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Archive for the ‘Tool Time’ Category

I met her at my usual first date lounge, ten minutes late right on schedule. As I sat at the bar (thin crowd, plenty of elbow room), she pranced up to my side from across the room, waving back at someone. I looked over my shoulder and saw six or seven people, half girls and half guys, sitting on sofas and waving at her in return.

“Are those your chaperones?”

“No, they’re friends of mine.”

“I see. So you brought them here for protection? Probably a good idea. I usually show up to dates with a chainsaw.”

She was starting to catch on. “I swear it’s just a coincidence. I didn’t tell them I would be here.”

I glanced back at her social circle. They were watching us. Fucking great. I’d have to hustle her to a new venue ASAP, no way was she going to loosen up with her friends judging her every move. But first, drinks.

Fifteen minutes into our conversation (going well) the bartender places a couple of shot glasses in front of us.

“Courtesy of the gentleman over there in the white shirt.”

We both look in the direction of the sofa and one of the guys is smiling at us. My date smiles back.

“How sweet. My friend bought us drinks.”

I lifted my shot glass and nodded toward him in recognition. He nodded in recognition of my nod. I returned to my date and resumed our conversation, paying close attention to her body language to see if she attempted any over the shoulder lookbacks at drink-buying dude. She didn’t. Another twenty minutes passed and I was getting itchy to bounce. As I prepared to pull the trigger, her friends walked by us and stopped to say goodbye to her. Many hugs and introductions were exchanged. I watched our benefactor closely, determined to figure out his designs on my date and his role in the group dynamic. Preliminary analysis: Ingratiating beta who wanted to fuck my date.

***

You are a student of human social dynamics. Your experience with and knowledge of these sorts of situations grows with every passing day. When your date tells you her friends are at your venue of choice by sheer coincidence, you assume:

a. she’s lying, and act accordingly; that is, move her to a new spot quickly or end the date prematurely.

b. she’s telling the truth but it’s virtually guaranteed that one of the men in the group has a crush on her and will come over and say something stupid to ruin the mood of your date.

c. she’s telling the truth and they are just friends who will not sabotage your date, so you are OK to stay.

d. she’s telling the truth but you believe it is unwise to linger in that venue as long as they are within line of sight of your date.

When one of the betas buys you and your date a round of shots, you assume:

a. he’s a cool guy buying his friend and her date a drink, and he does this all the time with no ulterior motive, so you toss him a friendly nod.

b. he’s a scheming punk buying his cute friend and her date a drink because he secretly wants to bang her and thinks this is the best way to undermine the vibe between her and you.

c. he’s a superb example of Beta Maximus in the field who thinks by buying his puppy crush and her date drinks she will instantly fall in love with him and forget all about you.

d. he’s just retarded.

Given the assumptions above, decide which is most likely to be true. Then, evaluate which responses you have available to you and the best way to handle this situation.

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Schooling The Haters

There are a lot of misconceptions held by haters (and some non-haters) of the game and of yours truly that deserve closer examination.

Obsidian writes in response to a pickup scenario with a sultry game-playing chick I recounted:

Such a girl as described, would come off to me that she would not be satisfactory for potential Mommy material. On top of that she was just plain weird.

[…]His intentions are quite clear-to fuck, usually but not always, in pump & dump fashion-as many Women as possible. To that extent then, his selection criteria, is considerably different from mine, and I see nothing in the least wrong with that.

[…]some of the Game moves one would use to attempt to bed the gal in his scenario, would be wholly different in the kind of Game I used wrt say, Brown Sugah, whom I’ve mentioned before.

It’s amusing how writing in a certain style will lead people to induce the substance of what you write. In fact, I have rarely if ever written on this blog that my intentions are to pump and dump as many women as possible, unless it was in a humorous context. I have described the reality of women. I have given pointers on how to pump and dump if that’s your goal. I have singled out a certain type of woman for pump and dump status. But none of that reflects what I personally value in my own relationships with women. Of course, it is a weakness of human nature to imagine the most antagonistic motives of another person if what that person says is not thematically consistent with the narrative playing out in one’s head.

