Thursdays Rule

In the quest to uncover any hidden patterns in my dating experiences that might help me streamline operations, I’ve done a back of the cocktail napkin calculation of the total number of girls I’ve dated that led to intimate relations, assorted by which days I first met those girls.  I wanted to see if some days were better for meeting a slutty sexually responsive pool of available women.

Obviously, having a good memory is a factor in this analysis, but as a man I found it a lot easier to remember the exact day I met a girl I would eventually bang than it is to remember, for example, my niece’s name.

The following table shows the percentage of total intimacies by the day of the week that the successful pickup first began.

Day of First Meet                 Percent of Total Lays
Monday                                       5%
Tuesday                                      10%
Wednesday                                  0%  (!)
Thursday                                    30%
Friday                                         25%
Saturday                                     15%
Sunday                                        15%

I was a bit surprised by Wednesday’s goose egg.  Maybe this is dumb coincidence or faulty memory, or hump day (behold irony) is a black hole of suckage for meeting girls.  Is Wednesday Desperate Housewives night?  I wouldn’t know.

Friday’s results were predictable as more single girls go out on that night than any other by my guess, providing a richer target environment, but Saturday put up a less than stellar showing.  For all its pomp and circumstance as a great hookup night, Saturday actually blows.  It’s a date night for one, and the hordes of desperate men who didn’t meet anyone Friday night give it the old college try again on Saturday, smothering the good vibes with their massive sausage invasion.

Sunday, Monday, and Tuesday have been good considering their reputations as lonely barfly nights devoid of girls, but two things I’ve learned over the years are that any girl going out on an off-night is seriously looking to hook up (double hookup points if she braves it on a rainy weeknight) and logistics are favorable for you to take a girl home that night because weeknight venue patrons are more likely to be local.  Also, it doesn’t hurt that the venues aren’t swarming with drunk Axe-wearing clones.  Just be sure to avoid those bars that cater to the kickball flip cupper crowd.

For some reason, a lot of European women go out for drinks on Sundays and Mondays.

Thursday gets crowned Notch Night of the Week.  It has the best mix of quality and quantity, with just enough of a scene to make things interesting, yet suitably laid back to appeal to the types of women who don’t parade around clubs holding their girlfriend’s hands like circus elephants.  This is one of the great advantages to living in the city — rolling out on a Thursday night is not such a chore.

Conclusion:  there is selective filtering in action based on day of the week.  Quieter nights will have fewer opportunities, but the leads are stronger.  Busier nights have more opportunities, but on average they are weaker.  The best night is the one that strikes a balance between numbers and receptiveness.

Day game is limited to Saturday and Sunday, so unless you are unemployed and can spend all week trolling for other unemployed girls, it’s pointless to draw any lessons from the number of girls you have picked up during the daytime.

Read Full Post »

A Business Idea

I have to hand it to the women who started this website where jilted girlfriends send in photos and rap sheets of their alpha male badboy ex-boyfriends as a warning to other women.  It’s a pretty good concept, though judging by the limited database of cads the site has amassed and the immense number of potential nominees it may not work too well in practice.  My favorite bitch-fest so far:

If you like alcoholic, emotionally retarded borderline pedophiles, this guy’s for you! A man in his 30s who cheated on me with a high school student and then moves on to a heroin-using teen he met through– who else?– her high school teacher. Clearly this is one quality gentleman. Also, you can look forward to the insanely boring sex life (whenever you actually get to have sex, as he’s usually drunk or crying) and marvel at all two positions in his vast repertoire. If you’re into chemistry, you could take a scraping from the two inches of dirt and grime in his bathroom and help in the crusade to cure cancer. Bonus!! Act now– before the onset of delirium tremens and get FREE moments of lucidity!

In a moment of panic, I searched their database of offenders for my name.  Phew!

This admittedly valuable service for single women gives me a business idea.  A similar website for men could warn single guys away from dating certain women.  Of course, the particulars of how female candidates for public ostracization are chosen would be different than the male version.  Just having guys write in horror stories about their exes or bad dates would not stop potential suitors from trying to get with these women because as long as the girl looks good there will be enough men willing to grin and bear her personality “quirks”.  For instance, posting dire warnings and accompanying pics of pretty golddiggers (and is there any other kind of golddigger, really?) would only encourage guys who don’t mind paying for whores to ante up.

No, the idea only works if it taps into a dating concern all men share and is powerful enough a disincentive to at least give other men pause about dating any women, even the pretty ones, included on my website’s perp list.  And it’s not STDs (with the exception of HIV).

