Shady Character Game

With the right props and an inscrutable demeanor, you can take advantage of women’s instincts to be attracted to violent, unpredictable, enigmatic men. What’s that you say? Hot babes don’t go for criminals, thugs, or cold-blooded soulkillers? Keep telling yourself that.

If your lying eyes aren’t enough to convince you of the depraved nature of women’s desire, take it from the commenters who have every incentive to prove me wrong.

S. (a girl) wrote:

I don’t think something as far as implying you were a killer would be effective, since I wouldn’t want to be left alone with the guy. The person I’m currently seeing tells me that he implies he used to do a lot of drugs because it builds intrigue, in spite of it not being true. When I went to help him move however, I found some court documents for things like vandalism, petty theft, etc. and I was surprisingly more unfazed than I should have been.

Do you want a woman eating out of your palm? Make her think you’ve killed people! Don’t actually tell her, of course. Just leave subtle hints about a shady past you may or may not have had. Let her fill in the blanks. Although they will never admit it, women love filling in the blanks of the lives of their men. By cultivating an aura of mystery you give your women permission to indulge their need for manufactured drama. This is what women do best: Create worlds of pointless drama to impart meaning to the childless void in their lives. Men don’t do this because the very nature of men’s existence is drama, AUTHENTIC drama, from birth (more male babies than female babies die) to death (men die younger and die more often from accidents, disease, and violence).

Commenter Madras offered some good ideas for Shady Character Game:

Two tricks I use for relationship/regular-fuck-buddy game:

1.  Put a round under the pillow she is going to use every once in a while and let her find it.

2.  Forward her news articles about un-solved murders.

This would work. Here are my suggestions (some from personal experience):

• Cut letters of various shapes and sizes from magazines and make a threatening note to an anonymous recipient. “Forget” to mail this “letter” and keep it semi-hidden in your top desk draw. One thing I’ve learned over the years — if a woman likes you she is eventually going to snoop through all your shit. You won’t be able to stop her, no matter how diligently you watch over your stuff. Because of this sinister female reality, I have perfected the art of the “rapid evacuation shit”, so that when I have a girl over and I have to take a dump, I can force out the turds at lightning speed and be done in under 15 seconds, less time than she is able to start poking around my place. I’ve had times where I was in the bathroom for a couple of minutes enjoying a pleasant dump, and when I finished the girl was standing at the bathroom door confronting me about a CD she found next to my computer that another girl had made for me.
• Do you have arrest records? Keep them hidden in plain view. The worse the infraction, the wetter she’ll get. Unless its an arrest for possession of child pornography. If you don’t have arrest records, you can find guys who do and make photocopies of theirs, then scan the copies into your computer and use photoshop to change the name. Best type of arrest: Manslaughter. She’ll think you killed a man who probably deserved it and you had a good lawyer who got you off.
• Keep one long, sharp knife in a separate kitchen drawer by itself. Never use it to cut food. Bonus: It has an ivory handle carved with arcane Pagan symbols.
• Store drug paraphernalia in a cabinet. When she asks, tell her they’re “items of interest”.
• Did you cut yourself badly once? Save that blood-stained garment in your dresser. Alpha move: Put a “bullet hole” through the blood stain. Super alpha move: The garment is a woman’s blouse.
• Do you have any Mafia connections in your family? I do. (See: Goodfellas, Scene I, Upstate New York). Hang on the wall an old photograph of your great grandfather looking like a sharp-dressed Don.
• Keep a small, black velvet purse full of cubic zirconia stones (or if you’re really poor, quartz crystals) stashed in your bedside table.
• Passports with stamps from countries designated by the CIA as sponsoring terrorism or those which have no diplomatic ties with the United States are sure to pique your woman’s interest. For a pointer, see this list. If you haven’t been to these countries, just make your own stamps and read Wikipedia for a cursory knowledge of the local culture and political climate. She’ll never know the difference.
• Never let her see, or put something inside, the trunk of your car. If she presses, tell her the lock is broken.
• Install a large safe. Never tell her about it, or what’s inside. Keep one dried black rose in the safe. “Accidentally” leave the safe lock combination in full view one day for her to find.
• Do you have an attic or basement? Buy a large, antique oak chest with a giant lock and store it there.
• Occasionally rise from bed at 3AM while she snoozes. Leave for an hour. When you return, rustle the sheets a lot so she wakes up. Do this twice a month for a year.
• Own a gun.
• Own a vial of arsenic.
• Own a green-eyed black cat.
• Have a crate full of videocassettes or microfiche in your closet marked “Drop off points”, “Runners”, “Moles”, and “Sabine”.
• In blood red ink, have what looks like a love note in your jewelry box with the words “You did this to me” written on it.
• Have a “lost year”. When she asks you about it, assume the thousand yard stare, sigh heavily, and say “There’s not much to say.” Smile, and pour yourself a cup of tea immediately after saying this. It adds weightiness to your words.
• Edit a family home video of yourself as a child with interspersed frames of a cute but unkempt girl sitting on the floor in the corner of an empty, dimly lit room speaking to the unseen cameraman. She is dragging her hand through her hair while saying “I can’t right now”, “Stoooop”, and “I won’t tell anyone”. You will need to have made the “girl on floor” film with one of your girlfriends. Remind yourself to do this. Once you have finished this creepily intriguing edited film, place the cassette or DVD in plain view so your current girl(s) see it.
• Take a bunch of old-style, photo booth pictures of you and a girl you’re dating. Draw a thick black bar over the eyes of your girl. After you break up, save these “girlfriend redacted” photos for a future girlfriend to stumble across.
• Build a darkroom.
• Give yourself a cool facial scar.