When I have written about my value system I have been quite clear — a relationship with a woman who loves you is one of the sublime pleasures of life, perhaps the very best pleasure, and the occasional fling or one night stand is pretty good too. It does not make sense, given the short time we have our lives on this earth, to pass up opportunities to make love with women, even to fuck them silly, if the woman does not pass your stringent criteria as LTR material. So yes, one night stands with scheming game-playing chicks and long term passionate relationships with quality women are not morally incompatible in my worldview. Only those whose options are limited (Hi TBG!) subscribe to those sorts of self-serving sociosexual codes.

As for Obsidian’s contention that the game used on weird chicks such as the girl in my post is different from the game used on the kind of women Obsidian is interested in meeting (presumably, marriage material), I call bullshit. Game, like a woman’s looks, is not cookie cutter, but neither is it completely random in its effect. The fundamental concepts of game are universal and apply equally to all kinds of women, from Rules Girls to club sluts to church angels to playettes to rebounders to Georgetown yuppies to SWPLers to haughty hipsters to young to old… and even to lawyer chicks. If it were not so, there would be no such thing as “game”. Think about it.

Superhater Keith, the Alpha-iest of Alphas wrote:

Yes, but [the girls who respond positively to his game] still resemble one another in otherwise unobserved traits that correlate with their tendency to give you their number in the first place.

This is a common anti-game argument pulled with insipid frequency from the hater handbook. Alternate version: “You’ll only pick up sluts and low self esteem girls who fall for your game.” Haters of this school of hate comfort themselves with the lie that no worthy girl would ever fall for a player. As I fatherly corrected Stupendously Alpha Keith in the comments: Tautology, unreel thyself.

Super Alpha Keith reminds me of those cloying beta chumps who have spent many years of indoctrination in a seven sisters school, imbibing the feminist zeitgeist with gusto and learning to parrot all the right shibboleths in order to steal a thin-lipped kiss from some hippie chick with Daddy Gaia issues. There is of course no specific type of chick who falls for game, because there aren’t different sets of rules that govern female attraction. Game is unlimited in its potential because the male traits that women find attractive are universally shared, give or take some nontrivial broad racial differences. The tautological emptiness of Keith’s two minute hate becomes apparent when we switch genders — women with slender hourglass figures, nice tits and ass, and pretty faces don’t attract a subset of men who resemble one another in unobserved traits that correlate with their tendency to be attracted to pretty women; they attract the *vast majority* of men because female beauty, like male game, is objectively attractive to the opposite sex.

poster asked:

you never talked about how to game cigstach…i’m really curious about what you were going to say

Skip attraction and go straight into comfort building rapport. Tell her you both have a lot in common — the ability to grow thick, bushy mustaches. Share a cig, then go for the kiss, licking the corners of her stache into a handlebar shape with your saliva. Repeat until the love is strong.

omw wrote:

Breaking [game] down into official sub-categories with accompanying routines and choreography is what’s weird.

It’s only weird when you’re aware of it.  😉

Many, many haters wrote:

It’s important to be sincere in a serious relationship. Which you can’t do with game.

I’ll quote commenter Thursday on this:

“Game is necessary for a relationship because attraction is necessary for a relationship and game is what creates attraction for women.  But it is not sufficient and no one ever said it was.”

I’d add that a softened version of game is an important component of any long term relationship. And the belief that game is insincere? Just the opposite. Game is the most effective way for a man to express his deepest sincere feelings for a woman. A man has to advertise his sincere desires. If he doesn’t, women will hardly know the value of his product or the strength of his feelings. And the wrong sort of advertising will send her to another store.

Lisa the typical female hater wrote in response to me:

“a man seen with “bar skanks” as you call them will be more attractive to women than a man with no woman at his side.”

Only to other bar skanks.

A fairly common anti-poon diatribe is the “like begets like” argument. This is how haters attempt to diminish the achievements of their targets of hate. They reside well above that muck, don’t you see. As with most hate, it strikes a superficially plausible note, but in reality is proven utterly false.

I have observed that women’s preselection programming is a blunt algorithm. That is, when a woman sees you with another woman, she does not filter your quality based on your companion’s beauty as perceptively as a man filters for female beauty. You have some wiggle room in your choice of social proof. If you’re in the company of a 5, the power of preselection will work all the way up to 8s, as long as you are seen to be having a good time with your 5. To other women, the fact that you make your pawn female companion smile and laugh is more important in evaluating your quality as a man than is the exact beauty rating of your companion.

