Random Musing Of The Day

Why is it the biggest engagement rings are always found on the hands of women over 30? Who are these beta schmoes spending a fortune on rings for women with only a few years of primo fuckability left?

Discuss.

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Wed Man Walking

Commenter Max from Australia made the following observation about Brad Pitt:

Brad Pitt has been totally “pwned” by marriage, he should be the happiest dude in the world, loaded and with great looks. But look at a recent photo, the spark in his eyes has died. In his head the mantra is “get me out of here…get me out of here “.

He’s been cuckolded into looking after 4 kids who arent his, and handcuffed in by 2 kids who are……His own kids allegedly get beaten up by the bigger kids in the “tribe”.

And his wife just keeps getting nuttier and he looks just as beaten down as any married schmuck.

Here is the recent photo of Brad Pitt that Max linked to. You can see Pitt has been “Al Bundy-ized”:

“Peeeeeeggg!”

Eyes glazed over. Not a hint of a smile. We’ve all seen this: The morose married man listlessly shambling around the mall with yapping wife and ungrateful brats in tow; the man who didn’t know what he was getting into and has subsequently had the joy of living beat out of him. Yes, not even marriage to Angelina Jolie, a top 1% woman (for her age), can stop this zombie-fication process. Brad Pitt is marching to the gravesite of his soul. He has lost the fight in him.

***

UPDATE: Turns out Pitt is probably not married to Jolie (though there are persistent rumors of a secret wedding). This is what I get for not keeping up with the latest moronic Hollywood celebrity gossip. I’m so ashamed. Nevertheless, my point stands. Pitt got roped into a multi-adoption, weirdo wife pseudo-marriage. He looks like a married man who woke up wondering what the hell just happened. Substitute almost any 5+ years married man you see walking about town and the truth of my observations becomes indisputable.

***

What women don’t seem to understand is that men could well do without the institution of marriage. We wouldn’t miss it at all. We could be perfectly happy in non-marital long term relationships. Men don’t breathlessly leaf through bridal mags or get jealous when our friends get hitched. We don’t dream of the wedding ceremony starting at the age of four. Married men *may* live longer than single men (though these claims are in dispute), but their psyches, their souls, and their masculine essence die long before their bodies do.

Once the first couple years of childless, lustful flush wanes, the married man becomes the walking dead… unless he revitalizes himself with a young mistress.

Maxim #11: The greater the sexual market value disparity between the husband and his depreciating wife, and the more kids they have, the more life the husband has sucked out of him.

For instance, Angelina Jolie is on the downward slope with the wall rapidly approaching. She is looking more like a man every day. They have adopted kids from all over the world. Nonbiological kids are not loved as much by parents as biological kids would be, don’t let them tell you otherwise. The resentment shows itself in little ways. Brad Pitt is still very much at the peak of his sexual power. He could have almost any 9 and 10 in the world. And he knows it. Instead, he is shackled to an androgenizing, aging Jolie and a zillion kids, only a couple of which are his. And the adopted kids are beating the shit out of his own flesh and blood. He has to be thinking “Why did I sign up for this?”.

I do believe it is time for a handy chart to illustrate the gradual psychological degradation of the married man, as seen in the emptiness of his gaze.

Years                % Sexiness                       # of Kids                 Spark of Life
Married             Remaining in Wife                                            in Man’s Eyes      
0-2                    100                                         0                    sparkling with life
2-5                     80                                         1-2                   serene and stoic
5-7                     60                                         1-3*                          glassy
(one semi-retarded)
7-10                  50                                         1-3*                   1000 yard stare
(one gay)
10-12                40                                         1-4*                       serial killer
(one adopted,
different race)
12-15                20                                         1-5*                         comatose
(one flamboyantly gay,
two adopted,
one autistic,
one hates you)
15-20                5                                           1-5*                           zombie
(one drug addict,
one with gender confusion,
son who throws like girl,
one who looks like Samuel Jackson,
one in jail for filming upskirt vids)
20-infinity       -100                                 Lost count                      Terminator

The evidence is clear. Your best bet as a man is to NOT GET MARRIED. JUST SAY NO. DON’T DO IT. ARE YOU CRAZY?

Don’t emulate Brad Pitt. Instead, be like this guy:

Those eyes are full of life. That smirk says it all. This is the look of a man who knows he made the right decision.

