Game Is Pushing Me Away From Love

Sometimes ignorance really is bliss. Of the last 25 out of 30 girls I’ve slept with, I’ve used the following game tactics on all of them in almost the same order and at the same point in time of the pickup:

• indirect opener, usually situational
• if cockblock was present, one neg to cb asking if her friend is “always this way”
• if cockblock wasn’t present, one neg directly to target about her “hair color being totally in style right now”
• initiated kino sequence by laying my hand on her forearm, then later hand on her shoulder, then later still hand on her thigh
• one dance twirl (her, not me)
• one anchor (“hey could you watch my hat/scarf/pickup prop for me for a sec?”)
• one DHV story about my time hiking a volcanic island
• one to two venue change “bounces”, where i would simulate the experience of being on multiple dates by compressing it into two hours, making her feel she had spent more time with me than she actually did
• two questions qualifying her, usually “cute chicks are a dime a dozen, what else do you have going for you?” or “are you low, medium or high maintenance?”
• two rapport building routines (either the love test or the cube)
• one age guessing game (her: how old are you?” me: “guess” her: [whatever answer] me: “perfect!” or “i don’t think you’re fun enough/mature enough for me”)
• one vulnerability story (involves getting beat up by a bully i was trying to stop from beating up a nerdy schoolmate)
• one major kino escalation (usually hand behind her neck)
• kiss (i just go for it. no prepping) and/or number close
• same night lay if propitious

25 girls. 25 lays, flings, or relationships. All of them gamed in almost the exact same manner to achieve the desired result. Like winding up a watch. Or tapping a knee to prompt a reflex kick. Or shaking a leash by the door so the dog comes running, knowing a walk and a refreshing poop is on the way.

Game enough girls successfully and the predictability becomes numbing. I imagine this is how girls must secretly feel when they slather on makeup and squeeze into sexy clothes and then get the predictable horndog responses from men around them. They enjoy the attention, but at the same time their joy is laced with resentment toward men. They resent that it’s all so deterministic. Women are particularly susceptible to this resentment of the opposite sex because they are more emotionally invested in the pretty lie that romance and love must “happen naturally”. Men, having in general less experience with inciting predictable responses in the opposite sex, don’t get so weepy-eyed for the loss of innocence when they learn a thing or two about how the opposite sex’s sexual attraction mechanism works.

Which is how I felt for a long time. Game used to be a blessing. But then, you get so proficient that the patterns become all that you see. Like the green cascading numbers in the Matrix, individual charming women morph into machines in your mind’s eye, fleshy cyborgs of buttons and levers and algorithmic code, with a power cord that leads straight to their vaj. In your drearier moments, you find it difficult to even hoist them to the level of a machine; you instead picture them as feral animals, all instinct, no heart. Feral animals that give you sustenance — meat, love, or preselection.

The first girl I fell in lust love with said two words to me. “Hi”. Twice. I didn’t game her. I didn’t know what game was, or even that women desired differently than men. But I did know the way she laid down on her stomach on a chaise lounge in her front lawn, reading a book, her pale-skinned thighs glistening in the summer sun as she swung her feet in the air like scissors. To this day, my memory of her retains a spark of mystery and whimsical, effervescent delight. I have slept with and fallen in love with many girls since, but with (almost) each one the spark and the whimsy have progressively dimmed. The dark knowledge of the crimson arts has given me what I want, but at a price. A steep price.

I bought a lover a diamond bracelet. Knowing that excessive complimentary gifts to a woman are inevitably value lowering, I presented the gift with the flourish of a scoundrel. “I was going to surprise you with a beautiful cubic zirconia, but unfortunately this is all I could steal back from my ex-girlfriend on short notice.” Smirk, pause, pause… yes… good reaction from her. I’m pleased with my handiwork. Very pleased. I think I’ll take a step back and admire the moment I just crafted.

I sometimes miss those unpredictable moments when I couldn’t take a step back.

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Things Your Real Estate Agent Won’t Tell You

In various hot spots around the city you will see units of public housing. Usually you can identify these complexes by the disrepair of the property and the empty liquor bottles littering the sidewalk in front. It’s easy enough to avoid renting or buying a place next to a dump, but what if the public housing is newly constructed? You could be fooled into thinking the neighborhood is a charming outpost of SWPLness.

