Men Can’t Be Friends With (Attractive) Women: The Science

Four years ago, this esteemed blog laid out in detail the reasons why men can’t be friends with bangable women, and under which conditions male-female friendships could plausibly form and endure.

Men and women simply cannot be friends unless certain conditions are met.

• Mutual lack of attraction

This is easy. When there’s no loin burning to get in the way a girl buddy is like a guy buddy, except you can dump on her about your dating troubles and give your opinion of in-season colors without getting laughed at.

[…]

• One way attraction, girl to guy

Girls find it easier to keep their sex drives in check, which is why they can retain their sanity while remaining friends with uninterested guys they are attracted to far longer than the reverse scenario. Men who are attracted to their girl buddies cannot stay friends for long without either making a sloppy move and killing the friendship or sacrificing their last ounce of dignity as they go insane from blue balls toxic shock.

[…]

• One way attraction, player to girl

There is only one way a single man can be friends with a woman he wants to bang and that’s when his balls are so drained from fucking other women that he feels no testicular pressure to act on his desire. You’ll notice that a typical sexually satisfied alpha has lots of hot girl acquaintances he doesn’t bother gaming because the effort required is not worth the very small marginal increase in pleasure or risk of losing the girls as social proof and as friends.

[…]

• The man is married or in a relationship

If you’re looking to be a cool friend to hot chicks without falling victim to the temptation to hit on them, you can acquire this noble virtue on the cheap by shackling your vice within the artificial prison of marriage or exclusive relationships. (Note: The opposite doesn’t work — most men will sleep with a hot married woman given the chance and in spite of the risk.) This is the foolproof method for betas to be relaxed and emotionally stable friends with attractive girls they’d love to bang. They simply tell themselves that they already have a girl waiting for them at home who they love very much or, if they don’t love her, who would be really pissed if they cheated on her, and so the pressure is off. They can therefore rationalize their asexual acquiescence to LJBFdom as a pose of moral rectitude.

[…]

• She’s on the internet and you can’t see her in person

Pretty simple trick to be platonic with a chick when she’s a flick on your monitor and a thousand miles away.

As per usual, the Chateau was more right than it knew, and ahead of its time. Recently, a scientific study has confirmed just about every observationally sound assertion put forth in that seminal post.

[T]he possibility remains that this apparently platonic coexistence is merely a façade, an elaborate dance covering up countless sexual impulses bubbling just beneath the surface.

New research suggests that there may be some truth to this possibility—that we may think we’re capable of being “just friends” with members of the opposite sex, but the opportunity (or perceived opportunity) for “romance” is often lurking just around the corner, waiting to pounce at the most inopportune moment. […]

The results suggest large gender differences in how men and women experience opposite-sex friendships. Men were much more attracted to their female friends than vice versa. Men were also more likely than women to think that their opposite-sex friends were attracted to them—a clearly misguided belief. In fact, men’s estimates of how attractive they were to their female friends had virtually nothing to do with how these women actually felt, and almost everything to do with how the men themselves felt—basically, males assumed that any romantic attraction they experienced was mutual, and were blind to the actual level of romantic interest felt by their female friends. Women, too, were blind to the mindset of their opposite-sex friends; because females generally were not attracted to their male friends, they assumed that this lack of attraction was mutual. As a result, men consistently overestimated the level of attraction felt by their female friends and women consistently underestimated the level of attraction felt by their male friends. […]

These results suggest that men, relative to women, have a particularly hard time being “just friends.” What makes these results particularly interesting is that they were found within particular friendships (remember, each participant was only asked about the specific, platonic, friend with whom they entered the lab). This is not just a bit of confirmation for stereotypes about sex-hungry males and naïve females; it is direct proof that two people can experience the exact same relationship in radically different ways. Men seem to see myriad opportunities for romance in their supposedly platonic opposite-sex friendships. The women in these friendships, however, seem to have a completely different orientation—one that is actually platonic.

