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Archive for the ‘Rules of Manhood’ Category

You can ramp up a woman’s ardor with a few simple “powerlust moves”. One that has never failed to generate hot hot heat beyond the usual steamy release is when I sidle up to my ladyhawke from behind, put my arms around her waist (one hand slithering to a shaded resting place in her underboob), and, as she begins to twist around to meet my intrusion, whisper in her ear “Ah ah, don’t turn around”.

Her head might swivel backward a little after that, revealing the corner of a lip-parted arousal, and I’ll reiterate, “Don’t look”. Now she’s stuck facing forward, maybe over the kitchen sink noticing tree leaves ripen in the summersun through the window, engulfed by my body while my patriarchy presses into her behind. I lift her dress, or unzip and yank down her pants, and explore like a White colonialist of old. All the time she is yielding to my loving molestation, her back is to me; she never locks eyes. This combination of male entitlement, commanding presence, and her sensual vulnerability is lethal to the female limbic system, dynamiting her dendritic fuses in a volcanic shower of molten gash-ash.

Male dominance is the female rationalization hamster killer. No woman can resist. No man should underestimate the allure of his controlled dominance to women. The Powerlust Moves are about projecting dominance through aesthetic, physicality, and word. Set the romantic scene, invade her personal space, and issue the command. The pussy has been waiting to submit for too long.

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This is glorious. Based Stick Man, Kyle Chapman, leading a charge headlong into a scattering pack of freakazoid antifa dweebs, vanquishing the marxist vermin one and all. Cinco Jotas has a great write-up on the incident here.

This really belongs on the upcoming Welcome Back, America blog. Watching this inspires me to join the fight and crack antifa skulls. Or maybe I was there? ūüėČ

PS The Maul-Right has the best ideas. Like this one about ending Limited Liability and delivering a death blow to the managerialist state.

PPS TOG objects, on the grounds that fighting back in the streets against antifa plays into the (((alinskyites’))) agenda. I agree more with Cinco Jotas (and similarly with commenter PA) that normal Americans taking¬†to the streets to fight¬†sends the crucial message that the antifa scum don’t and won’t own the public space. Both TOG’s caution and CJ/PA’s call to arms can be heeded; the messages aren’t mutually exclusive. Fight antifa, AND¬†fight the Sorosian agents of chaos. This is a multivariate, multivectorial war of soon-to-be existential proportions, and that means the Maul-Right has to bring ALL its tactics and weapons to bear on the enemy.

PPPS Uh oh! Looks like Berkeley’s mayor, Jesse Arreguin, is a member of BAMN, a far left antifa-supporting group that advocates street violence.

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Every administration member should have to pass a “doe-eyed suffering child” test. If he or she can’t look at a photo of a suffering child without starting a war, they’re automatically disqualified from participating in national security decisions.

Naturally, this will rule out 99% of women from public service.

***

Reader (and now Gabber) PA adds,

They all pass the “doe-eyed suffering child test” when the child is Swedish.

Or French. Remember that photo of the tarp-covered French child after an Islamofreak rammed his truck into a crowd of French parade-goers? Our Globohomo leaders weren’t shouting for war with Greater Gutterabia. In fact, just the opposite….the scumbags were calling for MORE immigration of Muslims into the West.

Good things happen to bad people and bad things happen to good people all over the world all the time. It’s not the job of America to play God meting out justice. If every suffering child was cause for military intervention by America, we’d be balls-deep in civil¬†wars and tribal conflagrations in the four corners of the world for eternity, or until our coffers finally dried up and we could no longer afford the luxury of preening moral profligacy.

You reading, Ivanka?

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If you can’t handle getting rejected ten times successively by ten different girls, you aren’t ready for the Game.

It happened to me, once. Over three weeks, I tried and failed to close ten girls. Tough sledding, to be sure. But I stayed outside my head, and never allowed it to get to me (beyond a post-rough patch recollection of the numbers of girls involved while telling the tale to friends).

No womanizer who’s worth his colloquial designation would fold after ten successive rejections. Maybe he’d muse on his streak of bad luck, but he’d never question his desirability to women. That’s the kind of knee-jerk emotional spasm reserved for blubbery beta males riven with self-doubt after ONE rejection.