There is another way to tell which properties are Section 8 hell matrices. Read the names. Almost all the low income properties (where there is a ceiling imposed on the income level of candidates for residency) have bright, sunshiney names like “The Horizon House”, “Hope Plaza”, The Dream on 17″, or “New Beginnings”. It’s a dead giveaway when you take the most noxious neighbors possible, and slap on their crack shacks the most innocuous, hopenchange-y names possible. Is this fooling anyone?

I think the same should be done for exorbitantly priced condo complexes in edge communities that are breeding grounds for non-breeding SWPLs. It would be great to immediately identify SWPL housing by its hypocritically earnest name. For example: “Sustainable Living Luxury Condos”, “Whole Foods In Basement So You Never Have To Venture Into The Neighborhood You Brag About To Your Suburban Friends Condo”, “The Super Artsy Lofts On Lobbyist Ave”, “$300,000 Premium To Pay For Hip Bar That You Can Walk To Condos”, and “No Impact Man Used To Live Here Apartments — Free Wifi!”.

I mean, if our sick culture is going to steep itself in lies, may as well go all out and lie like a rug. We can make a game of it.

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Why Do Conservatives Sanctify Women?

Reader LoboSolo sent me this article by conservative writer Paul Greenberg extolling the “innate superiority” of women.

I’ve never been much of a believer in historical theories about the Indispensable Man. There may be some examples — Washington, Lincoln, Moses — but they are few. But the indispensable woman, I believe in. Call it Greenberg’s Law: Women are the innately superior sex. My theory may not be backed by any scientific evidence, but it’s something every man has surely felt. At least if he’s got a lick of sense. […]

When it comes to great truths, each generation shouldn’t have to work them out by itself. They don’t have to be written down, any more than the English constitution is. Every boy soon learns that women seem to know intuitively what the weaker male sex may grasp only by effort and education. Which is why it requires marriage and family to civilize the male animal. He needs a woman’s tutelage.

Greenberg tells a story, among others, which purports to demonstrate unassailable female virtue:

Brighter boys learn the lesson of female superiority early; dimmer ones may never catch on. A story: It was homecoming weekend many years ago in Pine Bluff, Ark., and a clump of us stood on Main Street waiting for the black college’s high-stepping marching band to come striding by, drum major and majorettes and 76 trombones and all.

A venturesome little boy in the group stepped off the curb to look way up the street — where the little girl on the Sunbeam Bread sign, a local landmark, still swings endlessly to and fro. Way in the distance, the boy spotted the prancing majorettes throwing their batons high, higher, highest, catching them on the beat. “Wow!” he exclaimed, returning to report what he’d seen. His conclusion: “Girls have to know so many things!”

Lovely stories, Mr. Greenberg. Now let me tell you a story.

I’ve seen things you gullible chumps wouldn’t believe. Married women’s loins on fire off the rumpled sheets of my bed. A feminine Russian woman, her buttocks turned in my direction, sweetly asking me if I’d “like to do her in the ass” as her cell phone rings with the plaintive wail of her husband seeking her whereabouts. I’ve watched nipples harden in the dark near the cathedral gate, and behind the rectory doors. I’ve lain with the most virtuous women you could imagine — caring women who “have to know so many things” and who give dollars to homeless bums and who tear up during sad scenes in the movies — who freely allowed my member to violate them in every conceivable way in their husband’s and boyfriend’s beds, their writhing bodies, ecstatic moans, and gushing furrows testament to the lustful abandon with which they unshackled themselves of that other conservative virtue, fidelity. I once counseled the most darling woman — a young woman so exquisitely gentle and winsome I’d dare any man not to fall instantly for her — to stop her flowing tears for our doomed affair and, there on the sidewalk in midday, to return to her husband at her apartment which was two blocks down the street; the husband who, through years of his toil and love, put a roof over her underemployed head in one of the ritzier neighborhoods of the city. I have made love — God’s highest expression of devotion to His creation — with women in the company of small woodland creatures, scandalized roommates, and children who were, as best we dared, out of earshot of our erotic rustlings. I have witnessed women, caught in the snare of irrefutable evidence damning their supposed virtue, lie with the effortlessness of a soulless sociopath. In the moment of release, when we come closest to touching the Hand of God, I have been instructed by a wondrously virtuous woman to “rape her” and to “do it like you mean it”. Her screams of howling joy — pain or pleasure I could not tell — to this day echo in my memories. And, most enlightening of all, I have seen wives and girlfriends, their hearts once filled with seemingly endless and nourishing love, cruelly turn on their daft former lovers with a vengeance unmatched by even a wronged God. Such as the time a sizzlingly sexy brunette whose mouth I was gracing with the metaphorical appendage of God’s divine love answered a phone call, mid-oral delight, from her ex-fiancee (who it should be noted was recovering from a mental breakdown) to thank him for purchasing a $5,000 Tempur-Pedic mattress delivered to her apartment two weeks earlier. Her thank you’s sounded surprisingly sincere for a woman whose free hand was simultaneously cradling the fleshy pod holding the life-giving seed of another man.