Naturally, there are limits on the applicability of women’s preselection mechanism. If your social proof is an obese 2, 10s will not give you much favor. Women are subconsciously much less forgiving of blubber on other women than they are of the prettiness or lack thereof of other women’s faces. A slender 4 with good fashion sense and obvious enjoyment at being in your company will trigger the preselection switches of plenty of hotter women in a bar.

Androgyne MQ wrote:

However, these [beta providers] do not spend all their time whining and bitching on the internet (at least not when they’re young, if they get wiped out in a divorce settlement later on then they do).

Handy betaboy translation: “Whining and bitching” = “Saying stuff that offends my tender sensibilities”.

MQ is Dizzy’s love beta.

Whiskey wrote:

How can MOST GUYS be socially dominant? Answer: they CANNOT BY DEFINITION. Period. Social dominance is like an episode of Highlander. There can be only one. And that one is what women want. Therefore, every guy with the ability to figure this out will race to social dominance. Which ends inevitably in thuggery because that is how social dominance gets settled in the end.

And over on 2Blowhards where they are having freewheeling discussions about the cultural significance of game, Rain And wrote:

PUAs recommend a massive amount of approaches to learn Game.. something like 20 per week, per man.. and this will have two effects:: It means more otherwise unmated women will be absorbed.. leaving less available women for the lucky opportunities which non-competing males depend on.. and it means women will endure more unwelcome approaches and further harden their defenses against approaches from unskilled men, raising the bar for his entry into the field. If it was hard for a below average guy just going by his natural instincts in opportunistic situations before, it will become even harder for him now.

As for men who do compete, it’s worse for them too. It’s an arms race, and if everybody gets better, than no one has more success. In fact every one is worse off, because they now have to work harder and train more to master a skill to get the same exact returns they would have gotten 10 years ago without the extra time, energy, resources spent on Game.

Whiskey and Rain And make the claim that game is a finite resource, zero-sum, and effective only in relation to the existing male status hierarchy because women ultimately want to bang the top male no matter what system he operates within. This therefore means that the returns on game are inherently self-limiting, as women will simply choose amongst the best gamers in a world full of men who have learned game.

It’s an interesting theoretical conjecture. I say theoretical because the adoption by men of game will never, in practice, reach the point where such theoretical objections carry real world weight. Game requires one necessary ingredient in abundance — balls. And most men simply don’t have the balls to (1) drop their defeatist beliefs and adherence to doctrinaire acquired wisdom and (2) take up the teachings of game and actually approach women in any situation at any time.

But is this zero-sum objection even correct in theory? I believe a case can be made that it is not, and the best way to demonstrate this is through illustration by analogy. Imagine if all the world’s women suddenly turned into 10s overnight. Ask yourselves: Would this

a. increase

b. decrease

c. have no effect on

the aggregate happiness of the world’s men? Does anyone seriously doubt this would not be a paradisiacal wonderland for men everywhere? This is because women’s beauty, at least over the timespan of a few generations before long term evolutionary change had a chance to alter the male mental landscape, is an objectively definable trait in which its supply would increase if the number of 10s increased. Only over the very long haul would men’s preferences gradually shift upward in refinement toward uber 10s — new female creatures would then be born representing 11s, 12s, and super ovarian 20s.

In the same way, this is how game works its magic on women. Male game operates like female beauty. The more of it there is in the world, the happier the world’s women will become. Women will feel the same pleasurable feelings from the first man she meets running tight game and the 1,000th man she meets running tight game. Since women are by nature status whores, over a long enough time as evolution molds their daughters’ brains they will begin to preferentially select the best gamers from among the bunch. And they will go on, as they always have, attempting to land the highest ranking man they can afford given their looks, which means seeking the man who brings the full suite of attractive male power attributes to the table.

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Beta Pedestal Game

The perfect distillation of it on Craigslist:

drop dead heart stopping beauty – m4w


Reply to: XXX
Date: 2009-01-24, 9:25PM EST

saw you at the Blooms store on minnniefield rd I let you in front of me just to see ( no harm in mind no stalker) If a woman could truly be that beautiful and you truly are.You bless the earth with the imprint of you foot upon it,s soil

If you want to know why Game works so well, it’s because there are so many of these chumps out there in circulation. You’ll be a wolf among sheep.

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I’ve received inside info about a second date gone bad from a female party who shall remain anonymous. I post it here to illustrate for the men reading what *not* to do on a date. I found the scenario described by Anonymous Girl a textbook example of the egregious dating fouls committed by the typical beta.