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Justice Is Served

Hope and change is in the air (hat tip: commenter Butters):

An adulterous Spanish woman has been ordered to pay €200,000 in “moral damages” for the suffering caused to her husband by her illicit affair.

The woman, who had three children by her lover, pretended for years that they were fathered by her husband, according to reports.

God bless the Spanish. While the Anglosphere countries are grabbing their ankles for their feminist and kleptocratic Overcunts and incomprehensibly, malignantly going down the path of forcing cuckolded beta husbands to continue footing the bills for the non-biological children of their whore wives’ adulterous copulations, the Mediterranean-style cultures — AKA the Jealousy Belt — are taking the exact opposite tack and squarely putting the blame and the punishment where it rests — on the cheating wife.

Of course, some women will cry “What about the kids?!”. Too bad. She should have thought of them before fucking around. Any harrowing consequences that befall the children are no longer the cuckolded husband’s moral crisis.

DNA tests showed that three of their four children had been fathered by the other man, the Times reports. The husband then took his wife to court, demanding compensation.

The court in Valencia, southeastern Spain, ordered her to pay €100,000 for the suffering she caused him. She fought the ruling, but the Supreme Court has upheld it, and doubled the damages to €200,000.

God bless DNA paternity testing. Besides the Pill, has any technological innovation in the last 40 years leveled the playing field as radically as paternity testing? Widespread use will have cultural — *and* genetic — changes we can only begin to fathom now. The last 10,000 years may have been a whirlwind of human evolution, but that will seem like slow going compared to the hurricane of human change I foresee arriving in the next 500 hundred years. When our distant descendants gather in their gleaming labs to pry apart the recent course of human history and evolution, they will all agree on one thing: The observers of our time severely underestimated the Tunguska-level impact that the pill, condom, abortion, and female economic empowerment would have on the very foundations of the human species.

And can you imagine an American judge having the sack to do what that Spanish judge did, and doubling the damages because the bitch showed no remorse in fighting the initial ruling? I can’t, which is too bad. It would be a step in the right direction to restoring America’s greatness. This story is so delicious it needs a Hollywoodization:

WHORE: But, your Honor, I did nothing wrong! My husband never paid attention to me. What choice did I have but to find love elsewhere? I am a good mother, I deserve respect!

JUDGE: Bitch, sit your whore ass down. You fuck around like a filthy slut, have three kids by another man, and then foist them on your bamboozled husband who works his ass off supporting you and the family, and you expect to be coddled like a small child by this court? Make it $200 grand!

WHORE: But…

JUDGE: $300 grand! Keep going, tramp…

The wife was judged to have “acted negligently in the conception of her children”, and the concealment of the truth “only added to the pain caused to the husband” who should be compensated correctly.

No shit. I guess it takes a Spaniard to demonstrate common sense.

In her defence, the woman told the court her extramarital activities had been “passionate and irregular” and blamed her husband for being cold, unfaithful and disinterested in the children.

Ha haa! I hadn’t even read this part when I wrote my short play above. Good to see there are still some people who understand the amoral nature of women.

The court ruled her claims were not credible.

Justice… is served.

I’m beginning to see a welcome trend. While I don’t expect women — solipsistic creatures of child-like, morally underdeveloped minds — to ever lead the righteous in advocating for fairness and justice of the sort meted out by the Spanish courts, I do expect them to step in line and follow the strong men who will fight for these basic rights and for real justice, not Oprahfied, Lifetime channel justice. This will happen when men grow balls and stop kow-towing in fear to the lesbian bulldyke mafia who runs the womens studies cuntdustrial complex, because women by nature are followers, and where the pack goes, so go they. Women self-govern by a simple (simplistic) motto: “It’s all in the numbers.” Once a tipping popularity point is reached, women will abandon their old principles for the new principles with a speed that will prove the shallowness and expediency with which they hold their beliefs.

What’s interesting to me, and not surprising given the clearness of my vision regarding human nature, is that this reinvigoration of basic gender justice is happening in the machismo cultures like Spain and Brazil. Perhaps those cultures’ experiences with the animalistic and passionate boiling sexual impulses of men and women, and the jealousies engendered, gives them a better grasp of the stakes at play. Perhaps in the Anglo-founded countries, where monogamy and beta cooperation have been the norm for hundreds of years (up until recently), this understanding of the volatile and untamed nature of women’s sexuality is missing, or weak, and thus there is less inborn defense against falling under the spell of the siren call of postmodern, feminist claptrap.