You’ll know you’ve achieved Rod Emperor status when failed pickups leave no more impression on your psyche than failed lottery tickets.

After that three-week twat trough, the fourth week shone its labial light upon yours unruly: three numbers, two makings of the love.

He persisted, and she submitted.

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A rare breed — the low self-esteem hottie — is a delight at the moment of¬†capture in the wild, and a curse when thereafter responsible for her caged domestication.

Naked in a lover’s bedroom and sitting on her desk, one leg propped on the desk’s chair (feel free to picture this), I was fiddling¬†with knick knacks, smiling at her equally naked form lithely¬†upright on the bed, when she sheepishly¬†pulled the bedsheet over her knees. Morning light struggled to pierce the¬†heavy canvas curtain over the window and she seemed to retreat into shadow.

“I’m embarrassed. I don’t have a great body,” she said.

I studied¬†her quizzically, deciding her segue, which was completely at odds with the fact of her great body, deserved a sincere reply. “Really, you have a beautiful¬†body. You don’t need to feel embarrassed.”

The combination of her surprising vulnerability and the sound of my voice comforting her as it mouthed the words “you have a beautiful body” caused a rehardening of the dick-shaped diorama I had impertinently¬†thrown across¬†her desk and chair. The rehardening created a sublime scene in which¬†my supportive words could not have been more blatantly affirmed by my exquisitely timed tumescence.

The ideal low self-esteem hottie is the girl who accepts your sincere affirmations without reservation, and grows with your guidance to become a less neurotic woman, bonding more strongly to you along your shared path. Unfortunately, I have met exceedingly few of these kinds of low self-esteem hotties (who themselves are a minority among the high self-esteem hotties). The typical low self-esteem hottie gets worse the longer one dates her; relationships or flings that are heading toward relationship status — and thus more security for the woman — have the opposite effect on the LSE hottie, nourishing her¬†neuroticism and feeding a manipulative compulsion to sabotage the relationship with her self-doubt and obsessive demands for external validation.

In fact, my take is that the LSE hottie is an evolved female archetype whose purpose (unbeknownst to her) is to filter out supplicating men unable to resist her vulnerability charms and who are given to alleviating¬†her self-doubt whenever she deems their services necessary. These weak men lose her interest rapidly. What she wants is the strong man who knows the right amount of comforting validation is the smallest amount possible without pushing her over the edge to self-cutting. This man — the alpha male — gives her a little, and takes from her more than a little, which has the effect of placing emotional guardrails around her urge for approval-seeking manipulations.

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paddy unsheathes a shibboleth-smashing shiv.

Trump and Jeb! Bush similarities:

both taller than average, attractive enough
both wealthy from birth
high-ish IQ, educated

Yet look at the differences in their women!

Says it all. Will this open the eyes of the sexual market deniers? The Game deniers? The sex difference deniers? No, but it will make them squirm. Which is nice.

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Courtesy of Reb, a very, uh, vivid anecdote of life after nofap.

Every 7 days is what I heard. I went no fap in jail a few times. I had the power of an animal. Fucked the first blond woman with big tities whom I approached when I got out. She was on birth control so her pussy sprayed the kid out like a plate of spaghetti two days after.

There should be a healthy balance between nofap and gofap. Strict nofap is an ascetic demand too great on the male body, unless the man is supplementing his literal downtime with a rigorous protocol of vajfap. But gofap — constant and unregulated personal indulgence of fapping — poses risks to a man’s health as well, mostly I’d guess through gradual wearing away of psychological defenses against crippling self-doubt. The gofapper is typically a man who struggles in the acquisition of the preferred vajfap release, so each crabbed-hand fap over time reinforces limiting beliefs in his sexual and seductive prowess.

The optimal ejaculation frequency is therefore going to be lower for gofappers, higher for nofappers, and like baby bear’s porridge, juuuuuust the right amount for vajfappers. There’s something to be said for “cleaning the pipes”, but more to be said for laying pipe. Really, there’s no upper limit on vajfap; the healthiest (in every measurable way) men I know vajfap like it’s their last. If there’s attractive vaj that wants fapping, the good and honorable vajfapper will never turn it down. Hedonism has its privileges.

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