Girl Screws Tucker Max, Broadcasts Her Sluttiness

I stumbled across a truly unintentionally hilarious tell-all. Some college chick banged Tucker Max during his promotional bus tour for his movie and she wrote about it on the internet.

I Slept With Tucker Max, the Internet’s Biggest Asshat

The fun starts before we even get past the title! The author’s name is Courtney, but here at the Chateau she’ll be known by the moniker “Suzy Semeneater”. Here’s some advice Suzy S.: Banging a guy and happily announcing it on the internet isn’t the best way to drive home your point that the guy is an asshat.

Tucker Max is a blogger-turned-author-turned-movie-producer who’s basically famous for drinking to obliteration and having sex with girls whom he later savages in graphic detail on his site, TuckerMax.com.

This reminds me of all those SWPL chicks who infest the blogworld claiming, every time they stumble across a game related blog, that chicks don’t really want assholes, and that insisting they do is just men making excuses for wanting to treat girls like shit. Yet here we see Suzy S. willingly fucking a guy she admits “savages” women on his blog.

You get what you give, ladies. Give your pussies to assholes, you’ll get nothing but assholes in return.

By the way, I am a huge proponent of asshole game for the reason that, in my observation and in the observation of men who aren’t satisfied with banging beta-settling fatties and fuglies, most women of fuckable quality (i.e. higher than 6, lower than BMI 23, and under 30) respond Pavlovian-like to assholes. And I kinda enjoy being an asshole sometimes.

It was a Monday night, about a quarter to 11, and I was watching TV with my roommates. I’d asked a few people to go out but no one was feeling up to it. Then, I got a text from my friend Steph: “If you want to meet Tucker Max, come to Cafe 210.”

I was a longtime fan and I’d been dying to meet him, so I got dressed as fast as I could and ran out the door. It was only the second week in school, and in my apartment I was already getting teased for my promiscuity. My roommates laughed as I left and told me to make sure to bring him back! “Yeah, like I’m gonna have sex with Tucker Max,” I thought.

Maxim #26: If a woman says the word “sex” in conversation with you or about you, no matter the context, it means she’s thinking about having sex with you.

I was expecting a huge line at the bar, but when I showed up, it was totally dead. I asked the bouncers if they’d heard anything about Tucker Max coming there. “I hope not,” one of them replied. Inside, I found some of my friends and some girls who were clearly Tucker’s tour groupies assembled. We waited a little while, and just when I thought he wouldn’t show, Tucker finally arrived.

“And then a seismic tremor swept through my san vaginus fault!”

Immediately a drunk girl latched onto him, hugging and kissing and falling all over him. She was cute, and I was just about to sigh, “Well, he’s already got his hook-up tonight,” when my friend Rosie snarled, “That’s pathetic. Who wants to be that girl?”

Maxim #27: Pussies are more pliable in the company of competing pussy.

Game tip: You’ll improve your odds of scoring by attending events that feature male celebrities. Counterintuitive? Maybe, but here’s what happens. The celebrity can only take home at most a handful of girls in attendance. The rest will be left with their meatflaps quivering for cock. A roomful of horny chicks, jealous and lubricated, is easier pickings than a roomful of egotastic bitches with sandpaper between their legs.

Regardless, we worked our way into the crowd surrounding Tucker, until we were face to face with him. I shook his hand, and told him I was a huge fan. His response? “Will you f–k a virgin?”

Tucker Max has tight cocky/funny asshole game.

“Yeah,” I said, “I’ll f–k anyone.” Big mistake.

This is the female verbal equivalent of parting her pussy lips and inserting a speculum for ease of access.

Tucked yelled for his friends to go get some kid, apparently the aforementioned virgin, because he’d “got one” for him.

“Wait, wait, wait,” I interrupted. “Is he cute?”

“No,” said Tucker. “He’s fat.”

I replied that I had standards; Tucker replied that I was a whore.

Naturally, Max’s minor celebrity status allows him to get away with stuff that a typical beta couldn’t. But then I’ve seen plenty of non-famous guys playfully call girls whores and watched as their eyes lit up with lust. If the typical beta first achieves the goal of ridding himself of bad habits that betray his low sexual status, he too will find that calling girls whores works like gangbusters.

Finally, Steph handed me her camera and suggested that Rosie and I ask to take a picture with him. We did, and this time, Tucker blatantly looked me up and down.

How many women’s mags (and men’s mags for that matter) advise men to be discreet about checking out the goods on a date? All of them? The truth is that making it obvious you’re checking out a girl is good game. The trick is to do it with a critical eye, instead of a drooling mouth.