******

Had my second date last night. we had a lovely dinner, good conversation, albeit he seemed a bit manic to get his points across.

I can’t believe in this day and age there are still guys who take girls out on dinner dates. Please. Dinner is what your girlfriend cooks you. If you’re stuffing food in your mouth, you’re not charming her with your words or tonguing her down. Dinner dates = contrived ambience = uncomfortable pressure = killing the sexy vibe. And speaking with urgency is a major beta giveaway. Betas seeking approval always try to cram as many of their thoughts into a conversation as possible, hoping that one of the conversational threads and/or embarrassing personal vignettes will impress the girl and lead to intimacy. Frantic speed talking = beta. Slow laconic conversation where every word has the weight of an advancing glacier = alpha.

as the night wore on, i had trouble taking him seriously. he has 3 [dorky types of clothing] he writes about on fbook, he joked they were bigger than obama. he wore one last night. i know it’s a joke, but he is vain.

pretty quickly, his [occupational] addiction/cliquey [occupation] thing began grating on my nerves. he insisted on making a phone call outside the restaurant, he believes it’s a cardinal sin to do it in the restaurant. he had thoughtfully made reservations at another restaurant in case this one was full but then made a point of telling me how appreciative the other place was when he cancelled the reservation. ??

I’ve included this bit to show you how many hoops a girl expects a man to jump through, without his knowing ahead of time just what those hoops entail. This is an elaborate stained-glass window into the mental 463 bullet point checklist that girls carry with them every time they meet a potential suitor. As men, we hardly comprehend this need of women to judge every insignificant and irrelevant detail, and thinking too hard about this will cause great internal confusion and manifest as a terrible neediness to “win her over” on dates.

While the actions of the guy above aren’t the stuff of 100% coolness, viewed in the proper perspective he didn’t do anything that would warrant expulsion from the society of normal human beings. This makes a lot of guys resentful of women and their fickle standards. Forget about it. The good news: If you run tight game, you don’t have to worry about meeting her bullet points. She’ll excuse away minor idiosyncracies as long as you are turning her on.

when the charcuterie plate arrived heaped with blood sausage and other alien delicacies like broccoli/cauliflower hybrids he whispered, ‘and so it begins’ in my ear and kissed my hair, nauseating.

And then there are the non-minor idiosyncracies. I can’t believe a guy can make it through decades of life and not know this would creep out a woman. Leaning in after the blood sausage arrives and whispering “and so it begins” in her ear while kissing her hair is not sexy, though I bet he concocted this putatively James Bond-esque scenario in his head in a thrill of devilish gusto and was eager to try it out in real life.

Timing: Lesser Beta.
Execution: Greater Omega.
Intent: Greater Beta.

I do give him points for boldness, however maladroit.

last night he took his glasses off and was sort of slouching in the booth – i think he was trying to cue me to do something.

Funny. A lot of guys think slouching is sexy, that it highlights the aloofness girls love so much. More often than not, slouching shows a guy who can’t sit up straight. If you’ve already established your alpha cred, you can slouch and seem coolly unperturbed. If you’re in betaland, your slouching will look like the posture of a broken, dispirited man. If he was attempting to nonverbally signal readiness for a BJ, slouching is a half-assed way to go about it. I recommend approaching naked, fully erect, a few inches from her face until she goes cross-eyed. Preferably in a crowded restaurant.

i put my fur on and said i had to go home, work tomorrow. by now there was something vaguely passive aggressive in the air that really spurred me on to think of myself. i payed for half the meal. now i wonder: if i had been more physical, would he have payed for the entirety?

When betas feel sexually thwarted it comes out as passive aggressive weakness. An alpha knows to keep a cool head and refrain from letting his frustration bubble to the surface, where it can poison any future possibility of his date setting him up with one of her hottie friends.

It’s interesting to note that girls make the connection between money and physical escalation. Lesson: Flip the script. If you pay for a girl’s drinks, don’t push her for the kiss. And vice versa: If she gets physical with you, don’t start paying for her drinks as reward. Conspicuous enticement is anhedonic.

when we got outside he said, ‘do you mind?’ standing like four feet away from me. i’m like, ‘do you mind what?’ he kissed me, big warm kiss. it was all of 2 seconds. he lept back and complained that it was like a ’17th century kiss’ – and on and on about how bad it was. i gave him a pity hug and hailed a cab with the other arm. he murmured something about liking my fur. it actually really hurt my feelings. his civility ended in the restaurant and then he pulled the claws out. way too much insecurity for a second date.

