-off, by girl game machinations. Only in the middle where the average over-25 plain janes congregate can girl game help at the farthest margins, and then only by helping them snag betas who are more likely to fall for it.

With that in mind, let’s examine this whore’s recipe for dating bliss. First, here’s a look at her:

Not bad, not good. She has the tell-tale post-op tranny face that bespeaks a lifetime of pumping and getting dumped. That lifestyle tends to masculinize women. I wouldn’t pay her for a lap dance, but I would bang her for free. Once. With a kevlar condom.

So what does this broad “Diane Passage” have to say about girl game?

1. Show your confidence at all times — especially when you feel it the least. No one will ever know if this is true, but if you believe it, others will, too. A friend of mine who was a dancer at a club once gave me the advice to always enter a room “proud as a peacock” — stand up straight and move confidently. She worked in Las Vegas, where it’s highly competitive for any type of dancer or entertainer. She was a pretty girl, but average in comparison to other women. But wherever she walked — whether it was a club, casino or a grocery store — all eyes were on her.

Classic case of female projection. Women love confidence in men, so they think men must love the same in women. Nope. Confidence in women is neutral to their dating market value at best, and actively off-putting at worst. Most likely, this “confident”, “stands tall” Las Vegas girl she talks about has a big rack, and guys were staring at her jutting tits that she was thrusting outward.

Very shy girls who are pretty will arouse a deep, instinctive authoritarian desire in men to protect and sexually serve. Women don’t need to be loudmouths or assertive if they are cute. It helps, in fact, if they are a little effacing and deferential. A woman with *clinically* low self-esteem, (as distinct from nearly all women who are told they have low self-esteem but in actuality are full of themselves), can temper a man’s lust by slouching, mumbling and denigrating herself. Why? Because men will think she’s not interested.

2. I can create my own outcome and accomplish any goal. I like to set goals for anything — serious or ridiculous. I started doing this when I worked at the club; I’d set weekly income goals to help me stay focused and not get onto a downward spiral (which is typical for exotic dancers). Along the way I set fun goals — attending certain concerts, parties, etc. My most ridiculous goal? Hooking up with a certain male porn star. A friend of mine offered to buy the star for me for one night, but I declined. It’ll be far more satisfying to accomplish my goal on my own. Whether your goals are serious, fun or both — never think you can’t have it all!

New age, feelgood pablum. Worse than useless. This will encourage ugly, old and fat girls to avoid putting in the necessary work to make themselves more attractive to men. Newsflash, ladies: No, you can’t have it all. You can have what your best assets will bring you by maximizing their impact and minimizing the impact of your worst liabilities. Some liabilities, of course, are not mitigable. PS: Getting a male porn star to fuck you is not an accomplishment. Getting him to love you and commit to you is.

3. Slow and steady wins the race. While goals are important, you shouldn’t set unrealistic time limits to achieve them. People do crazy things under deadlines. An acquaintance of mine stalked a man because she was obsessed with getting married before the age of 35. Last year, she fell head over heels on one of her first dates. On Facebook, she saw he was looking forward to a sushi dinner at his favorite restaurant. My friend knew where to find him, because he’d mentioned the same restaurant on their date! So early in the evening, she planted herself at a table with a good view of the place. He showed up . . . with another date. This woman is seemingly sane otherwise. If she dropped the marriage deadline and just had fun dating, I bet she’d end up meeting her goal — without stalking!

This advice isn’t half bad as a way to avoid the worst mistakes women make. Women can quickly kill a sexy, fun vibe and drive an alpha man away by revealing their desperation on a first date. Or even during the first year of dating. (Beta men will stick around and suffer her desperation because they, too, are desperate.) As women don’t want to feel like sex objects, men don’t want to feel like commitment objects.

4. Every girl should know the basics of fishing and dog training. Several years ago, my son [ed: bastard spawn soon to be huffing paint under an overpass] took an interest in fishing. I had to learn, too, so I could help him with it. Little did I know that my basic fishing knowledge would end up serving me well in the world of romance! When dating, I like to try a fun and sporty approach. As the person who’s fishing, I’m able to lead my “fish,” so I have the advantage of getting what I want. My bait: smile, hair, makeup, clothing, stilettos and either legs or cleavage (never both at the same time). [ed: no, because that would be slutty. it’s not like he’ll think you’re a skank when he hears about your stripper past and bastard sprog] My hook: a flirty, mysterious demeanor. When I “reel” a man in, that means I’m getting to know him. He always has the option to free himself from my “hook.” And I always have the option to throw him back into the dating sea. If I decide to keep my “fish,” then I switch to boundary-setting mode. I’ve trained a dog, raised a son and have been married twice to men who wanted nothing more than to make me happy [ed: if she’s been married twice and is currently an unmarried single mom, then they weren’t very interested in making her happy. nor was she interested in making them happy. and single women should take advice from her?]. I know how not to let a male dominate me. The one consistent thing for all types of men: consistent enforcement of boundaries and giving rewards when they deserve them.