All those moments will be lost in time, Mr. Greenberg, like tears in rain.

What is it with conservatives and their willful blindness to the true nature of women? Pedestalization of the Other (and its many permutations, c.f. “noble savage”, “gaiaism”, “diversity”, and “na’vi”) is a sickening act of self-abasement; a desperate denial that one could possibly be right when one has been so badly wronged, or that a wrongdoer could possibly be as bad as the facts attest. Perhaps those who engage in this sort of faith-based pedestalization of women are deathly afraid to confront the reality of female nature because it would impose on their tidy worldview. Perhaps they need a savior, in the form of women, like of god, to compartmentalize the darkness and symbolize something to aspire to. After all, if women are just as bad as men, where does that leave the sensitive man? Stuck now with double the responsibility to guard oneself against predation by both sexes, and to discard to the ash heap cherished notions of the fairer sex. Does this sound familiar? If you thought “beta”, you’d be right.

Where conservatives sanctify women, liberals demonize men. Not all conservatives and not all liberals, but enough of them that a valid generalization can be made. Whether sanctifying women or demonizing men, the end result is the same: laws, policies, and cultural beliefs that are anti-male, and which we in the West are soaking in today.

I believe the conservative’s and liberal’s instincts toward women can be explained by contrasting the peculiar life conditions of both:

• Conservatives, having grown up in larger, more intact families than liberals, and being thus surrounded by more sisters, aunts, and female cousins on a daily basis, are loathe to imagine those female relatives could be the alpha cock-hungry animals inside that they really are. Liberals, meanwhile, hailing from broken homes and guided under the tutelage of man-hating single moms with a revolving bedroom door, find it easier to grasp the amoral nature of women.
• Conservatives have less sexual experience with women than do liberals. I would not be surprised if it was discovered that liberal men lost their virginity at an earlier age than conservative men. Nothing teaches like experience.
• Conservatives believe women are morally child-like compared to men, that women are the weaker sex, and so cannot be held accountable for their actions. Liberals, who see white male oppression behind every human group difference, are more likely to individualize a woman’s bad actions and politicize a man’s bad actions.
• Conservatives are ashamed of their base desires. Thus, they recoil at the thought that the women they desire might share the same debased thoughts that they do. Liberals, by contrast, are proud of their base desires. And so they are more accepting of the knowledge that women are as depraved as men.
• Religious conservatives fear sex for its power to distract from god. It is better for them that women are thought of as empty vessels incapable of making sex-based calculations in their decisions. Secular liberals love sex for its power to distract from considering the merits of any moral code. It is better for them that women are thought of as sex-possessed tankgrrls ready to rumble across the Vaginot Line of mind-body liberation.
• Conservatives invest more in the idea of family than do liberals. A wanton woman is a grave threat to that idea, graver than even a wanton man, for reasons clearly elucidated by evolutionary biology. Ergo, women cannot possibly be as wanton as men.
• Conservative women are busier being pregnant and/or fatter than liberal women, and are thus less frequently able to act wantonly. This may skew conservative men’s impressions of women to being something more positive than it really is.
• Conservatives by temperament are drawn to the beautiful. Liberals by temperament are drawn to the degraded. Conservatives have trouble tainting with dark knowledge the beauty of a woman in her prime. Liberals relish the thought that a beautiful young woman would wallow in the mud just as enthusiastically as they do.