“34 C?” Tucker asked.
“32 C,” I replied, “but good guess. What, are you trying to touch them or something?”
“Oh, I know I can touch them,” he said. “But I like to guess first.”

Here’s a question for my readers. In what context would “34 C?” work as an opener? Your answers will count towards your final score.

When I went back to sit with my friends, they’d been joined by a couple of Tucker’s tour guys. Eventually, the man himself showed up.

“So,” he asked, scooting in next to me. “Are you coming back with me tonight?”

I’m on the fence about describing this as Apocalypse Game. Max’s threshold for apocalyptic pussy prying is naturally lower than it would be for a man who isn’t enjoying a measure of fame.

I have two options. One: dignity. Two: a good story to tell later. So I snuck off and texted my best friend, Matt. Should I f–k Tucker Max? His response: You will be a GOD in my eyes.

Matt: Beta of the Month candidate.

It’s done. Around 1:30, I told Tucker that I would, in fact, go home with him. “Oh, I know,” he replied. “We have a cab waiting, let’s go.”

Han Solo game is getting overexposed.

We got into the cab with everyone at the bar waving and giving the thumbs up. The best part? I didn’t even know most of them.

Your parents must be proud.

Tucker took me back to the Hampton Inn where he was staying, showed me his tour bus (which was pretty sweet) and I met his dog, whom he talks to like an somebody’s aunt talking to a baby, except that he told him, “Say hello to the new slut!”

Some of the best sex I’ve ever had was with girls I utterly degraded.

Finally, in his room, he wasted no time getting completely naked. Like, no foreplay at all. Well, girls? Here’s everything you wanted to know about Tucker Max: His body is nice, but a little too hairy. He’s a great kisser. He screws like he’s jackhammering a sidewalk. I faked orgasm to get him to stop. After he was finished he told me we were going to do it again in the morning. Great! I should have gotten up and left, but then he wanted to chat.

What, no mention of his penis size? For a girl to write about banging an asshat celebrity and not mention anything about his dick, true or not, means one of two things:

1. She enjoyed the jackhammering, her protestations to the contrary notwithstanding.
2. She’s totally OK with being used like a convenient receptacle.

I agree with Max and Roosh that there’s no reason to concern yourself with giving the girl an orgasm, particularly if you intend the girl to be nothing more than a one night stand. If you’re alpha enough, she’ll happily go on banging you no matter how sexually unsatisfied she remains. Only milquetoast betas with high-pitched womanly voices like A.J. Jacobs (who was on the Elliot in the Morning radio show today talking about his article which I excoriated) tenderly and diligently work to assure their lovers’ orgasms until their tongues go numb.

We talked about normal things, like how he eventually wanted to get married and have kids, which was a shock.

I like to tell cheap lays that one day I plan to open an orphanage in Calcutta, because I have so much love to give.

He said that he wasn’t interested in being in relationships, and I told him I liked being in them, at which point he totally misunderstood me and proceeded to tell me that we couldn’t date.

At which point she wanted to date him even more.

“You’re not a real person,” I replied, by way of explanation. I also told him about this guy I was kind of hung up on and he was surprisingly nice and insightful, telling me that I was a cute girl and that I shouldn’t pin my hopes on some dude at my age.

😆

Has there ever been a better advertisement for being an asshole to get what you want from girls than the things girls tell their asshole lovers the morning after? Hey, dude, if you’re reading this, your angel was jackhammered by Tucker Max. No need to treat her to dates. A little grabass in the bar and a beeline to your futon should do the trick.

The next day, he woke me up for sex, as promised. It was worse, because he was panting this time, and when he was putting his clothes on, he farted loudly, multiple times. I called a cab, and he gave me 20 bucks for the cab which I gladly took. (Hey, I’m in college.) He hugged me and said, “I’d totally hook up with you again. Call me if you’re ever in L.A.”

Secret society.

Eh. I think one episode of stunt sex is all I’ll ever need.

Translation: “Eh, I think one episode of hot sex is all I’ll ever get from him.”

(If you want to read Tucker’s account — which is slightly different from mine — you can read it here.)

In Tucker Max’s version of the pickup (which is amusingly, and unsurprisingly, much shorter than Suzy Semeneater’s) he describes her as being “very cute”. Here’s a pic of the girl:

Mmmm… nyah.

Writer and student Courtney A. attended Penn State University, where she accumulated lots of stories.

Any guy who marries this girl is a fool. Any guy who meets this girl and doesn’t fuck her on the first night is a fool.

