Motivation & Pre-Game CR

Years ago when I was rooming in a big house with three other guys, I used to have this short motivational list, handed to me by a friend, taped to my closet door.

THE ONLY ADVICE YOU’LL EVER NEED

Chicks dig power.
Don’t date.
Never pay.
Play by your own rules.
He who hesitates masturbates.
Better to pursue lots of women until you find one willing to go all the way right away than to waste a month on a tease.
Women want to be seduced.
Hot sexy babes want to fuck someone… why not you?

This advice hasn’t stopped working for me.

***

Readers occasionally ask me what I was like before I learned game. Before Game. BG. Heh. I used to think there was a time Before Game in my life, but upon further reflection, maybe there never was. I’ll give you an example of what I mean. I was sifting through some mementos during a spring cleaning when I came across a handwritten note I had given to a girl back in the day before I ever knew what a neg was, or anything much about female nature at all.

I’ve always believed there was something special… uncorrupted… about girls I banged before the advent of game in my life. As if winning them over without the use of game and the crimson arts placed them on a higher pedestal than women who would later fall under my more calculated spell. I could look back fondly on those early years bangs and imagine I was “being myself” with those girls, and that the girls loved me for me. So when I found the note I had once long ago written to a girl who was more beautiful than I ever believed I could get, a wave of happy nostalgia and warm feelings for her washed over me. Here, now, in my hand, was proof that there are girls in the world who swoon for romantic, idealistic men. That the Hollywood love story really is possible! I read the note.

ROSES ARE RED
VIOLETS ARE BLUE
YOU’RE A CUTIE
BUT YOUR FEET ARE PEW!

Nope, turns out I was running game back then too, before I knew the power of the neg.

For the curious, she responded to my lovelorn poem on the back of the note.

“You, Nosey Parker, first, who asked you to smell my precious feet? Second, I won’t sink to describing all the smells abundant here!”

Later that evening we had the most amazing sex. She came three times.

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Valentine’s Day Mascara

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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Is College A Poon Nirvana?

Readers have sent me this New York Beta Times article about the skewed sex ratio on college campuses. It turns out there is widespread discrimination against men in favor of admitting women to higher institutions of learning. If I were a knee-jerk liberal, this would be my go-to explanation. Better yet, if I were a culturally cocooned fruitcup leftie elitist of the sort who would write for the NYBTimes, I might explain the dearth of male participation in higher learning this way:

Women on gender-imbalanced campuses are paying a social price for success and, to a degree, are being victimized by men precisely because they have outperformed them, Professor Campbell said. In this way, some colleges mirror retirement communities, where women often find that the reward for outliving their husbands is competing with other widows for the attentions of the few surviving bachelors.

Get that? Women are victimized by men for outperforming them in college admissions. I feel manipulated by this media spin. Somebody call tha police!

The article itself is interesting not for its trenchant analysis, but for the money quotes by some of the coeds [reminder: sexual prime, age: 18 – 21, BMI: 17 – 23].

Jayne Dallas, a senior studying advertising who was seated across the table, grumbled that the population of male undergraduates was even smaller when you looked at it as a dating pool. “Out of that 40 percent [of men on campus], there are maybe 20 percent that we would consider, and out of those 20, 10 have girlfriends, so all the girls are fighting over that other 10 percent,” she said.

I think Ms. Dallas fucked up her math. Or she is really picky. I presume she meant to say 50% of that 40% of men, but confused half of 40 (citing 20%) for half of 40% as a percentage. In fact, she seems to be all over the place confusing percentages with absolute numbers. You can’t expect much from an advertising major. On the other hand, if she really did mean that only 20% of the men on campus would interest her, then the imbalanced sex ratio seems to be doing nothing to curb the natural inborn phenomenon of Hottie Hypergamy. (Non-hottie hypergamy usually resolves itself in buckets of ice cream or soul-crushing strings of one night stands. Do note that a woman’s right to choose ice cream takes precedence over her right to choose a beta.)