“it actually really hurt my feelings.” Negs work!

It just goes to show how even ostensibly smart guys can have zero concept of game.  “Do you mind?”?!?  Oh no that won’t do.  Major DLV.  *IF* a man is going to ask for a kiss, the term of art is “would you like to kiss me”, a la Mystery style.  Then you have your followup answers ready: If she says “yes”, go for it.  “Maybe”, say “Let’s find out” and go for it.  “No”, say “Well, I didn’t say you COULD. You just had that look on your face.”

But the kiss question is moot. It’s best to simply lean in when the moment is right and bust a move. No words exchanged.

As if the hole wasn’t deep enough, the guy emailed her the next morning to fully display for public humiliation and my wicked amusement whatever shreds of betatude he neglected to air out during the date.

Him: That had to be the worst kiss ever.  I give it my lowest rating; one star, plus a thumbs down. Still, for the sake of my ego (which is not too enthusiastic about sexual rejection), the chaste kiss is better than getting the cheek. Nevertheless, I had fun.  I think you are trill.

This is straight out of cocky/funny game. Except he did it all wrong. You’re not supposed to tell the girl her kiss was terrible, you’re supposed to rate it a “7, but i think with practice you could get up to an 8, or a 9 even”. And you have to do it in person, with a sly grin, not over email the next morning when the moment has long passed! What an amateur. Then he lowered his value further by admitting he was sexually rejected.

Maxim #75: If you get sexually rejected, don’t admit it to yourself, and especially don’t admit it to the girl.

And what does ‘trill’ mean? Sounds vaguely LARPer-ish.

Back to Anonymous Girl:

he hurt my feelings. i emailed him back – told him i’m not a restaurant and that he should ‘work it out.’ i guess these are the perils of the dating world! what a weirdo.

ps it should be noted i was complimentary throughout the entire evening, on the shirt, the restaurant, his writing, his family sagas…i guess he could smell that i wasn’t INTO him though and decided to dive bomb the entire experience in retaliation — gay.

Divebombing is the spurned id unleashed. Closers can afford to divebomb; betas cannot. If you sense that your date isn’t INTO you, then the best thing to do is say you had a nice time, wish her good luck finding someone, and leave. Don’t make a production out of it. Expressively minimalist is the alpha way when handling rejection. Vengeance is ecstatically thrilling from a position of power, but cringingly self-defeating from the vantage point of a cornered pig ego-pricked and bleeding beta all over the ground.

Strategically, I have a hard time blaming this guy for the failure of this courtship. There were other forces he was unaware of that conspired against his succeeding. Tactically, though, he was a complete fuck-up. His is the classic case of a congenital beta overreaching in a spazzy attempt at grasping the alpha mantle, landing a flurry of off-target blows, only to dissolve in a mudpuddle of piglet squeals when things didn’t go his way.

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Commenter Just Looking sent me this jpeg. Take a look.

obaby

After I suppressed my vomit reflex, I analyzed this pathetic photo in detail. It really says so much, and none of it good. I believe this photo encapsulates everything that has gone wrong with America, and with modern Western civilization.

First, we have an aging SWPL mother-to-be. Judging by the crows’ feet, bad skin tone, and sloppy slabs of fat rolls around her hips, she looks to be about 40. If she is younger than that, then she hasn’t aged well. Her pregnancy was likely the result of many visits to fertility clinics and untold numbers of tears. She probably had to abort three Downs fetuses before getting a clean bill of viability from the amniocentesis.

Next, we see that she is a fervent Obama supporter. So fervent, in fact, that she had Obama’s logo (seed) painted on (implanted in) her belly (womb). She is in deep, deep love with Obama. So deep, that I’m positive she would happily cheat on her husband/boyfriend/cohabitator/sperm donor to give Obama the thrill of pregnancy sex, and wouldn’t worry at all about his thrusting presidential penis banging a hole in the head of her unborn child. She would cum harder with Obama in one orgasm than in all the orgasms combined she has had fucking her alpha flings in her 20s and making soft love with her grateful beta provider chumps in her 30s. She would let Obama film it and would beg him to call her fetus “Baby Barack” while he was pumping her.