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Film Your Bangs

Now there’s a second good reason — besides the obvious benefit of compiling a porn oeuvre of your ex-girlfriends to whack off to in your dotage — to film all your bangs. It just might save you from a false rape charge.

Ndonye has already been kicked out of college for the false report and has been hiding out since. She’s refused to talk about her recanted claims she was tied up and gang raped inside a dormitory bathroom after a video of the incident emerged and shot holes in her original assertions.

Prosecutors said she cracked and changed her story when they told her about a videotape.

“The turning point was when she was confronted with the fact that there may exist a video of some or all of the incident. The woman began to reveal the truth about what happened,” Nassau County District Attorney Kathleen Rice said.

Investigators said the video showed no ropes, no ties and no force.

The bitch’s full name is Danmel Ndonye. DANMEL NDONYE. Shout it from the rooftops. A mass public shaming so great that it drives her to suicide would be justice well served. In the meantime, I’d settle for a few years behind bars.

So, lesson learned. Film your bangs, gentlemen. Thanks, feminists!

(My gameplan is to make the red record light as natural a part of foreplay as tender kisses on the neck.)

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Science Proves Women Are Secret Sluts

I was recently invited to join the moderated Yahoo group “Evolutionary Psychology”. Curious, I moseyed on over to take a gander and found a link to this study which raised my testosterone-laden eyebrow:

Study reveals complexities of female arousal

September 21st, 2009 in Medicine & Health / Psychology & Psychiatry

Challenging the idea that women’s sexual motivations are tied exclusively to romantic emotions or reproduction, a new study by psychologists at The University of Texas at Austin found women’s sexual decisions are motivated by a shocking array of reasons that range from the mundane (“I was bored”) to a sense of adventure (“I wanted to know what it was like before getting married”), and from the altruistic (“I felt sorry for him”) to the borderline evil (“I wanted to give him a sexually transmitted disease”).

“Understanding why women have sex is extremely important, but rarely studied,” said David M. Buss, evolutionary psychology professor. “One thing that’s interesting about our study is that it goes against the stereotype that men desire sex for pleasure while women have sex only for love or commitment.”

Detailed in their new book “Why Women Have Sex: Understanding Sexual Motivations from Adventure to Revenge (and Everything in Between),” Buss and Cindy M. Meston, clinical psychology professor, collected personal accounts from more than 1,000 women of diverse educational, ethnic and religious backgrounds on their reasons for having sex.

“We knew motivations for sex were more complex than what had previously been talked about in the literature—having a baby, love and physical pleasure,” Meston said. “But we were still astonished by the amazing diversity of sexual motivations—from curing a headache to feeling closer to God to getting their partners to take out the trash.”

Other findings:

• Thirty-one percent of women, at some point, purposely evoked jealousy in their sex partner, compared with only 17 percent of men.
• Eighty-four percent of wives, at some point, said they had sex out of a sense of duty, compared with 64 percent of husbands.
• Thirty-eight percent of women admit to “poaching” someone for a short-term fling.
• Fifty percent of women reported having sex to cure a migraine headache.
• Women, in general, are turned on by men with deep voices and symmetrical bodies.

Yes, women like to fuck. But there is a caveat. They only like to fuck men higher than them in status. Female hypergamy doesn’t disappear; it just acclimates to changing incentive structures. Tyler Durden was hitting upon a truth when he wrote about the existence of a matrix-like secret society. A small pool of alpha males really is hogging a disproportionate amount of vaj action when that vaj is at its most desirable. The fact that most betas eventually settle down with a road-worn, heart-stomped wife in their late 20s/early 30s doesn’t disprove the reality of the secret society.

Regarding the findings, is anyone surprised that women deliberately evoke more jealousy in their partners than do men in theirs? Chicks are natural drama whores. If they aren’t getting their drama fix their holes close up and become dry like sandpaper. The alpha male, with his beguiling aloofness, multiple partner juggling, unspoken ability to score new pussy on a whim, unpredictable outbursts of occasional anger, and steady stream of neg hits, is like a walking minstrel show to a girl. Snagging one as a boyfriend means the Shakespearean fun never ends!

I’ve written before that the men who are most successful at seducing women are the men who co-opt women’s tools of the trade. They steal women’s most powerful weapons and use them against her in the battlefield of mate choice. Seducing women as a woman seduces a man leaves her incapacitated, defenseless to your charms. They know not how to respond because they’ve encountered so few of your kind.

Eighty-four percent of wives, at some point, said they had sex out of a sense of duty, compared with 64 percent of husbands.