The very next sentence by the article’s author is this:

Needless to say, this puts guys in a position to play the field, and tends to mean that even the ones willing to make a commitment come with storied romantic histories. Rachel Sasser, a senior history major at the table, said that before she and her boyfriend started dating, he had “hooked up with a least five of my friends in my sorority — that I know of.”

Hm. Not sure how Alex Williams segued so effortlessly from Jayne Dallas confessing that despite the imbalanced sex ratio she still only finds 20% of the men attractive to “this puts guys in a position to play the field”. Correction Mr. (or Ms.?) Williams: This puts ALPHA MALES in a position to play the field. Betas continue chafing themselves to relief.

Thanks to simple laws of supply and demand, it is often the women who must assert themselves romantically or be left alone on Valentine’s Day, staring down a George Clooney movie over a half-empty pizza box.

“I was talking to a friend at a bar, and this girl just came up out of nowhere, grabbed him by the wrist, spun him around and took him out to the dance floor and started grinding,” said Kelly Lynch, a junior at North Carolina, recalling a recent experience.

This article is useless without a proper analysis of the types of men on campus who are getting blatantly propositioned by women. But the NYBTimes won’t touch that with a ten foot schlong, because it might mean peeking behind the frilly lace at what exactly drives female mating choice. Let me start off the discussion by suggesting that the “10% of guys” who are the recipients of bumpandgrindage are pretty much the same 10% of guys on college campuses without an imbalanced sex ratio. Oh sure, maybe a few extra dudes luck out from a favorable sex ratio, but by and large female hypergamy is as rock solid unalterable as is male attraction to slender hourglass figures and youthful beauty. Which is why you’ll see a bigger increase in the number of voluntarily single women choosing to sit out the dating game when the odds are against them than you would see an increase in the number of hotties slumming it with betas who would normally repulse them. This is not to say the sex ratio has no impact. It does. Just not as much as most would believe. The sex ratio’s biggest impact is how it changes courtship behavior (more women dressing sluttily; more men acting like cads), but courtship behavior is not the same as fucking. The endgame is still “Who is she fucking?”, and by my take, a favorable sex ratio for men doesn’t much change the calculus of women seeking the 10-20% top dogs for fucking. As I’ve written before:

Maxim #101: For most women, five minutes of alpha is worth five years of beta.

Thanks to the sex ratio, a lot of these college chicks choose to share the cock of a worthy insperminator rather than settle for a beta, no matter how numerically scarce beta penii happens to be. They don’t much like sharing, but they like receiving the tepid seed of a milquetoast puffboy even less.

Naturally, all systems have a breaking point. I would bet that when the sex ratio becomes radically skewed — let’s say 80% women 20% men — you would start to see some strange female behavior. Cats laying down with dogs, women laying down with betas. It’s probably happened before in human prehistory. One evo theory suggests the reason for Euro women’s exemplary beauty stems from a time in the distant past when large numbers of eligible paleobachelors were killed off hunting big prey, leaving the remaining men to choose from among the hordes of lonely women. These men likely chose the hottest babes to pass on their genes, ushering forth the big-eyed neotenous era we have today. As with all good things in life, beauty, too, was born in a crucible of boiling blood. Thanks, God!

Indeed, there are a fair number of Mr. Lonelyhearts on campus. “Even though there’s this huge imbalance between the sexes, it still doesn’t change the fact of guys sitting around, bemoaning their single status,” said Patrick Hooper, a Georgia senior. “It’s the same as high school, but the women are even more enchanting and beautiful.”

Wait a sec. Six women for every four men and yet there remain men who can’t get laid? How could this be? *scratching head, looking skyward and sticking tongue out a little* Nope, I just can’t figure out why there are male students sitting around lonely and single. For those men attending college who think a favorable sex ratio will spare you the need to learn game, I hope you can see the folly of that thinking. At best, a good sex ratio simply means more betas getting taunted by slutty women flashing scads of skin to catch the attention of the few alphas in the room.

