Beta Halloween Costumes

You deserve to be the laughingstock of lesser omegas if you do the “couples costume” thing.

Here’s another example of utterly contemptible betatude.

The only acceptable couples costumes are Pimp/Ho combos (substitute Hugh Hefner for a dash of class), or this:

Note that the beta costume is not the same as the GAY costume. If you wear a gay costume people will assume you prefer manflesh. If you wear a beta costume, people will assume your woman is cheating on you.

Here is an example of a GAY costume, so you know the difference between BETA and GAY (sometimes it’s a fine line):

Beta costumes are often boringly conventional. Stay away from vampires and mobsters unless you can pull them off really well (i.e., you actually look like a mobster in real life). Silly costumes like giant beer cans or condoms are beta. The only people laughing will be other betas, and they’ll be laughing at you, not with you.

Reader Matt wrote in with the following suggestion:

My thought is that a well thought-out costume is alpha as long as it’s understated. Oversized, obnoxiously fancy costumes are beta because they appear to be compensating for a lack of personality as well as revealing that too much effort was put in to their creation.

This is decent advice, and understated elegance will usually beat overstated buffoonery. But I wouldn’t write off fancy costumes. If you can craft a fancy costume so that every part fits into a greater whole and it doesn’t look like you duct taped it together in your basement, you can attract a lot of the good kind of female attention. For instance, an ostentatiously bedecked African King would be a cool costume.

Another option is the politically incorrect costume. These will score points with rebellious chicks who just wanted Daddy to hug them.

Alpha costumes meet one or more of the following criteria — they evoke mystery, danger, coolness, power, or violence. Practice your scowl and hit the weight room, and you can wear an alpha costume like this:

If you have a dog, you can boost your alpha score one whole point humiliating your pooch in this:

If you see these people around town on Halloween, there is a good chance it will be me.

My blade will be real. Plastic knock-offs are beta.

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What A Religious Cult Looks Like

Before this gets taken down:

Check out the glowing “O”-face of the SWPL whiter person at 1:19. Really, you can’t make this shit up.

In other news, scientists discover evangelicals aren’t the only species of fundamentalist wackos.

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Sarah Palin, The Mirror

This made me laugh:

Yes, Sarah Palin didn’t know what [the Bush Doctrine] is. But neither does Charlie Gibson. And at least she didn’t pretend to know — while he looked down his nose and over his glasses with weary disdain, sighing and “sounding like an impatient teacher,” as the Times noted. In doing so, he captured perfectly the establishment snobbery and intellectual condescension that has characterized the chattering classes’ reaction to the mother of five who presumes to play on their stage.

Memo to Charlie Gibson: Never open your mouth unless you know the shot.

I no longer care about Sarah Palin’s qualifications for the job of VP. I’m just enjoying the overreaching hate she elicits. Not that I would know anything about that…

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Levi Johnston: Blockhead

I would have liked to have been a fly on the wall when the Palin family confronted Levi (pronounced like Levi Genes, or “When the Levee Condom Breaks”?) about his knocking up their young but sexually ripe daughter. Did Todd Palin threaten to have him ostracized from their Alaskan town, thereby dimming his job prospects there, if he didn’t act like he was ready to marry Bristol? Or even better did he stick a shotgun in his face? Did Sarah have dirt on the kid that could get him in trouble with the law? Did Bristol entice him with daily blowjobs if he promised to be her “steady”?

Or was Bristol the one dragging her feet? Rumor has it Sarah tried to coerce persuade Bristol to marry Levi once the pregnancy became known, but the girl would have none of it.

And was the A-word mentioned at all? When Bristol found out did she even contemplate getting an abortion? “Mama don’t preach, I’m in trouble deep… I’m ‘bortin’ my baaaabyyyy… yeah…” Did Sarah go all mommie dearest on her? “What did I say about abortion!? NO… WIRE… HANGERS!!!” Or did she read her a Bible quote followed by a tearful group family hug and that was that?

This guy Levi seems like a real stupido. I guess when your life is drinking, playing hockey, fucking shit up, and tagging famous ass, you don’t have mental room to remember to put on a condom. On the other hand, he may have assumed that a girl like Bristol, daughter of the governor, would never allow a pregnancy to go to full term. Big mistake. He should have vetted Sarah better before raw dogging Bristol.

I can tell you that at 18 if I accidentally impregnated some chick with the anti-christ I would first gently and compassionately ask her to get an abortion. If she refused, I would ask again, this time dropping the gentleness and compassion. Then I would remind her of the horrors that await single motherhood and the poor life prospects of her fatherless child, being sure to drive home in exquisite detail what jail life will be like for our son and how many loads of jizz our stripper daughter would swallow. If she still didn’t comply, I would transfer my assets to overseas banks and hightail it out of the country.

Man, if McCain/Palin win the election, the next four years will be very entertaining. The country’s already finished; may as well go out with a flourish.

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Man Dance-Off

Three guys. One cramped dance floor space. A smooth moves battle royale to catch the attentions of the two girls with their backs turned to them. Who will take home the gold?

dancing with the sausage.

(Happy dude holding drink is Wayne Brady, providing humorous color commentary.)

Guy in the V-neck steps up first and does the robot. Not bad, but girls are unimpressed. Judges score: Backs still turned.

Guy in the fashionable “I Adidas DC” T-shirt immediately follows him and goes old school with a break dancing routine that causes people walking by to be extra careful stepping over him. Judges score: Girls briefly turn around to watch because they got bored with the guys talking to them.

Fan favorite “really tall guy in the sack-crushing capris” takes the floor and does… something really GHEY. And yet I cannot look away:

taste the rainbow.