Audacious Epigone posted some General Social Survey data (reader beware: the GSS should be taken with a grain of salt on the subject of human sexuality and sex habits) purporting to show that married men have just as much sex as single men who aren’t losers with women. Note that if more wives than husbands are submitting to sex out of a sense of duty instead of a sense of lusty vigor, you can be sure that the sex lives of the single men are a hell of a lot more fun than the dreary two stroke tangos with dead fish that the married men stoically endure.

Thirty-eight percent of women admit to “poaching” someone for a short-term fling.

Preselection, yo. Experience with women compels a man to put his dog on a higher pedestal. Or his plasma TV.

Fifty percent of women reported having sex to cure a migraine headache.

Which is promptly restored from banging her noggin against the headboard.

Women, in general, are turned on by men with deep voices and symmetrical bodies.

If man was made in god’s image, was god symmetrical, or intriguingly idiosyncratic, like Lyle Lovett?

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Sluts Are Not Less Discriminating

We were drunk. Words we would later wish hadn’t been spoken came tumbling forth.

HER: Amber got a fuckbuddy. She couldn’t wait around forever for a boyfriend.

ME: What’s forever? Ten minutes?

HER: There’s nothing wrong with having a fuckbuddy.

ME: Have you ever had a fuckbuddy?

HER: I’m just saying there’s nothing wrong with it!

ME: Holy crap, you’ve had fuckbuddies?!

HER: [open mouthed stare]

ME:

HER: [getting visibly nervous] What? I’m not saying *I’ve* had fuckbuddies.

ME: Jesus, are we talking double digits?

HER: Oh, like you’re one to talk.

ME: [thinking about the girl with the purple saguaro] You know, vibrators were invented for those downtimes!

The next weeks were spent with me recalibrating the pseudovirginal goodness of my woman. Clearly I had missed some red flags. Then I wondered how widespread the fuckbuddy phenomenon was. I wistfully pondered my past conquests. Memories that were once bathed in divine light suddenly acquired a darker hue. Emily? Yep, she must have had a fuckbuddy at some point. Julia? A stable of fuckbuddies. Kim? Doubt she could even make it through the day without a cock buried to the hilt.

I give sluts a hard time when they attempt to redefine the terms of debate with sophistic pretty lies. No doubt they do this because they know, deep down inside, that being a slut is gonna lower their value in the sexual market, and that’s the value that matters most, because it resides at the core of all other values. Nonetheless, my glee at tearing apart the lies sluts tell themselves shouldn’t be confused with animosity toward the sluttastic lifestyle. Sluts provide a valuable public service to guys like me — namely, a clearer path to sexual release. I also want to be able to identify them early on so I know to cross them off my potential girlfriend list, and to double up on the condoms.

There was a time, way back when I was a stripling, that I imagined a world full of slutty girls would be a boon for beta males. Experience with sluts has shown me otherwise. While they may be less discriminating in how often and how quickly they spread their legs, their rebuke of natural female restraint doesn’t necessarily translate to a similar rebuke of choosiness. Bad news for the betas: Sluts are slutty, just not with you. Sluts share the same target acquisition system for the top 20% of males as all women do. Hypergamy uber alles.

Reader Tupac left this comment:

Even if the women only garner a few pump-n-dumps out of such men, they are now keyed in on tenor, timber, warp and weft of the day-to-day life habits of such men and in so doing acquire a more finely honed radar for lesser men who don’t “make the cut.”

True. It may seem counterintuitive, but a loose, cavernous chick will often be *less* forthcoming with her sexual favors if the man she is with exhibits the tentative meekness of a beta.

Reader Arpagus:

And thus it comes to pass that sluts tend to be *more* picky than women with few prior partners, in a kind of twisted paradoxical way. If you are beta, don’t get your hopes up because a woman has had 80 sex partners. Someone with 5 is more likely to sleep with you, perhaps even a virgin.

Sluts may be pickier than chaste women about weeding out the betas, due to their spoiling from illusory experiences with alpha males, but they are far less modest within the circle of alphas for whom they readily part their furrows. That is why, when you hear a girl has racked up 80 partners, you should make the necessary qualification: She has racked up 80 alpha male partners who used her like a convenient sperm receptacle until something better came along.