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If You Call A Girl By Another Girl’s Name

Don’t panic. Carry on as if your flub didn’t happen. The worst thing you could do would be to call attention to your crushing of your Special Snowflake’s special-ness. Don’t feel guilty. Guilty players have got no rhythm. Guilt will compel you to reflexively atone for sins real and imagined.

YOU: Seduce seduce seduce Heather seduce seduce seduce.

HER: You just called me Heather. My name’s not Heather.

YOU: Oh yeah, how ’bout that. Weird. One of my little nieces is named Heather. You must remind me of her somehow. Maybe the brattiness?

I have mixed up the names of plenty of girls. It happens a lot when I’m dating three or more girls concurrently. I will whip myself into a psychocathartic herbpulp later for the grossly misogynistic thing I’m about to say [yes, yes I will, I surely will], but you ladies all blend into one another when I’m sitting across from you at the bar sharing drinks and a story from your life. I can remember the details of how your asses meet the backs of your thighs, but your nonprofit jobs and travels to “that really amazing and beautiful” place somewhere in the world where a million other girls of your station in life went to for slutcation just sort of melds into a buzzing grrlnoize of boring mindrot. And so it is without malice of heart that I explain the rather prosaic reason for why I sometimes get you, Dasha, mixed up with you, Julie. If I were a beta who only managed to date one woman per year and consequently obsessed over that one woman, I might do better at remembering your names.

So take it as a positive sign that you have successfully captured the attention of an alpha male when he mixes up your name with that of his “niece”. You don’t want no fake alpha, ladies!

Similarly, I will sometimes forget your names during our courtship. I mean blanking out completely. Don’t take it personally, though. I’m a busy guy with lots of important thoughts in my head, like how to raise my status so that more pretty girls like you are drawn to my sexual dynamism. When I forget your name, I feel embarrassed, but I won’t ever let it show. Instead, I will either a) wait for someone else to address you and recoup your name that way, b) sneak a peek at your license, or c) say “I have a confession to make… [PAUSE WITHOUT SMILING]… I have forgotten your name.” Please note the past participle form of that last sentence; the passive voice helps the medicine go down.

This has never failed me. The one time I forgot a girl’s name and attempted to rescue the situation by “being myself”, I paid for it with no sex.

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Away From The Company Of Women

I am never in the company of men after 5.
– Bertrand Morane

After sex, the company of women can be a drag.
– Me

I spend a lot of time with women. Either seducing them, fucking them, fucking with them, listening to them, scratching the napes of their necks, or examining them like a disassembled timepiece. The purpose of such mingling goes deeper than enjoying the pleasure of their company. Books, mentors, a willingness to discard delusion and lies, and a keen eye will aid a man in his divine quest to acquire as much sex and love as he can handle from beautiful women, but no impetus to personal growth is as effective as direct interaction with the subject. Whether sex is or is not the goal, being around women sharply flattens the learning curve. There may be a gene yet discovered which grants its possessor the innate ability to know how a woman ticks, but if there is such a gene, it is a neural algorithm that quickly decays from disuse. Even the best naturals had to buck up and endure spend glorious time around women before their Asmodeus-blessed gifts could find full expression.