But that is now changing. It’s just too bad we have allowed our culture to regress to such depths that the emergence of this change was necessary.

If men would follow my sage advice, they could avoid all this bullshit and still have plenty of sex and love from women:

Don’t get married.

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Why I Left My Fat Wife

I’m about to reveal something of myself most of you don’t know.

A few years ago, my wife, Marie, and I were at one of those hip downtown restaurants sipping mangotinis and nibbling on injera bread when one of my bosses appeared with his thin trophy wife in tow and patted my shoulder. When I introduced him to Marie, he naturally looked her up and down. I froze.

Marie and my boss exchanged some small talk but I could see behind the polite chit chat that my boss’ eyes flickered with a hint of disgust. I noticed Marie hadn’t put down her fork, upon which was perched a wobbly chunk of eggplant.

“Well, it was good meeting you,” my boss said, cutting short the conversation.

Marie looked at me and shrugged. “He’s not a very friendly guy, huh?” she said, as my colleague walked off to his table.

“Um, yeah I suppose not,” I said, knowing that was a lie. My boss was actually one of the friendliest men I knew. I understood why he walked off so abruptly. My boss may be friendly, but he’s also a winner, and winners avoid fraternizing with losers. My boss took one look at my fat wife, and recoiled from the stench of loserness. Inside, I was mortified.

Technically, I had it all back then, including a gorgeous toddler and a cool job.

What I didn’t have was a wife I felt proud of.

God knows I wanted to be proud of her. Marie is smart and funny and the only person I know who gets off on explaining why the Twilight books are more feminist than vampiric. And if you asked me about somebody else’s stay-at-home wife, I’d be all over the subject, spouting statistics about how important the mother-daughter bond is to girls’ self-esteem and how limiting it is to expect men to mind the home front. But living with her as she became fatter and fatter was completely different.

Maybe it’s because the plan wasn’t for Marie to lose her looks so rapidly. I went to work when she started graduate school, thinking that I’d head back for my own Ph.D. once she was done. I envisioned us as hard-core SWPLs, reading passages from Joyce to each other while I put together a collection of sexy lingerie for her to wear as we reenacted every sex scene from Victorian era period films. Instead, I fell in love with my first job at a modeling agency, and eventually, after a few promotions, I found myself working as a photographer for a fashion magazine.

Things went less smoothly for Marie. By the time we found out she was pregnant – three years into our marriage – she’d been working at a job teaching film for six months and was beginning to gain weight from all the take-out she ate. She began packing on the pounds by the week, and it affected everything about her – her mood, job performance, health, sexiness. The lingerie I had bought her no longer fit, lost in the folds of her burgeoning ass. Still, the minute her pregnancy test flashed its double pink lines at me, I knew I needed to work even harder at my job to ensure my child had the best chance in life.

I worked late nights for six months after my daughter was born while Marie continued, yes, bloating up. In 18 months, she gained 40 pounds. Meanwhile, I was being pursued by the models I photographed. Eventually, I flirted with some of them.

I felt like myself again – flirting, feeling horny, loving the sight of beautiful women, doing the witty-banter thing in the halls with the models. But my marriage started to fall apart. I felt guilty about being glad to go back to work, and in my head, I made it Marie’s fault. Because she had gotten fat, I blamed her when I was working late and had to miss the baby’s bedtime; it was her fault I had to go in early every day, since the fact that she couldn’t stay slim meant that I couldn’t stop myself from checking out other women. And when I got home, I seethed. I couldn’t walk across the living room without tripping over a half-eaten apple pie or an ice cream scoop. The baby was in the same little nightgown she’d slept in the night before. There wasn’t a hint of food in the fridge; Marie had eaten it all. She was home all day-couldn’t she at least run a few laps on the freaking treadmill?

Eventually, communication between Marie and me deteriorated to the point where all we talked about was the baby. Had she gotten enough sleep? What had she eaten for lunch? How could she have run through an entire value pack of diapers in one weekend? “Wait till I tell you what she did,” she’d say every once in a while, as she gazed adoringly at the baby and I gazed around the room to avoid looking at my wife’s Pillsbury rolls. In those moments – watching Marie gently rock her to sleep while singing “Punk Rock Girl” – I was reminded why I had once thought Marie was the sexiest woman in the world. But our sex life was in ruins; I spent all my time in the computer den (AKA pornatorium) or at work-sponsored happy hours with the models. I chalked it up to the transition period all new parents go through. Then one day, I realized it had been almost a year since Marie and I had made love.