“That’s right, bitch. You like that right there, don’t you? Yeeeeah, you do. Where dat man of yours? Not here! Where? NOT. HERE. BITCH! I’m gonna let this kid know who’s boss. BAM! Fuck yeeeeeah, just like that, all up in his happy home. Who knockin’ at yo door, baby barack? Who knockin’? I’ll tell you who. The man you wish was your daddy. Lick the tip when I’m in there.”

Finally, we have to wonder about the man (and I use the term in the loosest possible way) in this woman’s life. Only a supreme castrati of cosmically immense betatude would accede to the mother of his child slapping an Obama “O” on her distended belly. It’s basically admitting his lower status. It’s saying “Yes, I know you would fuck Obama if he snapped his fingers, and then laugh in my face about it afterwards. And that you subconsciously desire our baby was his instead. Shall I leave my shriveled balls on the nightstand, or just feed them to the goldfish?”

What makes this truly tragically hilarious is that the lesser beta probably *encouraged* her to do this. I bet he came up with the idea and painted it himself, while sipping his organic pig’s scrotum tea for artistic inspiration. Beta males like this vote against their own interest. They vote for candidates, typically liberal Democrats, who would assure their irrelevancy. Alpha males vote libertarian or areligious conservative, preferably paleo-.

An alpha father of her child would let nothing near his woman’s pregnant belly except his own hands and satisfied smile.

All this points up what a disaster it has been for the country since women got the right to vote. The slow, steady implosion of the greatest nation in the history of the world started with suffrage. People think my blog is satiric, but I am dead serious. The facts speak for themselves. When women cast the majority of votes, and especially when a growing number of those female voters are longtime SINGLE women, the country eventually devolves from a center-right powerhouse of beta organized Protestant work ethic and Enlightenment ideals of ceaseless discovery into a limp-wristed, creatively exhausted, kowtowed, leftist, indebted nanny state, and then, in time, is overrun by less faggy patriarchal foes.

In this election, unmarried women voted for Obama by a 70 to 29 percent margin.

“if not for the overwhelming support of unmarried women, John McCain would have won the women’s vote and with it, the White House.”

Unmarried, alpha-chasing urban sluts are the force driving the United States of America to the brink of self-immolation. I thank this new sexually liberated femicentric culture for affording me a bounty of pussy, but you will never catch me footing the bill for one of these aging Whole Foods harpies. And you can bet I would see to it that any woman I’m dating and fucking would not plaster a political candidate’s logo on her body.

There is only one lever she should pull, and that is my cock.

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Undecided voters are stupid.

These “deliberative” voters will choose our next President. Sweet.

Voting is a useless exercise. Your one vote will not change the result of a national election. Get over yourself.

If you wear an “I voted” sticker tomorrow, you are a status whore. And you can be bought cheap.

I support limiting the right to vote to net taxpayers and taking it away from net tax-recipients.

Obama’s grandmother died today. The bus Obama threw her under when he implied she was as hateful as the good Reverend Goddamn America will now be driving her to the special hell reserved for a politically convenient closet racist betrayed by the biracial child she spent her life raising. That’s the funny thing about kids — they’re ingrates!

Marxism still doesn’t work.

The Great Society failed. The Great Society 2 will also fail.

Some people will always be losers in life. Learn to be at peace with this reality.

If McCain loses, Palin did not cost him the election. The tanking stock market did.

Re: the stock market meltdown. There is a difference between deregulation and bad regulation. The current financial problems are a result of the latter.

The most insightful book on Obama you will never hear about.

Nearly every mainstream media organ fully and utterly discredited itself in this election by moving from simple bias to becoming a functional propaganda arm of the Democrat candidate. This was not an easy thing to do. The days of an objective press are over. Long live the blogs! For now…

An Obama Presidency will be more entertaining than a McCain Presidency. “May you live in interesting times…”

If Obama wins, Europe will love us again. This matters to people for whom Europe’s love is important. We call these people betas.

I would rather have a glass of pinot noir with Obama than with McCain.

2010 will be a repeat of 1994.

We are in the midst of the End Days of America. There will be no Savior. There will be no President who can change our course. The killing blow was unleashed decades ago and the fist is only now beginning to strike.

I am not voting. Why does that bother you so much?