Judges score: 10.0 for the joyous shirt, 9.0 for look of concentration, 0.0 for capturing female attention. As you can see, the girls remain unimpressed with the action, prefering to focus on their beta suitors. One girl did point and laugh.

Capri guy sat down with the judges later for a post-contest interview and it turned out he was actually kind of cool in a warped way. He admitted being bisexual (read: 100% gay).

At least he had an excuse. What were the other guys thinking? No man dances for personal enjoyment; he does it either to get close to girls already dancing or to show off his moves for girls watching. The man dance-off is like the perfect storm of gayness and toolness. As far as male status competitions go, it’s lower than drinking games.

On the streets of New York this kind of thing works because there are usually lots of girls watching to take social cues from each other that it’s acceptable to get caught up in the excitement of the status displays. It was closing time when these guys squared off and there were only a few girls nearby. Male mini-status displays don’t work as well when there aren’t lots of admiring girls to give the warriors social proof of their skills. Girls often look to other girls to gauge the alphaness of men doing questionable activities. If one girl looks over at the other girl in attendance and sees she is not paying attention to the frenetic dance-off, she will remain aloof.

You could have two dorky guys playing PINBALL and as long as there is at least one horny admiring girl in the crowd to inspire the other girls, the winning pinballer will get laid.

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I Hate Bachelorette Parties

Like a swarm of locusts or a flock of shitting geese, the bachelorette party is the most loathsome sight in the club. When I see them stumble into my favorite bar holding hands like a train of circus elephants I don’t think “Oh, here comes fun!”, I think “If they ask for my underwear I’m really going to give it to them, skid mark and all.” All I want to do when I see the girl wearing the white veil is shoot a load of my hot spunk in her hair until she’s crying that I’ve ruined her $300 wedding coif.

My friends secretly hate me for getting married first.

Bachelorette parties come in two varieties: The bride-to-be is really ugly or she’s the hottest chick of the bunch. There never seems to be an in-between. You can tell which one you’re dealing with without even looking for the one in the veil. The friends of the ugly bachelorette will have a look of genuine happiness and relief on their faces for the good fortune that the least marketable of them managed to snare a guy. (My buddies and I are left to imagine just how beta the unlucky bastard must be.) They have inflated egos because joy has filled their hearts with the thought that their own chances must be very good if their incendiary warpig friend beat the odds.

The friends of the hot alpha bachelorette smile just like the friends of the ugly bachelorette do, but their smiles are masks covering their seething envy and resentment. Their yearning to be seen as desirable means that you can make some headway with one who is a little less attractive than the bride-to-be.

In my experience, bachelorette parties are dead-ends for pickup. (Bachelor parties, on the other hand…) The girls are too drunk, too insular, too bitchy, and wracked with too much Freudian drama to bother with. And have you ever been mass cockblocked? Try hitting on a girl in a bachelorette party and watch in wonder as five girls swoop in to make your life miserable.

In a righteous and virtuous world, bachelorette parties would be shunned, and those girls who participated in them would be shamed by other women. There is no good reason for a girl who is about to vow sexual fidelity to the man she loves for the rest of her life to suck from a veiny penis-shaped straw and dare horny drunk men to bite candies from the necklace nestled in her cleavage. (The bachelor party is perfectly acceptable because men sacrifice a lot more when they get married.) This insipid, low class cultural trend should be used as a litmus test for men who still have a shred of dignity – if he finds out she cavorted around town sloppy drunk and wildly flirting with every guy within shouting distance he should call off the wedding immediately. No self-respecting man marries a closet slut.

Here are a couple of stories to give you an idea of what I mean.

Story one.

A bachelorette ran up to Zeets and implored him to bite off one of the life savers glued to her white t-shirt. He obliged and, naturally, targeted the life saver perched over her left nipple. Like a hungry bear mauling prey, he ripped off the life saver and took a swatch of her t-shirt with him. She shrieked, her left boob exposed for hundreds to see, while Zeets had a piece of cloth dangling from his mouth like a hunk of meat, and a shit-eating grin on his face. What a touching photo to add to the wedding album!

Story two.

This past weekend a hot blonde from Texas in a slinky black cocktail dress came up to me and started dirty dancing, rubbing her crotch on my thigh and turning around to grind her ass into me. We flirted and laughed for 20 minutes while my hand was on her back, hips, and ass, feeling around her thong strap. She pressed her tits into my chest. I leaned in and she was about to kiss me when her drunk friend wedged herself between us.

“She’s about to get married! Look!” She held up Texas girl’s left hand.

I squinted in the dim light and saw a barely noticeable silver ring on her finger, turned around so that the very large diamond was inside her palm, out of sight. I asked her why she had her ring like that. She looked ashamed. “Oh, it gets caught on my dress.”

Word to the wise: $20K on an engagement ring won’t banish the inner whore from your dearly beloved. Save your money.

***

Recap for girls who love love love romping through town in a bachelorette party and think it makes them famous for the night:

There is nothing cute or charming about you.
You and your bridesmaids are annoying, which is the opposite of fun.
Your bachelorette party games are retarded.
You take up space better used by girls who actually want to hook up.
Your fiancee is a sucker.
You don’t have that bride-to-be “glow”. It’s just drunkenness.
You’re still fat in a tiara.

If most “men” (and I use the term loosely) weren’t such tools they’d stop giving these dorky bachelorette party girls the acknowledgement they crave. Ignoring them is the only way to end the plague.

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Greatest Car Chase Ever

 

I did this once in my car. Here is a picture of my car:

my honda with butterfly doors. the ladies are stuck to the hood.

This post required 8.3 seconds of effort. Quit yer bitchin’, I was… ahem… busy this morning.

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