Naturally, as you slide down the female attractiveness scale (but before you hit the 2s and below), you’ll find more sluts, and sluts more willing to slum it with betas and omegas, because easy access to their wet holes is all they have left to barter. This explains the phenomenon of fat chicks getting more sex than hot slender babes. In response to someone’s contention that fat girls have all the fun, I wrote the following comment over at the FeministX blog:

more precisely, [fat chicks] are too busy getting pumped and dumped. fat chicks have higher cock counts because in their desperation to snag a loyal boyfriend they open their thunder thighs for all and sundry hoping the easy access will win a man’s heart. the higher value women can afford to be more discriminating.

There’s more bad news for betas hoping to drain their blue balls in sluts. Not only are sluts more apt to restrict their no muss no fuss sexual favors to high(er) status men, they find it harder to emotionally bond with men, particularly men who are lower status than the highest status men they fucked. This isn’t entirely the sluts’ fault. If blame is to be placed, it should go equally to the alpha males who occasionally dumpster dive with less attractive women. There is no surer way to raise a woman’s hopes of winning a high quality boyfriend than to have an alpha seduce her for a night, give her the hottest sex she’s had in years, and then leave in the morning and not call back for weeks. Once a woman has had that faint hope instilled in her, she can go months or even years rejecting more suitable beta males in favor of pining forlornly for that one alpha male who will certainly, she tells herself, come around and decide she’s a catch worthy of commitment. And the sluttier she has been, the more fly-by-night alpha males she’ll have lodged in her memory to pine over.

A few years of getting her heart broken again and again, and even the most romantically idealistic slut will turn crassly cynical. And cynicism is the venom that slowly clots the lifeblood of love.

Interestingly, this is further proof that female obesity, just as much as the other factors I’ve written about, has heavily (heh) skewed the mating market against the interests of the average man. Not only does a growing mass (double heh) of fat women result in fewer acceptable partners for men and thus more intense competition for the remaining thin babes, but the fatties have likely poisoned their ability to bond with men because of their history of getting pumped and dumped by promiscuous alphas.

The fate of America may very well hinge on getting her women to push away from the table.

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A Jaunt Around The Internet

Many readers have sent me this UK tabloid story about a tacky British slut (redundant?) who asks the sex advice columnist (there’s a 21st century New Girl Order occupation of pointlessness) Rowan Pelling whether she should reveal to her boyfriend the truth about her, uh, comprehensive sexual history.

I’ve been with my boyfriend for six months, we’re both 34 and I am fairly sure he’s The One. The other night we ended up having a conversation about how many lovers we’d had. He told me he had slept with eight women and suddenly I felt nervous about confessing the truth  –  I had a lot of flings at university and in my first job at an ad agency, so my tally is closer to 40. But I found myself saying ten and even then he looked horrified. I hate being untruthful with him, but don’t want to be judged either. What should I do?

Here’s my advice: Lie your whore ass off. We all know, thanks to the “Double Whatever Number She Claims” rule, that you’ve banged 80 cocks, 40 of them probably swarthy immigrant cock. This means that there is no chance your boyfriend is “The One” since it’s impossible for a woman to make a soulmate connection once her gina has tingled over the four corners of the earth. More precisely, you have found “The One Last Hope” that could save you from spinsterhood. You are walking on thin ice what with your advanced age and bedraggled labia, so the last thing you want to do is fuck it up by giving your boyfriend a justifiable excuse to dump your rode-hard flat British ass. “But why would he do that?”, you whine. I think you already know why, otherwise you wouldn’t be fretting about what to do. You have demonstrated by your inability to be more discriminating with your womanly wares that you are a potential cuckold/infidelity/divorce theft risk. Men have scientifically and observationally valid reason to avoid commiting to skanks such as yourself, so recognize this reality of the male psyche and hope he doesn’t find your All Male Revue Facebook page.

That’ll be $200.

Now here’s the advice Rowan Pelling “sex columnist” gave to her:

To be honest, if your man really loves you he should be able to take the full tally with equanimity. But then that would presume that he’s secure in his own skin and, as we all know, a great many people aren’t. What you perceive as censure may well be old-fashioned male insecurity. […]

Having said all that, I think most lovebirds should steer clear of going into the minutiae of previous conquests.

And if a man is unwise enough to ask a woman how many lovers she’s had, can I suggest the following response: ‘Let’s just say I won’t wear white at the wedding.’

Naturally, her advice is retarded. I expect nothing less from 99.9999% of women writing sex and relationship advice columns. The male insecurity trope is the “Get Out of Self Examination Free” card, and is readily whipped out by the Slut&Skank Syndicate and the Fatass Feminist Fatwa whenever their wishful thinking collides with the immutable force of male nature. To make it as clear as possible for them: Men pump and dump party time pussies, but they don’t marry them when more chaste options are available.