Sometimes she’d say, “I really think things would be better for us if we could just be intimate again.” Or she’d put the baby to bed early and come into the living room with two glasses of wine and a book of poetry – our classic recipe for seduction – but just the thought of me touching her cottage cheese thighs and lint-encrusted belly rolls made me recoil. “Maybe I’m just not a sexual person anymore,” I told her, and I honestly meant it. The truth is, I wasn’t attracted to her anymore. It wasn’t that she’d changed on the inside – she still had the same sense of humor, kind heart, and sharp intellect that had literally made me fall in love when I first met her. But in my heart and my head, I’d neutralized her as a sexual being. I wanted to be overwhelmed by the sheer power of her femininity in the bedroom, but I wasn’t. Because I felt like the dumpster diver in our relationship.

We went to see a therapist. “Don’t you think I resent you for how easy it is for you to stay thin?” Marie asked me during one session. “You have these great genes, and I’m home like a slave, running errands, taking care of your shit, and you can’t even spare me five minutes of sex at the end of the day.” I think it was the first time I’d actually listened to what she had to say in years. She said that she was angry with me for always staying out late and partying with slender models, and angry with herself for not being able to turn me on anymore. She said she didn’t appreciate being treated like a nanny-slash-housekeeper-slash-fat disgusting crap to be ignored in favor of porn. But what alternatives was she offering? I had ever so gently suggested she would feel better and our marriage would be happier if she lost the weight she had gained and slimmed back down to the hot wife I knew when I first fell in love with her and married her, but instead all she did was get fatter. We separated a few months later.

In retrospect, I realized I had this preconceived idea of what a sexy, attractive woman should be like. I imagined being married to, well, a good-looking, thin wife with a shapely hourglass figure. Someone whose attractive womanly physique looks pleasant to other people as well as to me. Someone who walks out the door with a sexy dress on, high heels, and a tight ass. Someone who turns heads. Does that make me a sexist? “I always felt embarrassed and guilty – you had all these preconditions for me that I felt like I wasn’t living up to,” Marie said to me after our divorce.

So nobody was more surprised than I was when I went ahead and fell for another funny, bright, kind woman like Marie.

Here’s the difference, though: Magdalena knows what men want – and it’s not a poetry reading over bon bons sitting on the increasingly concave couch. She knows men want to make sweet love to sexy, slender women who can wear the hot lingerie he buys for her without looking like a walrus tangled in a ball of string. Playing with my daughter or painting or translating the writings of Pablo Neruda is fine, but it is only a garnish to the main marriage course – hot, steamy, passionate love with a physically attractive woman. There’s nothing food-obsessed or self-loathing about her. When Magdalena and I are cooking dinner together on Friday nights in a kitchen devoid of cheetos and tubs of Haagen Daz, or trying to drink coffee in bed on Sunday mornings while my daughter dances around us, I’m so attracted to her that it’s all I can do not to rip her clothes off then and there.

Put it this way: Whether it’s me or the sexy figure she’s keeping, I think it’s damn sexy.

This article was sent to various women’s magazines for publication.

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Women Who Have Affairs With Married Men

By the Power of Poon I was able to coax a girl into inadvertently revealing her low quality.

Me: [in my best nonjudgemental voice] Sometimes I think people judge us too harshly for the things we do when we are in love. For instance, I’ve had married women fall for me. I didn’t know at the time they were married, but if I knew… who knows, I may not have ended it. It’s hard to walk away from something so right, you know?

Her: I know what you mean.

Me: Have you ever had a torrid taboo fling like that? One that people wouldn’t understand?

Her: I was with this one guy… he was married.

Me: And even though you knew he was married… you knew, right?

Her: Yes, I knew almost from the start.

Me: You fell for him and it was just about you two.

Her: All I could think about was us. It was like he wasn’t even married.

Me: I can relate. It’s about living in the present, and you can’t imagine it not working out. [laying my hand on her forearm] Did his wife know?

Her: No, not at first, but she must have figured it out eventually. I guess, after a while, I felt like it wasn’t going anywhere.

Me: It’s ridiculous, but people think you should feel guilty.

Her: I never felt guilty, just sad that it ended. I left him when it became clear we were stuck in place.