As a man who is drawn to both the beautiful and the degraded, my aim is to act as a bridge between conservative men and liberal men, holding the liberal’s hand tenderly to the conservative’s crotch. I shall bring understanding between the two mortal enemies, and together we shall march into the nearest bar, our minds fortified with the knowledge of women’s true natures and our hearts swollen with masculine conceit, and lay waste to that place, claiming battalions of pussy for our own. Without excuse, without apology. Without god, whether supernatural or political.

Women are vile creatures at heart, just as men are. An ugly truth, Mr. Greenberg, which even God can’t shield you from. Don’t let the batting eyelashes fool you.

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Valentine’s Day Mascara

Valentine’s Day is probably the one day of the year which presents special difficulties to the harem king attempting to juggle his multiple lovers. Birthdays and anniversaries are scattered and Christmas absences can be excused by claiming to spend time with family. But Valentine’s Day is that one day of the year that every girl in the known universe expects to be spending with the man who is laying intimately with her. So what does the Man With Multiple Lovers do on this most romantic of days?

I can tell you what the harem king doesn’t do: Tell the truth. There is some literature in the seduction community dealing with harem management (or “multiple long term relationships”) for truly advanced players, but what is counseled is something along the lines of 1. be honest, 2. reframe, and 3. be exceptionally high status. For most men, satisfying condition nmber 3 is unlikely, which is the most important variable in being able to successfully and *openly* manage multiple lovers. There is a reason that seduction community advice for handling MLTRs is so sparse and half-baked — it’s damned hard to do. The fact is that most successful players — alphas and greater betas alike — will lie out of expedience to enable the gravy train of multiple concurrent pussy to keep rolling. Honest and open MLTRs of the sort extolled by pickup instructors who are scared of being labeled misogynists are very rare. I estimate less than 0.5% of men can pull it off for longer than a few months. Eventually, one or more of the girls will tire of the arrangement and opt out, and it will usually be the highest quality [read: age 18- 25, BMI 17 – 23] concubine in his harem, because she is the one with the most options on the open sexual market.

As for reframing, yes, if your game is exceptional and your aloofness unshakeable, you can execute a smooth reframe with all your women and avoid lying to them about sleeping around. But I mean your game has to be tighter than an Asian chick’s virgin anus. And don’t expect it to last much beyond the four month mark. If you think kickass reframing will net you three hot, faithful, simultaneous long term girlfriends who dote on you for years, you need to come down to earth. Your game is not that good. Even pinnacle alpha males have trouble with this. You think Angelina Jolie would tolerate for long a second lover in Brad’s bed? Sure, she likely looks the other way at his dalliances (in much the same way Elin Woods ignored the evidence of Tiger’s blatant cheating for years until the dam burst), but Brad upholds his end of the bargain by LYING about those dalliances, either forthrightly or by omission. I’m assuming Brad is cheating, because the odds of a man of his status not cheating on a rapidly trannie-mogrifying wife like Jolie are infinitesimally low.

An alternative to psy-ops pimp-style harem management for successfully operating an open and honest MLTR is to relinquish your male prerogative as sole pussy possessor. If you state up front to your girls that your desire to bed a variety of women means it’s only natural you don’t place the same expectations of fidelity on them, you can amp up your aloofness game to maximum overload and actually pull off the coveted Open and Honest MLTR. Upside: You never have to worry about covering your tracks. (Roosh recently wrote a good post about track covering). Downside: You may be swimming in polluted vaj. The downside risk to this alternative is so anathema to the majority of men, that even if they have mentally rationalized their way to embracing the wonders of the open, polyamorous relationship, they will likely find it nearly impossible to control their emotions should they suspect one of their favored mistresses is fucking another man on the side. The god of biomechanics, the one true god, is not to be trifled with. This also explains why the denizens of professed polyamorous arrangements are usually ugly, fat, middle-aged hippies with greasy hair. When the grotesqueries you are banging are practically worthless in the sexual market, you don’t much care if they screw around. You aren’t losing much.

I don’t mean to be a complete downer on the concept of the open MLTR. There is a chance, not insignificant, that following the precepts of the open relationship by establishing early on with your women a very loose code of conduct could redound in your favor. Women aren’t linear in thought or action, so telling them they have the option to fuck on the side since that is what you will be doing does not mean that your women are actually going to follow through and fuck on the side. It could just as well result in them wondering in awe at your alphaness that you don’t care if your concubines “cheat” on you. This is aloofness game taken to the nth degree, and can often send the rationalization hamsters spinning so furiously that your multiple girlfriends won’t have the mental energy to expend seeking out additional male partners. They will instead spend their spare time analyzing the smallest details of your words and actions. Remember, too, that it is not in the nature of women to sleep with more than one man at a time, so the open relationship is often open in name only. What normally happens to open relationships is the primary (most attractive) girl bolts after a few months while the lesser girls squabble for sole rights to your time.