To put it in terms that cater to women’s self-absorption, is it old-fashioned female insecurity when women balk at sleeping with plush, niceguy betas? Are women insecure in their own skin when they hesitate to marry unemployed men? The question answers itself.

By the way, a woman who sneeringly tells her fiancee she wouldn’t be fit to wear white at their wedding is just begging to be dumped like yesterday’s trash. However, it is a clever shit test. Any man INSECURE enough to stick around after such a cackling, sordid revelation has proven his beta bonafides.

******

Another reader sent me a link to fashion model tryouts in Russia. He knows this blog well. After perusing the photos (fully unclothed perusing) I composed this Ode to Russian Women:

Oh Sweet Russkie
Your beauty is like vuuudka
To incapacitate my mule
Your chiclet teeth like pearls
To chomp my borschty tool
Your round pushed-in face
Makes my ballsack quiver
When I shoot my load
In your mouth, it’s a river
Just one thing to note
Before I end this ode
Best to get you as a teen
After 30 it’s babushka load!

The description by the event organizers on the website is classic alpha Russian. And by alpha Russian, I mean they know how to BS without veering too far into neutered, politically correct Conor Friedersdorf territory.

Beauty is assessed in a different way.  Various cultures praise various features and traits. It is not  easy to find the diamond.

The desire to be at the podium and be admired is inside every girl. But only those models who succeeded can tell us how many worries and obstacles they had to overcome. The way to fame is paved with hard labor and constant work over oneself. Beauty is especially valued in the modern world. For many this is a chance to be noticed to get to more serious sphere than just unsteady fashion and beauty industry.  In the effort to achieve the aim, the girls are looking for their happiness at the beauty contest. So today we would like to have a look at the stage before the contest, so you are invited to the casting in Minsk. The National School of Beauty in Minsk is going to hold the International Beauty Contest Miss Intercontinental.  This is a beauty pageant known since 1973. What criteria will the jury follow  first of all? This is natural beauty. When asked, the jury was not able to describe the portrait of potential winner, but still accented that the main thing is the inner beauty of the girl.

My favorite part of the website was the link to the Russian meat market girls:

Mmm, that is a fine looking cut of meat.

******

In other news that won’t surprise anyone who isn’t a hermit ignoramus or a feminist, science has once again proven a core tenet of Game: The concept of social proof is real.

The most striking result was in the responses of single women. Offered a single man, 59 per cent were interested in pursuing a relationship. But when he was attached, 90 per cent said they were up for the chase.

Men were keenest on pursuing new mates, but weren’t bothered whether their target was already attached or not. Attached women showed least interest and were slightly more drawn to single men.

You know that typical female lament “All the good men are taken”? It needs to be accurately rendered for the Darwin Generation: “All the taken men are good.” Mystery nailed this ten years ago: chicks dig preselection. The first thing you must do when going to a bar alone is befriend a chick. Start off low and work your way up to the hotties.

******

Over at The American Scene, I read another lame white knighting attempt by our favorite house beta Conor Friedersdorf to grapple with the eeeevil of the neg. The article was the usual misrepresentation of game and umbrage over the fact that men like sex with a variety of women that I’ve come to expect from the chipmunk-cheeked traditionalist conservative crowd, but Steve Sailer did leave a couple of worthy comments that deserve a second look:

The point of “game” is for guys who are stuck in subordinate positions to other men at work to learn techniques to pretend to women in bars that they are dominant over other men during the daytime (at least until the woman figures out that the guy isn’t making alpha male bucks at work).

So, many of the game techniques are ones that dominant men use on subordinate men at work, such as negging.

Consider the relationship between George W. Bush and Karl Rove. Obviously, Rove was smarter and harder working than Bush. So, why was he subordinate to Bush? In part, because Bush carried out classic dominant male behavior of alternating between praising Rove, holding out the vision of how far he could go as Bush’s subordinate, and negging him, calling him “Turd Blossom” and the like, to undermine his self-confidence. Bush always negged Rove with a smile on his face, but neg him he did.

The really interesting question about game is this: if some percentage of subordinate males can actually, through practice, can start fooling women in bars into believing they are dominant males, why not use the same self-improvement techniques to fool men at work? After all, if men believe you are an alpha male, then you are an alpha male. And if men think you are an alpha male, and give you money and power like they think you are an alpha male, then women will think you are an alpha male, too.

So, if these techniques really work, why restrict yourself to getting just Women when you can get Women, Money, and Power?