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A while back, I was sitting in my favorite bar savoring a delicious bison burger and a beer which I imagined was the best beer in the world because it had a long German name. It was a slow Sunday afternoon and the bar was nearly empty. Across the bar, about fifteen feet away, a leggy blonde walked in and settled on one of the stools, chatting up the bartender. She noticed me noticing her, and a flicker of nervousness froze her face momentarily. I had banged this girl on two separate nights many months ago. After the second banging, we (her? me? it’s unclear) cut off all contact. This was the first we had seen of each other since then.

A minute later, a guy came in and sat down next to Blondie. He leaned in to give her a kiss and she perceptibly flinched away from his approaching puckered lips. She looked annoyed. He smiled at her doofily while her face was turned the opposite way, then ordered a meal and talked about the game on the TV with another bartender. Every so often, I caught Blondie glancing in my direction. I made sure she knew I caught her.

I remember her mentioning something about a boyfriend she was planning to move in with when we hooked up, but like any well-bred devil-may-care alpha, I breezily dismissed it. An abstract concept. Not my moral crisis. The choice to cheat or not rested entirely with her. And now, here was the flesh and blood boyfriend, sitting mere feet from a man whose dick had penetrated his girlfriend’s wet pussy while he was setting aside separate dresser drawers for her panties, happily oblivious and looking very much like a normal dude.

I wanted fun. Feeling like a cenobite summoned by a fire and brimstone hellgod of the underworld to dispense the cruel justice of a sadist who loves to watch his victims squirm, I walked around the bar and stood next to her boyfriend pretending to get closer to the TV. Blondie wasn’t there; she had gone to the bathroom.

Me: Hey man, I don’t think the Skins can take Pittsburgh. Too much depth. [My inner voice: Your girlfriend’s pussy has depth.]

Him: What? It’s only the half. Pittsburgh falls apart late in the game.

[more sports small talk]

Me: This place is pretty good on a Sunday for watching the game. No drunk college kids. So you and your girlfriend come here a lot? [I saw your girlfriend’s labia.]

Him: Oh yeah, she’s a regular here, so I come once in a while when I’m in town.

Me: Yeah, I’m a regular too. I pretty much know everybody here, but I’ve only seen her around once or twice. So you’re from out of town? I respect someone who can make a long distance relationship work during these times. [I held your girlfriend’s long legs up pointing straight at the ceiling as I pounded her into submission]

Him: I’m planning to move into DC. We’re getting a place together. The long distance thing is tough, but you do what you have to to make it work.

Me: Yup. Number one thing: trust. Long distance can work if you can trust the girl. [She let me fuck her without a condom. I don’t know if I pulled out in time.]

Him: [looking over his shoulder at the women’s bathroom door] And if she can trust me!

Me: You know it! [She has blonde pubes.] Anyhow, if you’ve found a girl like that, hold on to her. I can tell you, those types are rare. [She sucked my cock like it was her last.]

[Blondie exits the bathroom and walks up next to the boyfriend, slowly taking a seat. Her face has gone ghostly white as she sees me talking to her boyfriend. I smile and wink.]

Me: Hey, what’s up. Nice to meet another regular. We were just chatting about the Skins’ chances for making it to the show this year. [Did your clitoris just quiver?]

Her: [eyes wide] Um, hi there. [her voice sounds artificially chirpy.]

If I had a hidden camera I would have taken a picture of her face right at that moment. The expression of fear, shock, shame, and even the blush of arousal was priceless. I detected a hint of nipple hardening. The hamster on her brain wheel was spinning frantically.

Me: Well, anyhow, I’m gonna get back to my food. I don’t want somebody else to eat it while I’m away. Nice to talk with you guys. [I shot a white hot load across the bow of her chest. A blob landed on the pillow next to her head. The pillow you have pressed your face into while sleeping.]

***

Tyler Durden has written about the Secret Society. One where nearly all the attractive women, their best gay boyfriends, and a small number of alpha players share the bounty of glorious pussy. It is an organically emerged society no one talks about, or even recognizes as such. But exist it does, in practice if not in formality. Sluts are left to be sluts. Fidelity is an anachronism; a false morality for those ignorati outside the secret society. Everyone lives for good feelings. People who cause bad feelings are excommunicated. Everyone is cool. No one is beta. No one judges, no one pretends to care. The spice must flow. These are the rules.

Then a real sadistic prick comes along. A gatecrasher. A puppetmaster. The rules were made to be broken, he says. And he does. Gleefully.

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