The dating concerns that unite men in fear more than any other are, one, getting hoodwinked into having a kid and, two, not seeing a return on his investment.  Therefore, there will be two categories of offenders.  Women who “forgot” to take their pill or punched holes in condoms which resulted in surprise pregnancies and women who didn’t put out within a reasonable amount of time.

I really like the idea of outing the cockteases and the sexually chaste.  Granted, identifying women who made guys wait more than six dates before sex, or who accepted at least three time and money consuming dates without coming through on her end of the bargain, doesn’t necessarily mean she would do that with every guy she dates, but it does suggest an underlying willingness to do so when it suits her needs.  Just knowing that a girl is capable of holding out for a long time is enough to give men who might be interested in dating her a chance to customize their game and subvert her ‘Rules’ strategy.  I see my website’s service as filling an information gap that will help streamline dating efficiency.

The website name I am considering:

www.shesamaneater.com

Please do not steal my idea.  I know patent lawyers with white belts in tae kwon do.

Update
It seems the domain name is registered.  I’ll need to get more creative.

www.superevilvagina.com

Read Full Post »

Female Rapists

Reading about these horror stories left a bad taste in my mouth:

Patrick Connaro, a 42-year-old robotics engineer living in Colorado Springs, was sitting in the bleachers one warm Saturday afternoon in 2003, watching his son’s Little League game, when the ground opened beneath him.

“My little boy was there, he was up at bat, and I started yelling for him, ‘Go Matthew [not his real name]! Knock it out of the park!’ And another man started screaming for Matthew. Louder than me. I looked over, and I looked at him, and I was like, Who is this guy? And I looked at my son, and I looked at him … and they were identical.”

After the ball game, Connaro ordered a paternity test. The results came back 2 weeks later. “I opened up the letter from Labcorp, and it said, ‘ … 99.9 percent chance you are not the biological father of this child.’ I started crying. My head started spinning.”

Patrick, good provider beta male, dutiful husband, and doting father, was cuckolded by his wife and spent years of his life raising another man’s child.  Would his wife, whom he knew so well and loved so deeply for her outer and inner beauty, ever own up to her monumental lie?

Connaro admits that the possibility had crossed his mind before, given his son’s dissimilar facial features, but each time he questioned his wife about it, she vehemently denied the suggestion. Even when he showed her the test results, she still denied it. “She said, ‘You forged this,’ ” Connaro recalls, shaking his head in amazement.

Ethicists are baffled!

Cuckoldry is, at least from the gene’s point of view, the worst thing that can befall a man outside of getting killed.  We are here on this earth to serve one purpose — the propagation of our genes.  Everything we do is either designed to push us toward that goal or is a byproduct of that purpose.  So when a wife cheats on a husband, bears another man’s child, and then monopolizes the time and resources of her husband toward the raising of that child, she has stolen his reproductive sovereignty just as surely as hers would be stolen if she got pregnant by a male rapist and was forced to raise a child she didn’t want.

She has committed the equivalent of female rape.

While rape is associated with horrible physical trauma which mercifully lasts for minutes on average, cuckoldry embodies the lower-intensity but longer-duration physical trauma of exerting oneself for years to accumulate resources for child rearing.  Psychologically, both are traumatic.  In fact, cuckoldry is actually worse than rape in one noteworthy respect — opportunity cost.  A woman raising a rapist’s child is still propagating her genes, unlike a cuckolded man who propagates nothing for the time he is deceived into raising a bastard child.

Keep in mind that a man’s resources are equivalent to a woman’s body.  Both are the bread and butter of their respective sexes for fulfilling the prime directive of DNA replication.  Rape is universally despised because the violation cuts right to the core of a woman’s essence.  Cuckoldry does the same to a man, so why is it not nearly as universally despised?  Where are the marches and policy discussions and gender studies departments to right the wrongs of cuckoldry?

The answer is simple.  In genetic terms, men are expendable, and this deeply rooted awareness trickles up into the social and political sphere where indifference to male issues rules the day.  If you think the indifference stems from the low incidence of cuckoldry, think again:

And research shows that it’s a lot more common than we might believe.

After recently reviewing 67 studies on the subject, University of Oklahoma researchers found that PD rates tend to be much higher among men who have reason to believe there’s been more than one dog in the yard. No surprise there. But leave out these men and you end up with a number that can safely be assumed to represent the rest of us. That number is 3.85 percent. Another review of 19 studies by a group at Liverpool John Moores University backs this up, putting the figure at 3.7 percent of dads. It may not seem like a lot—until you do the math. According to a 2005 U.S. Census Bureau report, there are 27,940,000 fathers nationwide with a child under 18. That means over a million guys out there are taking care of some other man’s kid.