******

When you get involved with a woman who has had affairs with married men, is she:

a. a cheater at heart?

b. a validation whore?

c. someone who will ass rape you in divorce court and spend the lottery alimony on shoes and lingerie to please her new lover?

d. a histrionic drama queen?

e. a good fuck?

f. an Eternal Ingenue?

g. drawn to provider alphas?

h. an entanglement of daddy issues?

i. usually hot?

j. a scheming, conniving cunt?

k. best kept at arm’s length?

l. never satisfied?

m. trainable by dangling carrots and then pulling them away?

n. friendless?

o. a pump and dump candidate?

p. addicted to badboys, challenge, emotional highs and lows, and regular old drugs?

q. more likely to eat bananas lasciviously in public?

r. all of the above?

One thing is for sure, she is a sucker for wedding ring game.

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No You Don’t Sound Bothered At All

I got a lot of trackbacks to my post on identifying sluts, and I was able to read the comments from a few of the links. This one was from a Facebook discussion forum:

It’s fun sometimes to listen to people talk, because they’ll broach the subject of slut. I’ll ask them whats their definition? They’ll give me some silly vague definition about women who sleep with lots of men. I have slept with more than 3 dozen (and I have no shame in it) and I remind them of that. Then they will say, but you don’t dress like one! You aren’t a tease! You aren’t a liar!
Haha.

— [removed to protect the guilty]

😯

The accompanying profile pic showed a somewhat attractive girl in her mid 20s. 36+ partners. Saddle up! Here’s something I’d like to remind her: The median number of sex partners for American women is three. You are a cheap, easy lay who has spread for more than ten times the number of cock as the typical woman. Don’t think you can fool the alphas for long by dressing conservatively. Attractive men have enough experience to recognize the subtler slut cues. No self-respecting man who knew of your past would take you seriously as a long term or marriage prospect. A lot of them will fuck you, but that’s not the same thing as winning their commitment. No, you will wind up settling for a grateful beta in your mid 30s, stewing in your resentment and bitterness, wondering why it all ended up like this. On the upside, when you divorce him after two years because he had the gall to discover you cheating, the law will look kindly upon you and your scoured aging vagina and give you half his hard earned money. Plus the house and dog.

I bet she has a masculine digit ratio.

Personally, I prey on girls like this because I know they will put out faster. I’m a huge fan of sluts and when I know I’m dating one I will spend less money on her and push harder and sooner for unlubed anal sex. If I was interested in a relationship, I wouldn’t even think twice about dumping her for a higher value girl with fewer past partners. (Or, more accurately, moving the slut to third string.) Sluts know this is true deep in the crevices of their souls, which is why, despite (or because of) their indignant protestations and transparent sophistry to the contrary, they really do get bothered when called out.

I can hear the lamentations of the cumhounds now.

“Oh, but you write a game blog all about making it easier for men to pick up women. You’ve had way more partners than me. Hypocrite!”

Dear sluts,
Don’t you know it’s different for guys?

It’s important to screen out slutty girls like the one above if you are looking to get married, otherwise you run a higher risk of ending up like this poor beta.

GARDEN CITY, New York: A New York doctor is demanding his estranged wife pay him $US1.5 million ($2.1 million) to compensate him for the kidney he gave her while they were still on good terms.

Richard Batista, 49, said he gave his kidney to Dawnell Batista in June 2001, and she filed for divorce in July 2005.

The couple has three children, aged 8, 11 and 14.

The New York Post reported that Dr Batista was dumped after his wife started seeing a physical therapist she met in 2003 while recovering from a knee injury suffered in karate lessons. “I saved her life and then to be betrayed like this is unfathomable. It’s incomprehensible,” the Post quoted Dr Batista as saying.

“She engaged in an extramarital affair and refused to go to marital counselling and reconciliation.

“She slapped me with divorce papers in the operating room while I was trying to save another patient’s life.”

😈

Like an innocent beta lamb to the slaughter. Funny how people think being a doctor automatically confers alpha status. And then they scoff when I helpfully remind them that women are inherently amoral animals, and thus should never be taken seriously as moral equals. I have your kidney? You saved my life? Big deal, you’re a beta! And the physical therapist got me wet. What did you expect?

This gullible schmo probably thought toiling away for four years in medical school would guarantee him a smooth, happy ride with women. Fool. A few hours spent reading my blog would have better prepared him to avoid the ex-wife ass raping he got.

Squeal like a beta, boy!