He’s half right. Some game techniques, like DHVs, compliance, and alpha body language, are mimickry of nonverbal and verbal dominance signals that men employ over other men, but many game concepts are not. For instance, social proof and kino escalation (layman’s term: progressively intimate touching), would get you disdain, envy, or a black eye if used on other men. But they work great on women.

This is why my definition of the alpha male is so elegant. It doesn’t rely on male dominance over other men or male dominance over women, for which those two phenomena overlap to a great degree anyhow. Instead, it quickly cuts to the chase and defines the alpha male by how hot are the women he can attract, how strong is that attraction for him, and how many of those women find him attractive.

Note for the dumbass betas: An alpha male is *not* necessarily the man who sleeps with a lot of women. He is the man who *could* sleep with a lot of women if he so chose.

As for Sailer’s poke at the end, who says Illuminated Men aren’t using game tactics in other areas of their lives? And for those who aren’t bothering to use game to achieve things of monumental importance in the corporate grind, perhaps they prefer the pussy path of least resistance. Not a sermon, just a thought.

Sailer writes another comment:

Negging is essential behavior in the formation of all-male and all-female social spheres.

Females tend to form small cliques and make catty remarks to drive away lower-status females.

Males negging other males can lead to violence, but it’s often less vicious than female negging. It can go on pleasantly for a lifetime: watch how four retired buddies insult each other on the golf course.

The main function of male vs. male negging, however, is hierarchy building. It’s a test of dominance to see who has the personality to be a leader. Leaders encourage it in social settings to check out which younger males have the attributes of quick-wittedness and aggression to become subordinate line managers within his hierarchy, and which would be better suited for staff roles.

The question, therefore, remains: Why not use Game not just in the bars but in the boardrooms to win not just women, but the power, money, and prestige that naturally attract women as well?

Presumably, Pick-Up Artistry works best for aggressive, quick-witted men who have flaws that prevent them from becoming leaders of men (e.g., laziness, need for instant gratification, and so forth).

It’s true that the men who take most quickly to the beauty of the neg are those who are already blessed by genetics with assertiveness and a quick wit, but all this means is that less-gifted men have to train harder to improve their lot with women. Like playing an instrument, it is possible for a man with sufficient practice to get better with women.

******

Dennis Mangan has a post up about game and social collapse. The comments section is ablaze. Take a look. I have been branded a desolate impact on civilization and a representative of the lowest moral order. *preen*

Here’s a clue, chipmunk-cheeked conservatives: If you wish to change the behavior of men, you first must change the behavior of women. The penis parades to the pussy tune, not the other way around. Your chivalry and paeans to honor and duty do nothing but fuel the decline. Guys like me laugh at your sacrifice.

And for those who continue troubling themselves over the conceptually useful and reality-reflecting definitions of alpha male and beta male, let me help clear up the matter. Alpha/beta isn’t a dichotomy. It’s a gradation; an attractiveness bell curve that is somewhat weighted toward the left hand side due to women’s propensity to “date up”. There are plenty of betas who do manage to get laid and find a woman to marry, but the devil is in the details. As you go down the beta scale, you find more men shut out of hot sex with women in their salad days (teens and twenties) and settling later in life with used-up cougars-in-waiting. The further leftward you descend, the more involuntarily celibate lesser betas and omegas you’ll see. The further rightward you ascend, the more happy alphas with their choice of poon dominate the sexual landscape.

******

On a more serious note, apparently Lady Laddie Gaga is a hermaphrodite. She gotta ween! Check it:

She’s a man, baby! David Alexander: “It moved, Jerry.”

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What Foreign Men Think Of American Women

American woman
stay away from me
American woman
mama let me be…

It’s not looking good for the American woman. Her reputation is taking a beating from all corners of the world. This Seattle Time article has some juicy quotes from British ex-pats living in the U.S. describing their experiences dating American women.

American Women. You can only spend so long with one before you crack. They’re out there, they’re loud, they’re bitter and they’re kooky. After a while all the things that attracted you to them: confidence, conversation, nice teeth, begin to bug you. You think you’ve got Black Beauty and you end up with Mr. Ed.

Confidence in a woman is overrated. I’m with Roosh on this matter — less confident women are more fun to date and make better girlfriends.

Steve (a Brit) says that he had to get used to knowing that American women reserve the right to date a whole bunch of guys at the same time. It’s not like that in England. There, when you really like a girl (and pardon me, but English guys don’t say “women,” they talk about dating a girl), then you don’t go out with half a dozen others.