This number is about 10X higher than the number of forcible rapes committed against females in 2005.

So what are we, as a just and moral nation, doing about this epidemic of reproductive theft?  Well, according to the article, forget about doctors giving their help to the forces of light; they are in on the fix.

The fact is, the overwhelming majority of physicians will not tell a man the truth about PD.

“Most doctors are going to say to themselves, Jeez, I don’t want to cause a problem in this family by disclosing this information that I just stumbled across,” says Alan Meisel, J.D., director of the Center for Bioethics and Health Law at the University of Pittsburgh. “Why create problems if I don’t have to?”

And the law?  Men are being forced to pay child support for children not their own.  As usual, the law is an ass.

My solution to the scourge of cuckoldry is quite simple, which means it will never be implemented.  A marital pre-nup should require all mothers submit to a paternity test upon the birth of any children.  If paternity is verified, pass the cigars.  If not, the man has the legally sanctioned choice to immediately leave his wife with ZERO obligations, financial or otherwise, plus the wife will be required to remit his portion of the investment in her during her pregnancy.  A deal is a deal.

If the law raises the stakes for women intent on committing cuckoldry, there may be some blowback in the form of women opting to forego marriage to a beta provider entirely if she cannot exercise her historical option of getting him to foot the bill for the product of her indiscretion with the bass player.  While this structural change in the mating system may be bad for the health of society as a whole, for the individual unfortunate betas, this side effect at least affords them a chance to improve themselves as men without being saddled with unwanted fatherhood.

Like rape, cuckoldry is the soulkilling dis.  Women who commit these vile acts and then perpetuate them with lies piled atop of lies ought to be shunned — culturally, legally, and financially.  They do not even deserve the courtesy of a kiss while getting pumped and dumped.  If they don’t experience painful consequences for their actions, nothing will change.

Read Full Post »

Sexbots

Forget flying cars and interstellar travel, the next big thing to radically transform society will be sexbots.  Japanese girlfriend substitutes, lifelike dolls, porn saturation… all signs are pointing toward a technological coalescence of immense implications for relations between the sexes.  It’s a horny new world on the horizon of men having sex with the artificial women of their dreams.  Mein Gott.

Much has been written about the sexbot phenomenon, with the skeptics focusing on the technical limitations (men make this argument) and the insistence that sexbots would not satisfy male sexual desire like real women would (women make this argument).  It’s possible the technical hurdles to creating a sexually pleasing mechanical woman that could compete with real women might be too high, but assuming those hurdles are jumped, I offer the following future scenario.

A robot that is an exact replica of your favorite supermodel and that has feedback to sound and touch (for example, she’ll move her limbs and gyrate during sex as well as talk dirty and respond to commands) would supplant all other masturbation tools as the preferred method of getting off for men who can afford it.  Once sexbots become affordable, internet porn consolidates to one or two websites for spank snobs who insist on “authenticity” and proles who must suffer the humiliation of not only being too poor to afford real women but fake ones as well.  But, outside of self-pleasure and procreation, would sexbots replace real women?

For some men, yes.  The replacement would be total, at least until the dating market adjusted to the new reality.  For other men, sexbots would be a part-time replacement.  The result will be a shift in the mating landscape that will put selection pressures on humanity equivalent to a massive plague or a catastrophic famine.

Sexbots are a very real threat to the established order because men’s sexuality is so visually driven.  Compared to women, it is a rather simple affair to create an alternative sexual outlet for men.  Think about romance novels which are the porn equivalent for women.  It’s a mentally-taxing affair to write a book, even a trashy, plot-by-numbers one.  But displaying photos of naked women for the consumption of men takes a few mindless seconds.  Now imagine a Natalia Vodianova sexbot in every bachelor pad.  The raw visual and tactile appeal of that will keep men holed up in their bedrooms for weeks straight.

Some of the changes I foresee:

Omegas (geeks, nerds, dweebs, trolls, dregs, dullards, bums, street filth, etc.) – will finally have a satisfying release for their pent-up horniness.  Crime will likely drop as a result.  So will rape.  Widely available sexbots are analogous to cheap, legal prostitution, minus the STDs and needle tracks.  On the whole I think it is a social good to distract the losers from their grinding misery.  Since these guys weren’t getting laid anyway, availing themselves of sexbots won’t have much impact on the dating market.  Sexbots could also be compassionate.  Giving a homeless guy a sexbot will do more for his happiness than $5 for liquor or a sympathetic smile from a cute soup kitchen volunteer.