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Beta Of The Year Award: Husband “Supports” Wife’s Whoring

Previously, I awarded BOTY to the man who petitioned the state to change his last name so he could take his wife’s maiden name in marriage. It’s difficult to write while choking back vomit, but I managed to tough out my nausea and bring his story to the readers in hopes that I could save the life of even one man from such a horrible self-inflicted castration.

I may have been too hasty bestowing the ignominious BOTY award to “wife’s last name” guy. The year isn’t over and we have recently had a new contender for the crown. He’s the husband of a 38 year old woman who got drunk at a college football game and fucked a random dude in the men’s bathroom as people gawked and cheered them on, while he sat oblivious in his seat watching the game.

Feldman, a married mother of three, has been the target of Internet jokes and prank telephone calls today. She was fired this morning from an assisted living center, where she had been an administrator.

Feldman said her husband, Kelly, has been supportive. She said he faults himself for not going with her when she left her seat to use the restroom before halftime.

There are only two things a man should do if confronted with a humiliating betrayal of this magnitude:

1. Say nothing to your wife except these two words: “Goodbye, whore.”
2. As one of my commenters suggested, get retroactive paternity tests done for all “his” children. Odds are high that not all his kids are his.

That’s it. Other than a well-deserved slap across the face before walking out, (something I don’t recommend as American law as currently constituted will not be lenient toward a husband exacting righteous retribution on a whoring wife), this is all he needs to do. Anything more, and he has effectively acceded to his public emasculation. Unfortunately, the “man” in this story has done just the opposite, and so has earned a year-end berth to challenge the reigning champion for Beta Of The Year.

You, the readers, will vote to decide on the winner below.

A couple things jumped out at me when I read this sorry tale of ho. Betas love that word “supportive”. They cling to it like a piece of driftwood in a stormy sea, probably figuring that “being supportive” of their cheating spouses will spark a renewed love they never really shared. Or that this stupidly magnanimous act of phony generosity in the face of such a monumental infidelity will silence the taunting of the alphas that haunt their nightmares. I can’t think of a more counterproductive… or cringlingly pansy-assed response… than to “support” a cheating wife, especially one who cheats so flagrantly. At least avowed masochists derive some pleasure from the whippings.

This is the woman the husband is supporting:

Police ticketed Feldman, 38, and Ross Walsh, 26, of Linden for indecent conduct Saturday night.

A security guard who said he saw the two having sex through a gap in a men’s restroom stall flagged down campus police, according to the police report.

Men’s restroom? Was she really on her way to the ladies’ room and got pulled aside? Or did she have fucking in mind and loitered around the men’s bathroom until an acceptable prospect strolled by?

By the time an officer arrived, about a dozen people were cheering and laughing in the bathroom while Feldman and Walsh were inside the stall, the report said.

The officer pushed his way through the crowd, opened the door and separated Feldman and Walsh, the report said.

Police described both Feldman and Walsh as upset, drunk and uncooperative.

It doesn’t matter that she was drunk. Plenty of married women get drunk and don’t fuck strangers in public bathrooms while hubby dutifully waits for her return. The alcohol was a hindbrain serum, throwing into stark relief her craving to take the cock of an alpha male. Liquor is not a disabler of reason; it is an enabler of desire. Without the alcohol, she might have been a little more circumspect in where and how she cheated.

Then there was this:

She said he faults himself for not going with her when she left her seat to use the restroom before halftime.

Read that line again. Let the sickening gravity of it hit you in the chest with a thud. You are witnessing a peek into the shriveled, neutered, microphallic mini-id of a man who has utterly surrendered his masculinity. A man whose only concept of himself is through others — and specifically through whatever woman will give him the time of day. You want to reach out, grab this schmuck by the shoulders, and open-handedly slap him silly across the face until he comes to his senses. Faults himself?! For her getting drunk and fucking the first guy she deemed an alpha on her walk to the bathroom while onlookers cheered? This is the inwardly twisted thinking of a soulkilled wastrel. This is how a man reacts when he has no confidence in himself to stand up and stare down a woman who has wronged him.

If we were discussing politics, the analogue to this guy is the man who reflexively blames his countrymen for the evil committed by foreign enemies.

What kind of man would willingly accommodate his own dishonor? I’ll tell you what kind of man — a man who lives in fear. A man afraid to lose a woman because he believes he cannot get another. A man who is scared shitless to WALK.

In other words, a beta.

Why do women love cads? The answer is above. Women love men who live without fear.

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