Given this reality, some men might make the understandable mistake that their every waking moment should be with women or, if no women are physically present, with women in their thoughts. This would be a false extrapolation. Like a diligent scientist deep in the bowels of his flourescently dismal lab who has forgotten the feeling of the sun on his face, a man who spends all his free time with women risks degeneration of his masculine core. Inhalation of the estrogenic fumes of too much distaff attention and his spirit becomes arthritic, his testicular acuity blurs into maudlin mush. Perspective is lost.

Men would do well to occasionally distance themselves from women and their petty intrigues, and the best way to do this is not through solitude but in the company of other men, reveling in hearty chest thumps, metaphorical or real, and swearing bloodstirring oaths to doctrines good and great that elude the grasp of women stuck in the mud of their uninspiring, earthy practicality. And men, unlike women, are capable of their high drama without uttering a word.

Let me cut to the chase: Women are mostly boring. Even, maybe especially, the brightest and most overeducated among them can induce cataract-like glazing of the eyes if given enough comfort and a sympathetic ear to unleash the menstrual force of their vaggy stream of consciousness. Disconnected from their bodies and sexuality, their flirtations and flattery, and their charm and whimsy, women are incapable of seriously entertaining for any length of time greater than the duration from leer to spent urge any but the most desperately cloying of men. Sure there are exceptions — women of particularly engaging personalities and surprising fondness for the abstract — but these exceptions serve merely to remind a man of the depressing drabness of the mass of women with their meager, provincial concerns.

Don’t lose contact with the world of men. Their vigorous, purposeful company is a refreshing tonic to the pedestrian prattle, contrived machinations, and histrionic solipsism of women.

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The Mother-Daughter Coefficient of Fading Beauty

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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Spot The Alpha

A reader sent me this photo of a bunch of DC bartenders who won some sort of bartending awards for best in business. The quality of the photo is not good, but it’ll have to do. The previous “Spot the Alpha” post was a big hit with the ladies.

Usually the alpha male (or female) is the most comfortable-looking person in the room. Who looks most comfortable to you in this photo? Who is the alpha male?

The three guys on the left look the most uncomfortable. Their bodies are stiff and their faces are studies in expressionless reserve. Their fashion sense is conservative. Two of the men are holding their drinks with both hands above belt level. Verdict: Solid provider betas.

The tall, striped tie smiley guy in the back row looks like a frat boy. He’s confident and happy — currency he trades for female attention — but it’s the confidence of the class clown. Verdict: Greater beta.

The Disco Stu guy in the middle with the wide collared, unbuttoned shirt and spiky haircut is a PUA. Well, I don’t know this for sure, but that would be my guess. I bet he’s in the community. The telltale signs are there — regular tanning booth customer, extra-wide smile, looking straight into the camera lens, hands all over the ladies (the fat one is enjoying it). There are a lot of short guys in the PUA community. I leave it as an exercise for the reader why this is so. Verdict: Lesser alpha.

The fat girl should not be a bartender. You gotta have face to move product.

The semi-cute Latina looking girl definitely likes it in the pooper.

The goth dude with the intense gaze of a thousand Mongol warriors (or of a thousand brooding adolescents in detention for scratching devil symbols into school desks) has captured the essence of lone wolf, “I’m a rebel, Dottie” game. He is the Sneaky Fucker, or the Niche alpha. His dark style is deliberate, and he wears it well from years of welding it directly to his identity. He’s creepy looking, which I’m sure was his intention. He’s a natural peacocker, and in normal environments will stand out just enough to attract some female attention in the 4-7 range. (In his own environment — Black Cat perhaps? — he is more comfortable and probably has a stable of cokehead groupies.) Outside in the light, he cannot go head to head with a natural alpha, as most brooders are too introverted and retiring to exercise the necessary social dominance to attract the maximum number of hot babes. When he retreats from gaming the truly quality chicks in a normal, non-vampiric milieu, he will likely tell himself they were beneath him anyway. He may also be a PUA of the Mystery Method school. Verdict: Lesser alpha.

The droopy-faced man standing to the left of goth dude (to the viewer’s right) is vanishing. He’s representative of the mass of nondescript betas that swarm around women like so much dust in the wind. Verdict: Lesser beta.

The short, Harold Ramis looking guy with glasses to the left of invisible man is an interesting case study. He shares much on certain alpha metrics with Disco Stu guy. He seems to have a sense of style, confident body language, liberal use of resting his hands on other people, and a smiling, upbeat facial expression, but because he looks like a dork he is less alpha than Disco Stu. He needs to tone down the smile to avoid looking “try hard”. I would also tell him to get Lasik, and a new hair style. Judging by his high forehead, he’s a smart guy, and so will understand and heed my advice. Harold Ramis guy is your classic fun-loving, sociable nerd who sometimes annoys girls with his bold, but charmless, approaches. Verdict: Beta.