Which brings us back to Valentine’s Day. How does the man with multiple lovers deal with V-Day? Well, as I’ve amply demonstrated above, he doesn’t tell the truth. That would be sexual suicide for most men. He prefers not to blatantly lie either, not because of his tender concern for upholding a moral order in the universe, but because as a practical matter it’s hard to keep up with lies. And the inveterate player never lets his eye too far off the practical matters, even for men such as myself with a strong streak of romanticism. No, what he does instead is EVADE. And evasion is best accomplished through planning and foresight.

Let’s say you are currently banging three girls, rated 8, 7 and 5. You’ve been with the 8 for six months, the 7 for four months, and the 5 two months. (The 5 is your guaranteed booty call when you MUST BUST RIGHT NOW.) Obviously, the 8 is going to receive the bulk of your loving attention, and you will be most upset if she were the one to leave you. So you set up the official Valentine’s Day date with the 8. Plan to do the usual stuff with her — nice restaurant, flowers, charming flattery, wild sex. Two weeks before V-Day you call the 7 and tell her to make sure she keeps the weekend before Valentine’s Day free, because you are going to take her out and show her a good time. Then you call the 5 and tell her to be free a couple of days after V-Day. Why do you do this? By preemptively arranging dates with your lesser girls around Valentine’s Day, you buy yourself plausible exemption from having to spend time with them on V-Day itself. They will be so happy that you’re taking them out they won’t be too bothered by the fact that it’s not on Valentine’s Day. If they ask why you aren’t taking them out on V-Day (most girls won’t ask, as it would be an admission of their doubts about their worthiness to you), tell them you spend Valentine’s Day with your family. Or just say you’ll be out of town, so you wanted to see them before you leave. If the spirit moves you, have some flowers delivered to them on V-Day, which they will receive with warm smiles while you are blasting a glorious load in the face of your number one lover.

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Natural Game Is Dead

Has there been too much emphasis by the seduction community on teaching “natural game”? Are we headed down a road where everything we’ve learned about women’s motives and desires becomes clouded over by ideological status jockeying, as a retrograde belief among pickup instructors and authors of game books takes hold that the only true game is unthinking, unconscious natural game?

Reader “ProDude” sent me the following email:

Hi, I don’t care if this letter gets put on your site or not, i just had to get something off my chest.

The current state of game is absolutely terrible. As you said in an earlier post, the influx of the “natural” style is ultimately killing the scene in my opinion.

I went to a few of these small monthly PUA get togethers in NYC – you pay about 10 dollars, listen to an instructor or some other presenter talk for 40 minutes, then talk to the other dudes there to hopefully meet new wings (which is all well and good).

The last few times I went there were some fairly well known “Naturals” around the NYC area, one was supposedly a former instructor at a major company. And their speeches amounted to nothing less than the old “just be yourself” speech we are used to hearing.

Now, being that my approach is finely crafted over my time spent gaming to reflect my personality, I am a good person to give this advice to. However, as I looked around the room I saw some very different faces.
Older guys, balding guys, really weak looking guys, and a dude that I had learned got divorced 6 months earlier. At the front of the room sat a dude who was so greasy, that I was pretty sure I can taste and smell him just from looking at him.
And what was the advice [the instructor] was giving to these people? Basically – act like a drunk 25 year old.
Of course it would work for me – I am 25 and very social. Of course it work for him – turns out he is 26 and a pretty good looking dude. But what about the other people there? What about the divorced guy, the old guy, the weak guy and the stinky guy? are they gonna get laid acting like a frat guy? Probably not.
Sure, he made some good points during his 40 minute speech, I’m not gonna fault him for that.