Science ♥s Heartiste. It feels good being so right so often, but honestly a high “being right to being wrong” ratio isn’t that difficult to achieve as long as you are open to seeing reality for what it is, rather than what you wish it to be. The study’s money quote:

Taken together, these studies suggest that men and women have vastly different views of what it means to be “just friends”—and that these differing views have the potential to lead to trouble. Although women seem to be genuine in their belief that opposite-sex friendships are platonic, men seem unable to turn off their desire for something more. And even though both genders agree overall that attraction between platonic friends is more negative than positive, males are less likely than females to hold this view.

If you were to read nothing in life except this blog, you would be better equipped to successfully navigate the obstacles life throws at you than a feminist or manboob who has read 10,000 cathedral-certified gender studies textbooks at $100 a pop.

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“I didn’t need game to land my wife”

A fairly common hater/game denialist shibboleth is the extrapolating from anecdote fallacy. For example, a well-respected herb in his community will find this blog, feel his beta ego fill with regret for years of missed opportunity, and immediately assert he is manlier and/or a more attractive and psychologically balanced individual because he “didn’t need these mind game tricks” to find a wife or girlfriend who loves him.

I don’t doubt that a lot of these anti-game haters are telling the truth as they perceive it. They probably didn’t need game, or more likely unwittingly used a greatly diluted version of game, to find and fall in love with a faithful (best not think otherwise) GF or wife.

Reasoning from anecdote is a logical fallacy, but there are enough of these assertions by game haters that it’s possible a statistically nontrivial number of men really did not need or use game, intentionally or otherwise, to get hitched. Therefore, discounting them automatically is not a legitimate counter-argument. There is a better way to expose their sham claims for what they actually represent.

Here’s the rub: it’s a good bet the quality (aka the sexual market value, or SMV) of their girlfriends or wives is on the middling to low end of the female attractiveness scale.

If you are the average man — average height, employed, no major physical or emotional deformities, able to hold a conversation without shitting your pants, don’t know what LARP means, can refrain from obsessively counting toothpicks that fall on the floor — then you won’t need game, or very much game as the term is commonly understood, to fall ass-backwards into long term relationships with plain janes, facial mediocrities, or chubsters (who, note, constitute the majority of American womanhood, and thus fall right in the middle of the fat (heh) part of the bell curve).

If you are this man, all you need to do to win over a woman like this — the average woman — is approach, say “hi”, chat a bit about her likes and dislikes, and show some persistence and you’ll get her in bed by date five or twenty. Voila!, an “I didn’t need game to land my wife” anti-gamer is born from the wreckage of his surrendered dreams. Since most average men are ball-less castrati, the majority of you anti-gamers are likely staying within your comfort zones and meeting only women who are not attractive enough to fuel inject your lust or challenge your risk-avoidance habits.

This is my working assumption, and I’m certain the types of guys who go stir crazy with spite at the mention of game are dating or married to dreary commonplace women they had little trouble “winning over” the lackluster, “show up on time” way.

So, to visually summarize, if the women you date or are married to are about as attractive as her:

or her:

…then, yeah, congratulate your virtuous self, you won’t need much game to score a date every two months that resolves in uninspired, tepid sex.

But if the women you date, or want to date, are as attractive as these girls:

…then you will need game. And a lot of it. Because, you see, hot girls have options, and options means they will demand more of the men who want to sleep with them and love them. And game, aka learned charisma, effectively satisfies that demand.

Or you can continue taking the path of least resistance and settling down in easy monotony with potato faces so that you can enjoy stalking pickup blogs and railing about the futility of game.

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Penis Size Around The World

Ah, HBDers. They get a bad rap as autistic nerdlings. But, you know what, Rainman didn’t miss a toothpick. That’s more than can be said for emotional equalists who make up toothpicks where none exist, and pretend that the toothpicks in front of them are actually thumbtacks. The latest support for human biodiversity theory comes to us from a guarded location deep in politically incorrect kingdom, where offense reigns supreme, censors are routed, and outraged pussies are mercilessly mocked until they slice lengthwise.