Betas (niceguys with a heart of gold and zero sex appeal) – the more frustrated betas will retreat from the dating scene to be with their sexbots.  They’ll not opt out completely, though.  Having a decent job and a willingness to help raise a family is still a form of buying power.  I see sexbots for betas dissuading them from learning the art of seduction, thus making them even more ineffectual in the field as their already-meager skills atrophy.  He might think to himself, “what’s the point of dealing with the frustrations and delayed gratification of dating mediocre looking women for subpar sex when I have a Rachel Weisz sexbot waiting at home for me?”  A big negative feedback loop could result, where the lower status betas exercise their sexbot option with increasing regularity until they have excluded themselves completely from bothering with meeting women.  This will open up room in the dating market for

Aspiring Alphas (betas who know a thing or two) – As low status betas and omegas retreat from the dating scene to be with their sexbots, aspiring alphas will be more in demand than ever.  It’s a simple numbers game — more women for every man willing to expose himself to the whims of dating and rejection from real women means these men will have an easier time honing their game and achieving sexual satisfaction.  Even a guy willing to put in minimal effort shaping up his game will find the pickings easy.  The consequences?  Less commitment, more casual sex, and more partners.  Not to mention more first date anal.  You can stop taking salsa classes now.

Alphas (guys who won’t have to martyr themselves for 72 virgins) –  will reap a tremendous beaver bounty.  The direct and indirect benefits of the sexbot revolution will flow to the alphas.  The direct benefit?  Although he is the guy who won’t need sexbots because he gets plenty of quality real ass for little investment, he will probably have a few in the closet for those times when his girlfriends have a collective headache.  Plus, the off button is very appealing to the inveterate womanizer.  The indirect benefit?  More women vying for his seed.  I predict that over time the smothering ego-boosting attentions of the fangirls will make the alpha soft, paving the way for lower ranking males to usurp his position in the bangarchy.

Ugly Women – drop out entirely.

Plain Women – put out on first dates.

Beautiful Women – choose harem initiation with a super alpha.

Marriage – uncertain.  Either marriage will take a bodyblow from which it will never recover, or paradoxically divorce will decrease as husbands inclined to stray fulfill their cravings for variety with non-human mistresses.  With the sequestering of betas to their sexbotatoriums, the price of alphas on the market will skyrocket.  They will call the shots in matters of marriage — I see a regression to sanctioned polygamy and overt adultery.  This will herald the end of Western civilization.

Love – The virus in the borg.  Love may save the day.  A man’s need for love will keep him in the game.  But not in the same capacity.  He’ll be roused to go on a few dates but he’ll feel no pressure to get laid and will probably have unrealistic expectations about what kind of women he deserves based on wistful comparisons with the hot robot he fornicates with daily.  Ladies, if you think guys are selfish, egotistical pricks now, just wait until they start showing up to dates basked in the afterglow of sex with their Jessica Alba robots.  It is going to take a lot more to win over a guy who is that sexually satisfied.

Conclusion – The entire market structure of dating will shift seismically in the direction of men becoming choosier and less willing to please and women becoming looser and more willing to please.

The basic premise I have outlined above rests on a simple observation — the more physically satisfying choices men have to sate their lust, the less needy they will be with women.  And non-neediness translates into a slight downgrade in the asking price of single women.  Because women are more loathe to settle than men, there will be a rush to the top as the dwindling number of acceptable male prospects commands the attentions of an ever-growing pool of women.  Polygamy will rush in to fill the need.

Read Full Post »

F You Jewelry

When we were teenagers I remember my brother coming home from dental surgery with a plastic container holding his four extracted wisdom teeth, blood and bits of flesh still clinging to the roots.  I thought it was so cool.  So did he, if his proud grin was any indication.

I’m having a wisdom tooth pulled tomorrow.  I would like to keep the tooth and make intimidating jewelry out of it.  Bone jewelry sends men running in a panic and women twirling their hair with arousal.  I could tell people that it’s my own tooth I wear as a talisman imparting me with wisdom, or I could say it’s a souvenir I pulled from the jaw of my vanquished enemy, similar to this guy:
a warrior knows how to accessorize.

Some ideas I have are the tooth ring:

and the tooth necklace:

A man moving through the world without apology should adorn himself with powerful symbols of virility.  If I engender a hint of disgust and fear in women who see me wearing teeth jewelry, I’ll know I’m projecting the right image.  Running tight game is a breeze when people think you’re a warlord.