However, an even funnier thing happened later – he invited a bunch of people out that night to sarge with him. I was honestly excited because I wanted to see how a person that games for a LIVING does in the field. We all met up at a hipsterish bar and everyone began working their game. But whats this? Was I outshining him? I absolutely hate to toot my own horn, but here I was getting stronger reactions from women than a guy that charges a thousand dollars to hang with him for a weekend.
Let me repeat, I am not a mack superhero, or one of those super PUAs that only exist in bullshitted field reports. But here I was, doing better than a pro. That’s bullshit, that shouldn’t happen.

So I leave you with the following questions.

What does it take to really be a good PUA? What does it take to teach? Why does every person that has ever gotten laid suddenly an “expert”? Who, in you experience, is the best PUA/instructor/teacher and why? All of this shit is really bothering me, because in my opinion game is here to undo the years of damage that society has done, but I am afraid it might just do the opposite if this weak shit goes unchecked.

This is a problem. As Venusian Arts pickup instructor “Knack” hinted at in this guest post, I suspect the seduction community is abandoning the hard-won lessons that made it successful in the first place. The Game Revolution is drowning under an onslaught of PUA ego self-stroking, marketing razzle dazzle, and simple sloth. Greed and hubris is killing it before it has had a chance to fully mature, accelerated by modern social networks.

Ideological revolutionary movements follow this pattern:

Apostasy

A determined intellectual core of demoralized subjects of the status quo revolt. First, they focus their critical gaze at society; then, they turn it upon themselves. In time, their disgust and anger with the present system coalesces into a call to action.

Rebellion

Like-minded individuals find each other, faster than ever thanks to the global information supersexway. Small groups begin to form, bringing curious onlookers and searchers for answers into their orbit of influence. A rebellious subculture is born, dedicated to acquisition and application of new knowledge and the discard of lies.

Agglomeration

Dissent among the rebels is freely expressed. Trial and error and hypothesis rule the day. Anger, hate, love, admiration flow like a river, as do lay reports. Internet message boards and forums blow up (See: alt.seduction.fast and fastseduction.com, circa 1997 – 2000). Creativity blooms, fueled by a chaotic energy. The best is weeded from the useless and a system for change takes shape. A movement arises, Commandments in hand.

Hierarchization

The ambitious and the clever capitalize on the new paradigm. Businesses and ordered governing bodies emerge to channel the yearning of the rebel masses. Knowledge filters down and brings its blessings to everyone willing to embrace it. There is much treasure to plunder, and a frantic race to cash in. A warning flare shoots up as egos grow too big.

Dissolution

The natural inclination of humans is to believe they have a better way. The tried and tested ideology of a successful movement strains and creaks as it is tugged from various directions by those who want to inch it in the direction of improvement or reform. This tendency is exacerbated by the greed of teachers and writers and self-glorifiers who need something to set their services apart from competing business models. The original movement splinters into petty factions, along the way sloughing off the hard-won knowledge that defined its success.

Infighting

Anger and hate return, but this time not in the service of creativity and revolution, but in the service of fighting over the scraps of followers with a dollar bill left to spend. All energy is wasted on self-promotion; little goes to actual learning. It is now social status uber alles for the instructors and mentors, a bunch who have grown fat and torpid on their success and fame and now find it easier to teach to the lowest common denominator — namely, the game of the “natural”, which is nothing more than the game of good looks, aloofness, and saying “Hi”.

Betrayal

At long last, the movement so devolves that it betrays the central tenets of its foundation. The original mission is lost, replaced by a lackluster adherence to pop psychobabble and a lazy reliance on “inner game” or “natural game”. Everything that makes game tough to learn but generous in reward is jettisoned in favor of feelgood nostrums and vague handwaving. Cynicism among the followers is rampant and the revolution winds down to a caricature of itself.

The state of seduction is at the moment somewhere between dissolution and betrayal. A cyclical process that normally takes decades or even centuries has been compressed into a mere ten years by the rapidity with which the internet permits the stages of revolution to progress.

I have heard now from a number of men who have participated in seminars and workshops that the pickup instructors are essentially relying on their good looks for in-field demonstration. Worse, they are inculcating students with a steady stream of half-baked “inner game” motivational shibboleths that do them absolutely no good when face to face with women. And they are slowly getting away from teaching the routines, tactics, logistics, psychological ploys and body language improvements that are at the heart of seduction.