It sounds like she ripped this nominal idea straight from the Chateau archives. Anyhow, what she is saying here is nothing new. She’s just repackaging the time-tested advice to women to look as good as possible to capture a man’s interest by trying to make it sound edgier with the comparison to dog training and fishing. And enforcement of boundaries? What does that even mean? Her boundaries have obviously been rodgered to complete permeability.

5. My wallet does not exist. It might sound like an outdated cliché, but if you’re a woman, you should never reach into your wallet while you’re in the presence of a man. Even if you’ve been married for years. Not only must a man pay for the main components of a date (dinner, etc.), but they must also take care of taxi fare, coat check and bathroom attendant tips. The woman who believes in this mantra is not a gold-digger or obligated to “return the favor.” The few times I’ve gone “dutch” on dates, it usually results in the man feeling emasculated because of it — or it means the guy has some sort of money hang-up. Can an emasculated guy or someone with issues give you what you want? Not for me!

How sweet. An old-fashioned stripper single mom. The worst of every world. Now here’s some real talk for the single women reading: the only men you’ll get by playing the role of whore golddigger are betas with few other options and rich men with harems and zero game, wit or charm. Don’t bet on the latter unless you’re smoking hot.

6. My presence is a gift. Know your value — and not in dollar amounts. Relationships are work — and work has value. Do the rewards of your relationship satisfy you? What do you want from your partner? I broke up with a guy (who my friends and I nicknamed “The Whiny Baby”) because he was too high-maintenance, emotionally. This wouldn’t have been a problem if he could have just provided a bit of emotional support in return. [ed: translation: he treated her like the worthless aging stripper single mom she is] I told him that, and he briefly turned into a decent boyfriend until becoming a whiny baby. I decided my time was too valuable and he had to go.

This reads like he dumped her and she’s rationalizing it as her decision. Allow me to clarify. Your presence is only a gift if you’re pleasing to look at. It is less of a gift if you think you look as good at 35 as you did at 25, and you are saddled with kid baggage from another man. (This is starting to sound like a broken record. But it needs to be said, over and over, apparently.)

7. Allow your man to believe he is in charge. Men like to play the dominant role in relationships, so why not encourage the fantasy? This summer, I was with a man who was sensitive about women using him for his money. He watched me like a hawk, so my usual tactics were no good. But he was open to spending extravagantly at charity events, fine restaurants and so on. So I invited him to my friends’ events and establishments — where he was free to spend money — and I remained quiet and pretty, as he required me to be.

She’s contradicting herself. Above she says she does not allow men to dominate her. Here, she says she encourages men to dominate her. Oh, but of course she couches it in terms of “letting him feel like” he is dominating her. Hair-splitting. He’s either making the decisions, giving her orders and demanding she look pretty and remain quiet, or he’s not. Leave it to a single mom stripper to vomit whatever ill-conceived toddler babbling happens to scoot across her gyrating frontal lobe.

Not that there isn’t some substance to the advice to placate a man’s desire to dominate. A woman who constantly battles a man for dominance is an unloved woman. Men don’t respond on a visceral level to those kinds of women. And it works the other direction, too: men who renege on their duty to dominate are often pushed around and unloved by the women in their lives.

8. As a woman, it’s my right to act bitchy on occasion. When a man first approaches me, I’m icy cold and dismissive. The weak men leave. The ones who are up for a challenge stick around and show their charm and wit, and may land a date. Refer to mantra No. 4 (dog training) — along with boundaries, give rewards when due — leading to mantra No. 6 (value). A woman’s time, smile and interest are valuable and can be rewarded to the man who deserves her attention. Being icy or lukewarm at first also maintains an element of mystery. In addition, refer to mantra No. 5 (woman never pays). A man does not deserve a woman’s phone number without buying her and her friend(s) a drink, not to mention paying their entire bar tab.

Any man who buys a girl *and* her yakking yenta friends drinks, and pays their entire bar tab, just to get her precious, gold-plated number, is, by definition, an emasculated, hopeless beta who has the masturbation stamina of ten men. I doubt very much this skank ho would respect, let alone desire, such a man.

Mostly, what she writes here in point #8 is a rewording of the conventional wisdom that a woman who puts out too easily will harm her chance to get men to commit to her. (Leave aside her admonition to be bitchy. That’s not advice. It’s just a recognition that hot chicks will shit test men to discern their alphaness.) There is some truth in the CW. Beta and alpha men alike subconsciously downgrade loose women from potential girlfriend material to funtime sluts. But a woman has to carefully walk that tightrope; too much coyness, playing hard-to-get and bitchiness, and the alpha males of her dreams will quickly find sweeter and moister pastures. Too little, and they will relegate her to fuckbuddy status. And herein lies the main problem with “girl game”:

Girl game is effective at manipulating exactly the kinds of men women desire the least.

Horny, desperate betas — not sexually satisfied alphas — are the ones who will allow themselves to be toyed with by scheming girls. If those are the men you want, ladies, you can’t go wrong listening to the dating advice of a washed-up wednesday night stripper single mom.

Luckily for us men, game — real game — is just what the best looking girls crave.

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