“It causes girls to overanalyze everything — text messages, sideways glances, conversations,” said Margaret Cheatham Williams, a junior at North Carolina. “Girls will sit there with their friends for 15 minutes trying to figure out what punctuation to use in a text message.”

Girls have always overanalyzed the laconic conversations of alpha males. The sex ratio doesn’t change that. All it does is make their overanalyzing of the same men tinged with frantic desperation. Sorry betas, your conversations don’t get overanalyzed by women. They get disappeared; sucked into a void of whitenoise. You know, kinda like how you don’t remember a single word a fat chick said to you.

I haven’t written much about sex ratios because I don’t find it to be all that pertinent to a man’s daily life and his odds with women. I’ve noted that on a microcosmic scale a very bad sex ratio can mean a shitty night at the bar fending off armies of Bob Evans, and perhaps on a macro scale a skewed sex ratio will affect a host of social indicators. But for the day to day gaming of chicks, sex ratio isn’t going to have much impact one way or the other, unless it is severe and prolonged. If I had to guess, I’d say a sex ratio that favors men — as we have on a lot of college campuses these days — would mean the following:

• Women acting sluttier.
• Fat women ostracized more than ever.
• Betas taunted by a flesh machine churning out display product they cannot buy.
• Alphas living like harem kings.
• Alphas in general acting more caddish. More drinking, fighting, fornicating, and video gaming.
• Betas in general withdrawing more from social life to seek the sympathetic embrace of their computers or like-minded losers in love.
• Dating replaced by fucking (“hooking up” in the current nomenclature).
• Blowjobs and anal sex increasingly accepted as virginity-sparing sex substitutes.
• Later marriages.
• And finally, a tired rationalization hamster punching in overtime. The female mind has never been so besotted with challenges to her anti-slut barricade!

Bottom line: If you are an alpha male, this is a great time to be a student at State U. If you are a beta male, life sucks as usual. If you are an alpha female, things just got tougher. If you are a beta female, you have a glorious career in HR and a schnerdling husband to look forward to in between bed-pounding nights and tearful morning-afters with the sexily oblivious men who would forever haunt your memories and your heart.

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The Lie Of Locking Her In

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

Yes, I think I can play the field forever.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

• I might not do better.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

• I’ll live longer as a married man.

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

• It’s the right thing to do.

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

• It’s good for society.

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

• But I really love her.

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

• I want to have kids.

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

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

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

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

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Doubting Betas

In the comments to my post about Steve Phillips slumming it with a pigfaced wreck who is 24 years younger than him, Half Sigma wrote:

The guy’s an aging jock who’s not famous (I’ve never heard of him before). When he leaves the TV studio and goes out in public, he’s just an old-looking nobody to all of the women. I don’t know why he thinks he can do a lot better in 22-year-olds. Few 22-year-olds in the United States are interested in men more than twice their age.

First, my claim isn’t a stretch. Phillips is better looking than 95% of men his age. So he’d turn some younger women’s heads based on that alone.

Second, while a 22 year old is not half my age, it is significantly younger than me, so I know of what I speak. 22 year olds are certainly interested in older men if those men have game. Since I can feel the shockwaves of HS’s astonishment all the way down here in DC, here’s a pic from one year ago of me and a 21 year old who is at least 5 points higher than Steve Phillips’ moocow mistress. Yes, there was banging. This pic won’t stay up for long, so enjoy it now.

[Too late! You missed it.]

Many men are crippled by doubt. They have no understanding of the possible. To these men I say: Stop listening to the jealous naysayers, the bitter betas, the furious fembots, the condescending scolds, the cackling cunts, your Mom, your Dad, your drinking buddies, your aging ex, your fat girlfriend, your boss, society, the world. They don’t have your best interest at heart. They never did, and they never will. You have no idea just what you are capable of as a man. Game is that powerful.

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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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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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