My advice to the seduction community, and take this advice in the generous spirit it is given, is to get back to the basics. That means returning to the *science* of seduction, and abandoning the nebulous *art* of seduction. Natural game is a fool’s errand destined to fail for all but… well… naturals. There’s a reason I frequently cite Mystery’s original masterpiece “The Mystery Method”. Its routines may be dated, its focus too club-oriented, and its acronyms nerdy, but word for word it is the best compendium and most effective strategy sheet for meeting, seducing, and fucking women hotter than what you are accustomed to fucking. An example from my own life: During a two year stretch when I was using almost TO THE LETTER what I learned from Mystery Method and online forums to seduce women, I banged more babes than I did at any other time of my life.

My advice to potential students of seduction seminars and workshops: Save your money. There is too much chaff to separate from the few precious kernels of wheat. If you must spend exhorbitant fees on a questionable product, do your research first. That means actually talking to students who have taken the classes which interest you. In fact, if any of you have taken workshops and gone in field with pickup instructors I am offering you the opportunity to guest post on my blog with reviews of your experiences. Knowledge is power.

Natural game is dead. Long live artificial game.

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The Lie Of Locking Her In

It’s a nagging crescendo in my ear. Family is saying it, friends are hinting it: When are you going to settle down? Usually the words they use are along the lines of “Is she the one? You should think about sticking it out with this one. Do you want to be alone the rest of your life? Do you think you can play the field forever?”

Yes, I think I can play the field forever.

Why do people balk at those who choose the lifestyle of the love mercenary, of the wanderlust warrior? Envy, mostly. Sincere concern, rarely. These voices — social pressure that sows self-doubt — will influence most men. Very few men have the fortitude to live the life of Oswald Hendryks Cornelius. Marriage, and probable divorce, is in the cards for most men.

Why do men bother to get married? There’s really nothing in it for them. All that marriage offers a man can be had in a loving, long term relationship. So why? These are the best reasons rationalizations I can think of:

• I have to lock her in because the snatch must flow.

As any dead-eyed married man will tell you, the sex is always hottest until that first bite of wedding cake. Sure, marriage might mean fewer extended dry spells, and a more consistent output of pussy, but the quality of that output is going to take a nosedive.

Fact: Once in a secure relationship (and nothing is more secure for a woman than marriage — the law sees to that) a woman’s sex drive plummets. If you like your girl to move around a bit in bed and actually, you know, enjoy getting jackhammered by your beefy breach, marriage will see to it that she reads a trashy romance novel and sighs with boredom while asking “you done yet, honey?” while you huff and puff your way to another anti-climactic climax.

Fact: Women pack on the pounds after getting married. What good is consistent sex if it’s with a hippo? No wonder so many married men sneak away in the middle of the night to jack off to internet porn.

Fact: Your wife’s pussy will always be the same. Yep, one year, five years, ten years — that pussy looking back at you is like an old, very old, friend — that you no longer want to have sex with. Familiarity breeds contempt. When you’ve memorized the length and location of every pube and the droop of labia draggle, you’re going to ache for fresh meat. For men, variety is the spice of life. If older men maintained the libido of their younger selves you’d see extramarital affairs shoot through the roof.

• If I don’t marry her, she’ll leave me. And then I’ll be alone.

There are two things wrong with this reasoning. One, if you don’t have the confidence to score another woman in case of a break-up, then you don’t have the confidence to keep your current girlfriend attracted to you. It’s a self-fulfilling prophecy. Think you’ll be alone, then you will be alone, even when you’re not. Or: Fear is the mindkiller.

Two, marriage is no insurance policy against being unceremoniously dumped. Maybe it was at one time, but not anymore. A woman loses NOTHING that can compare to what you will lose if she decides to divorce you. Worse, in 2009 America there is every incentive in the world for a woman to divorce at the slightest drop in her attraction for her husband. Financial, legal, social, sometimes even sexual. The god of biomechanics does not take a holiday from reality once you slip a ring on your beloved’s finger.

• I might not do better.

Sure, but then you could lament the same thing in non-marital relationships. Look at your LTR. You might not do better. Look at your fling. You might not do better. Look at your fuckbuddy. You might not do better. Look at that old pic of your college sweetheart. You might not do better.