I once stumbled across the email inbox of a slutty DC girl I used to fuck (a local blogger). She had forgotten to log out of her email and chat on my computer on more than one occasion. (She wasn’t too bright.) I read her messages and chat windows (who wouldn’t?) and discovered she was hooking up with other men on the days she wasn’t taking my cock deep inside her. If only they had known how unspecial they were to her at the time; just another cock on the carousel. She wasn’t a serious prospect so it never bothered me, but it was an illuminating glimpse into the world of the Tacky American Slut.

[Steve]: And something else. That first date with an American girl, it’s like it’s supposed to be a big-time dinner, instead of just going to a pub with friends. So you end up dropping like $90 while she’s doing her checklist.

Fool. Who in this day and age takes a girl to dinner on the first date? And an American woman to boot? I’ll tell you who. Betas.

Even other American women don’t have nice things to say about their sister compatriots:

I talk to Vicki, and she tells me she thinks American women can come across as a bit too much. “They want to be equal so much it can be overpowering,” she says.

Actually, I don’t think American women want to be equal. That’s just what they tell themselves to rationalize their aggressively masculine posturing toward men. More accurately, of all the world’s women, American women are the biggest shit testers because they so very much DON’T want to be equal to the supplicating American betaboys they date. A desire by American women to shit test men to kingdom come to find the alpha gem among the beta shale is often miscontrued by men as a desire for equal footing with them. The truth is, in fact, just the opposite. They shit test because they want to find a man who puts himself on a footing above her. This is why even the most hardcore self-professed feminists will wilt into a puddle of submissive passion for a devil-may-care alpha male who doesn’t take her oh-so-profound ideology or her empty bleatings for equality seriously.

One of the first questions is always: “What car do I drive?” Martin says. “If I have the latest BMW or drive a Chevy, does it make a difference? And they want to know what apartment you live in. Do you live in Bellevue, because if you tell them you live in Everett, they don’t want to know you.”

If you have no game or looks, the women you date will default to “material status” screening. Women must have *something* with which they can judge a man’s alpha status, so barring anything compensatory they will judge a man based on the crudest indicators of status — his material resources. Game and other forms of psychosocial dominance allow women the freedom — even the pleasure — to judge a man on indicators of status other than his monetary worth. This is because male psychological dominance hits women’s pleasure centers more directly than does male resource display. Unless you are very wealthy — top 1/2% of all men — you will do better at attracting women with game. See: Skittles Man.

[Oliver]: It was like being with a nasty bank manager, rather than someone with whom you hope to sleep. … American girls are possibly the most wound-up people on the planet. They don’t believe in laughing: Instead, they would go to ‘laugh class’ to find out how, then solemnly say it had changed their life.

“Nasty bank manager”. Ha haa! This quote sums up the American woman well. American women are bank managers and pompous, phony laughers who take themselves too seriously because America has spoiled them. American men need to relearn the art of charming condescension.

While I date and fuck mostly American women, if I was limited to only one woman for the rest of my life, I would choose a foreign girl. Once you have experienced the pleasure of a truly feminine woman, you’ll never go back to an American Bitch.

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What Is And Isn’t Rape

On the subject of what *should* constitute rape (not what ugly lesbian feminists wish would qualify as rape), commenter “Game in BK” wrote:

If a girl is drunk and she says yes to sex- it isn’t rape.
If a girl is sober and she says yes to sex-it isn’t rape.

If a girl is sober and she says no- it is rape.
If a girl is drunk and she says no- it is rape.

Yes, this sounds right. Drunkenness is no plenary discharge from personal responsibility. If you are a woman who is worried about getting “date raped” at a frat party filled with drunk horny guys where you will be drinking so much that you won’t be able to give consent or you give drunken consent, it’s up to you to make the choice not to binge drink in that environment. There should be no legally sanctioned “Get out of regret” rape card for women who wake up the next morning ashamed of their behavior.

Note that this does not absolve sober men who take advantage of drunk women who cannot give consent. If a girl is so drunk that she’s lying there comatose, a sober man having sex with her could be fairly charged with rape. But a drunk man would be off the hook. After all, if she is too drunk to consent to sex, he is too drunk to know whether or not she has consented. Which brings us round to personal responsibility again; if you are a woman who is afraid your inner slut might escape to have sex under the influence with a man at a party who is also under the influence, it’s up to you to refrain from drinking a lot or attending that party. The responsibility to remain sober — or at least avoid getting lights out drunk — should not rest solely with the man.

If feminists are truly interested in not being treated like morally undeveloped children under the law, they will agree to my definition of rape. But since feminism is about power dynamics and not at all about fairness or justice, they will never agree with me. That is why feminists are discredited.

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