Finally, the Matthew McConaughey looking dude on the far right of the photo. He looks the most comfortable and self-assured of all the men. Note the perfect hint of a smile — not too forced, not too pinched. What does this say? It says “You, cameraman, have not yet won me over.” His style is good; fashionable without tipping over into silly peacocking. His chin is held slightly higher than parallel with the ground, which subcommunicates alphaness. His body stance is strong. I wouldn’t be surprised if he were standing contrapposto when this photo was taken. Also note he does not put his hands on anyone; he doesn’t need to. Guys who are constantly resting their hands on other guys’ shoulders are playing dominance games. True alphas do not need to do this. They have enough alpha credit to spare that lending their shoulders as a prop for lesser men to climb upon does not lower their value. One more thing to note: He is neither holding a drink nor shoving his hands in his pockets. It is alpha to keep your hands at your sides, relaxed, with a slight bend in the elbow to avoid the perception of stiffness. Verdict: Natural Alpha.

Interestingly, I would bet it’s not Natural Alpha who has banged the most girls. I would give that honor to Disco Stu.

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Younger Women Are Good For A Man’s Health

It’s a truism that oftentimes the things that feel good to us are also good for us. A recent German study found that men live longer if they marry younger women, and that the longevity benefits accrue with each additional year the woman is younger than the man. (Hat tip: reader Conscientious Observer)

A man’s chances of dying early are cut by a fifth if their bride is between 15 and 17 years their junior.

The risk of premature death is reduced by 11 per cent if they marry a woman seven to nine years younger.

Every man reading this is saying to himself “They needed a study for this?”. Every woman reading this is saying to herself “I cream for my oevrlord!”.

And in a shocking… shocking, I say!… discovery, older women are bad for a man’s health.

The study at Germany’s Max Planck Institute also found that men marrying older women are more likely to die early.

What about the fabled cougars and their false bravado boosterism for the delights of hard-up boy toys?

The results suggest that women do not experience the same benefits of marrying a toy boy or a sugar daddy.

Wives with husbands older or younger by between seven and nine years increase their chances of dying early by 20 per cent.

Hilarious. As for women dying younger when married to an older man, that’s a feature, not a bug. Since he’s older and has a shorter lifespan as a man, she’ll die right around the same time as him. Hollywood romance!

The study’s authors theorize why this might be so.

Scientists say the figures for men may be the result of natural selection – that only the healthiest, most successful older men are able to attract younger mates.

“Another theory is that a younger woman will care for a man better and therefore he will live longer,” said institute spokesman Sven Drefahl.

I have a better theory. When a man is banging a hot chick half his age he wants to stay alive as long as possible! Incentives matter.

Maxim #93: The rare older woman-younger man pairing is like a lab experiment gone wrong. It violates the natural order of things, and leaves its practitioners emotionally twisted and in a constant mental race to hyperrationalize their subpar mate choice.

The younger man in such a bizarro world December-May coupling has no interest in her rusty muff beyond dumping a few fucks in her until someone younger and hotter comes along. The older woman knows she is an expedient hole and will never be loved by her boy toy, nor will she ever truly be able to love him. (Women are wired to experience difficulty falling in love with younger men.) Hers is a loveless future of cats and belly roll lint.

And so what you see are weirdo new-age divorcees and rode hard and tossed away wet single moms bleating most loudly about the glories of the younger man, because in point of fact they cannot attract the sorts of men they most want. They wave away their sad predicament with a bowl of sour grapes and transparent sloganeering. There are certain types of women nearly all men avoid for anything more substantial than a few rolls in the hay. Two types that are always at the top of that no-go list are eccentric, deranged divorcees and bitter, emotionally arid, caustically unfeminine single moms.

Go forth, brothers, and sweep a younger woman off her feet. You now have the stamp of science validating your lechery.

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Getting Rusty

Whether because of laziness, preoccupation with job and hobbies, or falling into a steady, comfortable pattern with a girlfriend, time away from the game will kill your game faster than cumulative rejections, self-limiting beliefs, or hanging with a beta crowd. It’s like high blood pressure, the silent killer. You don’t even realize your game is suffering until it’s too late and a beta embolism seizes you in a death grip.