So… how is marriage going to save you from this fear-induced soul searching? It’s not. If anything, marriage is only going to rub your face in your testicular impotence. If your wife thinks you can’t do better, she’ll begin to treat you like women treat every man who can’t do better — shittily. Except now, she’s got the long arm of the marital law on her side, so you don’t even have the option to find out if you can do better without taking a world class ramming up the ass. As bad as dry spells are, they’re even worse when the pussy you used to tap has closed up shop and taunts you nightly from across the bed.

• She’ll stop loving me if I don’t marry her.

Assbackwards. Women don’t stop loving men for any reason except one — he turned beta. What about cheaters? Nope. Talk to women about their most cherished loves. You’ll notice something. Scorned women harbor their deepest love for the men who gutted their hearts. Not marrying her is more likely to have the opposite effect; the more you resist, the stronger her love for you.

Sure, some women do eventually leave men when it becomes clear to them that they aren’t going to propose. But that’s not the same as losing love for those men.

• She’ll never agree to a non-marital long term relationship.

You’d be surprised how quickly women will agree to your terms when you have her gina tingle on lockdown. And if she doesn’t agree? Find yourself a woman who does. The mere threat of leaving her over this issue will often be enough to bring her around to your way of thinking.

• I’ll just get married when I’m older. Late marriages have a lower divorce rate.

The reason younger marriages fail more often than marriages later in life is because younger people in their 20s have more options in the sexual market. Options = instability.

But don’t crow about the benefits of later marriages. For one, older women don’t have as many prime fertile years left in which to bear children. Two, later marriages often feel more like business propositions than ecstatic vows of love. That is not a good thing.

• I’ll live longer as a married man.

Leaving aside that this statistic may be more myth than reality, what benefit is it to you to live a few extra years shuffling along painfully in well-worn slippers and gazing longingly outside windows at youth frolicking with the joy of health and vigor? My take on getting older: It’s immortality or bust.

• It’s the right thing to do.

Right thing? I don’t give a shit. Good man? Fuck you! Go home and play with your pud. You wanna good life — don’t close! You think this is abuse? You think this is abuse, you cocksucker? You can’t take this, how can you take the abuse you get in divorce proceedings?

• It’s good for society.

You’re right, it is. But since when did society give a fuck about you?

• But I really love her.

Did you not really love her before you dropped to one knee?

• I want to have kids.

This might be the only halfway acceptable reason to get married. If you want the best for your kids, raising them in a broken home is not the way to do it. But even here, women have the upper hand. No matter how much you love your kids, if a divorce happens (50% chance, 70+% chance the wife initiates it) you are going to be paying child support for the new lingerie your ex-wife buys to sexually please her blogger lover.

I don’t see how any man could want kids, though. Kids are a complete fun suck. They don’t get enjoyable until ages 11-13, after they’ve evolved from bratty ingrates and before they’ve turned into brooding ingrates. If men would think long and hard about kids, they’d come to the same conclusion I did: Changing diapers or sex in the woods? The choice is clear.

To all those imploring that I settle down, I say: Don’t hold your breath. Yes, I will get older. But then, I would have gotten older in a marriage, too. Yes, there is a risk I could live out my final, rapidly deteriorating years in solitude. But then, marriage is no guarantee of a life lived loved. A signature on a dotted line and a jointly filed tax return does not protect you from living loveless and solitary. There is also the small matter of my inquisitive eye. Even when I love the girl I’m with, it seems that when I’m out I can’t help but admire another beautiful woman in the vicinity, and to desire her in the most intimate manner. I imagine scenarios flirting with her, making her smile and her eyes sparkle, her legs cross and uncross in sublimated autoeroticism. This urge of mine does not have an off switch.

I know that hedonic convergence does not magically manifest in the gleam of a gold ring. Life is a parade of worry and high wire risk, of love and loneliness, and no socially manufactured arrangement exists to insulate you from your dreaded fears. To imagine otherwise is beta.

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Barack Obama’s Petty Peace Prize

Did Obama successfully end a war I was unaware of? Did he open an anti-American church in Chicago? Did a member of the Nobel committee get a sweetheart no-money-down deal on a Chicago penthouse?

Any “peace” prize that is awarded to Jimmy Carter and Barack Obama but not to Ronald W. Reagan, who did more for the cause of world peace than any other leader of the past 50 years by helping unshackle millions from the scourge of genocidal Communism, is not worth the froo froo parchment it’s printed on.

We are living in the Age of Great Lies. Keep calling out their bullshit. The liars are starting to get nervous.

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