Read Full Post »

Dear Diary

I was never one to keep a diary.  Nor did I ever keep a diary but call it a journal.  Yet a casual glance shows that 99% of blogs are basically diaries of the minutiae of people’s lives and their overheated ruminations about said minutiae.  Since I mostly write about abstract stuff I kind of feel like I’m missing out by not blessing the reading audience with the all-important trivialities of my daily life.  So here’s a glimpse into my mental world from this past weekend:

At the pool there was an unfortunate couple with a kid.  The woman suffered from advanced stages of what looked like multiple sclerosis or some similar gift from god, her back grotesquely misshapen and her arms bent in awkward positions.  The man, husband I presumed, was inflated like a hot air balloon, at least 400 pounds.  I thought, That guy is damned lucky she’s deformed or he’d get no pussy at all.  Then I wondered if I was the only one thinking that.  I pondered a bit more that he could lose his weight while she could do nothing about her affliction.  In this way I was comfortable mentally blaming fatso for ruining my visual environment.  Most of the time you don’t see people like this, the walking wretched, out in public.  They generally stay holed up indoors with delivery services providing their needs.  I think most people are happy with this arrangement, even if they would never admit it.

It was blazingly hot, so I went to Cold Stone Creamery for a delicious ice cream.  The semi-retarded looking kid behind the counter took my order.  When I got outside to sit and enjoy my hard-won kill, I realized the kid gave me not just the wrong ice cream flavor (cinnamon instead of coffee), but the wrong mix-in (butterfinger instead of heath bar), and the wrong size (small, not medium).  So the semi-retarded look was more than just a look.  I marveled how an order could be so magnificently fucked up — a trifecta! — when it was just me and my friend in the shop and no one else to create undue stress on the employees.  I decided it must be an omen, so I didn’t bother returning it for the correct order.

There is only one public humiliation worse for a man than licking the sweaty balls of a tranny on the 50 yard line at halftime of the Superbowl on national TV, and that is having the barbell fall on him in the middle of a bench press rep — during the warm-up set.  My buddy had walked away since I informed him it was my warm-up and I wouldn’t need him to spot yet.  At rep number 9 (we guys remember the rep numbers like you girls remember anniversaries), I felt a sharp pain in my right shoulder and the bar started going backwards until it was sitting on my chest.  A helpful gym rat lifted it up off me.  I couldn’t look anyone in the eye after that.  Luckily, it was uncrowded, so I think I’ll be safe to come back in a year or two.

My friend’s wife hates me.  Oh yes, it’s so obvious.  At the BBQ they threw on Saturday she exchanged a total of two words with me:  Hi.  Bye.  And she was facing away from me when she spoke them.  This is understandable.  Every time I’ve been to their place, I’ve either gone swinging single or with a girl she hasn’t met before.  I’ve known her husband much longer than she has.  He and I have the OLD DAYS.  The OLD DAYS are not to be trifled with.  Things happen in the OLD DAYS, like late night carousing, lapdances, and alibi duty.  A wife knows deep down that whatever memories she’s building with her husband pale in comparison to the knee deep in the mud memories he has with his lifelong buddies before mortgages and kids civilized him.  So I’m that no-good reminder of his wild days, and my mere presence gets under her skin.  Wives put a lot of effort into breaking the spirit of their husbands; the last thing they want is for that free-wheeling, carefree SOB to show up and piss all over their hard work in a single afternoon.  The icing on the cake is that I suggested the bar for their first date which eventually led to marriage.  She should be naming her next kid after me.

I hope this journey through the pages of my life was as good for you as it wasn’t for me.

Read Full Post »

It finally happened

After a lifetime of enjoying the spacious accommodations of the handicapped stall, an actual handicapped man entered the restroom while I was in there using it. 

His walker clicked on the tiled floor as he approached huffing and grunting the whole way.  He stopped in front of my stall, the feet of his walker in full view under the door jamb, and pushed impotently on the locked door.  A loud snort followed and he shambled into the adjacent, normal-sized stall.  For what seemed like an eternity he negotiated the tight space, stumbling and banging into the walls, grabbing onto the tp dispenser for support.  Twice, his walker tipped over when he tried to lean it against the stall.

Now I am not a guy who languishes in guilt.  Cheating, lying, stealing, breaking hearts… it’s all part of the wonderful fabric of life.  Like Donald Trump said about his divorces: “The guilt last for five minutes, then you get over it.”  But this made me feel bad, real bad.  I responded as only an honorable gentleman would — I hightailed it out of there before he could see my face.

Read Full Post »