I used to think that once you learned game it would stay with you for life no matter how much time you spent away from it, like riding a bicycle. Now, I know this isn’t true. Within a month of departure from the field, your game will begin to degrade. First your outer game will deteriorate, then your rock solid inner game — your confidence — will start to show cracks. Finally, if you don’t take active steps to counter the slide to betatude, you will completely revert to your old self. You see this a lot with freshly minted divorced men. They’ve been out of the game so long they have the mannerisms, attitude, and courtship skills of a socially retarded high school A/V club freshman, adrift in a sea of bitch sharks.

The Descent of Alpha follows this trajectory:

—> Master Seducer commits to a girlfriend or, heaven forfend, gets married. He spends most of his free time with her.

One month passes without hitting on fresh meat.

—> Master Seducer is out with his boys and sees a hot chick. Preparing to approach, he hesitates for just a second. Guilt over his GF? Or something much, much more ominous? For a brief instant he struggles to find an opening gambit. This is an odd feeling for him. The opening line used to come second nature. He can’t remember the last time he had to scan his brain for an acceptable conversation starter. Is his GF’s pussy fogging his mind?

Two months pass without hitting on fresh meat.

—> Master Seducer is walking down the sidewalk and notices a chick who is just his type walking toward him. He is sexually satiated from his GF’s loving daily ministrations, but a dying ember within compels him to summon the old swaggering dick-swinging demon. And this girl is just the one to inspire him. He makes his move, but to his astonishment he says something about the tourist season. Their friendly, sexually neutered conversation soon falls apart, as he knew it would. Curses! Casual game! His normally charming asshole game has betrayed him. He wonders why he said what he did.

Three months pass without hitting on fresh meat.

—> Master Seducer, who has by now been demoted to Master Beta Boyfriend, has not hit on a new girl since he met his girlfriend. He wakes in the middle of the night in a cold sweat wondering if he’s still “got it”. Determined to put his growing fears behind him, he takes advantage of a weekend his girlfriend will be out of town to hang with his crew and recapture the old glory. He figures he’s already got regular pussy, so he’ll be free to experiment and be as bold as he wants. In the field surrounded by all the glittering new beauties, a flicker of doubt briefly rattles him, but he forces it aside and strides purposefully into set after set like the King Dong he used to be. Unfortunately, his game is sloppy, scattershot, and misses the mark more than it hits. As set after set fizzles, he grows more timid in his conversations. He forgets fundamentals like hitting on the fat chick first and negging the hot babe early. He forgets to qualify. He even catches himself standing in a defensive posture. He goes home numberless, but consoled that at least he has pussy waiting for him.

Four months pass without hitting on fresh meat.

—> Our Master of Nothing has decided to throw in the towel. He’s got a great GF and maybe his new game-free outlook on life is the natural progression of becoming a well-rounded man. Like yin and yang, the alpha and beta must coexist. Too bad for our anti-hero his girlfriend has myteriously stopped giving him unsolicited blowjobs. She snaps at him for inconsequential infractions. He has stopped flirting with other women when they go out together. His egregious flirting at parties used to piss the hell out of his girlfriend, but the night always ended in floorboard shaking sex. Now, the night ends with a movie and soft, tender lovemaking — at least from him — that leaves her unsatisfied.

Six months pass without hitting on fresh meat.

—> Master of Herbs has done all the right things: He’s stopped catting around, he’s paid more attention to his girlfriend, he’s been a dutiful boyfriend with eyes only for her. So why did she leave him? All he knows is that he’s been thrust into the field, cold and unarmed, and his glorious past BG (Before Girlfriend) where he hardly ever went a week without new pussy is just a distant memory. He flails wildly in set. His confidence is shattered. He spends $5K for a workshop with Lance Mason. We can rebuild him. We have the technology…

***

The first thing to go when you have stopped gaming girls is your asshole game. Asshole game is like the dick in the coalmine. When it goes flaccid, you’ve got big problems on the horizon. Asshole game is probably the surest marker of healthy testosterone levels. It’s also the leading edge of tight game and the most sensitive to any beta backsliding. If you’re concerned about losing your mojo, pay close attention to your inner asshole. Have you stopped referring to girls as “bitches” and “dirty whores”? Have you stopped making fun of them and risking getting blown out? WARNING! You have taken your first steps betawards.

Ask your friends to observe you in set and grade you on your assholery. Third party feedback is invaluable for avoiding the dreaded fates of the Complacent Herb in a Relationship or the Lazy Beta Too Self-Satisfied to Bother. If you can keep your asshole game sharp, the rest of your game will be safe from the predations of the Beta Side.

Maxim #59: The longer you are away from seducing new women, the harder it will be to seduce one when you want.

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