What’s the latest news you can self-abuse? Penis size differs by ethnicity and race.

The average British man’s penis is apparently 5.5in when erect – coming ahead of the French at 5.3in, Australians (5.2in), Americans (5.1in) and Irish (5in).

And it towers over the average manhood in North and South Korea – the smallest in the study at a mere 3.8 in.

But British men do not have a great deal to shout about in the trouser stakes – coming only 78th out of 113 nationalities covered in the study.

The men of Africa’s Republic of Congo are best equipped of all at 7.1 in.

The study isn’t without its critics, who contend the methodology is wanting. But it is a preliminary stab at a forbidden subject that pretty much confirms what all of us slyly notice in pornos and at the gym locker. Black dudes are packing and Asian dudes are sprouting. White dudes are in the middle.

Average penis size by country:

Republic of Congo, 7.1 [ed: show-er… and grower?]

Ecuador, 7

Ghana, 6.8

Colombia 6.7

Iceland 6.5

Italy 6.2

South Africa 6

Sweden 5.9

Greece 5.8

Germany 5.7

New Zealand 5.5

UK 5.5

Canada 5.5

Spain 5.5

France 5.3

Australia 5.2

Russia 5.2

USA 5.1

Ireland 5 [leprechauns!]

Romania 5

China 4.3

India 4

Thailand 4

South Korea 3.8

North Korea 3.8 [but their women’s pussies are tight like balloon knot, so it doesn’t matter… until they emigrate to non-asian countries.]

Penises are like the story of Goldicocks and the Three Bears.

Big Black Bear’s cock is sexy but uncivilized. It tears Goldicocks up, leaving her a quivering mass of orgasmic release and STDs.

Androgynous Asian Bear’s cock is unstimulating but loyal. It barely makes a dent in Goldicocks’ cavernous vagina, but it sticks around to see the kids (aka “grays”) through 35 years of post-graduate schooling, and eventually goes on to rule the world with their half-asian bear, half-jewish home invader progeny.

Wan and Woolly White Bear’s cock is juuuuust right. Sexy enough for Goldicocks to feel like her cave is properly explored, but included with some safety gear and a home mortgage.

On a less serious note, readers may wonder why racial and ethnic penis size differences exist in the first place. Random genetic drift? An evolutionary adaptation along for the ride because it was hitched to some unrelated genetic variant that improved survival&reproduction? Sexual selection? Lynn has offered his theories, and I’ve heard of others. The most plausible theories boil down to these two:

– Women in warmer r-selection societies (where kids are pumped out early and often and fathers are mostly absent and not needed to help raise the kids) choose men who are flashier, sexier and sizier. Literally. It’s hot out, you’ve got your cock out, and women are staring at your package next to a bunch of other guys’ packages. The women don’t care so much about your fidelity or your paycheck from coding Facebook apps; first things first, they want that massive dong.

– Men in r-selection societies need bigger penises to dig down deep and scoop out competitor male sperm, said sperm which is in there because the women are really slutty and/or unfaithful. Men in highly k-selected societies, like Japan, don’t need huge dongs because their women aren’t always on the prowl for side action sexytime. A small hoohah helper does the trick.

If you’ve got other theories for population group penis size discrepancies, let’s hear them. The more interesting angle to this is the intra-European size difference. Why are the Irish smaller than the Germans? Why are Swedes so relatively hyooge? Background noise? Or is something else going on here? Something… so distasteful to polite society, that not even whispers escape the mouths of crime thinkers?

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Womanly Economy

Are women doing better than men (by some metrics) in the modern economy because the corporate and government world has been rejiggered to accommodate female worker preferences?

Reader epoche writes:

The reason that more men are not in college or at least not achieving the way that women might like is that the economy has specifically been re-arranged to accommodate the feminine preference for material risk aversion making it difficult for men to extract status out of working. There are two ways of organizing society – as noted by Victorian Lawyer Sir Henry Maine A) Status (Compulsory cooperation) and B) Contract (Voluntary cooperation) and the modern progressive movement is a giant step backwards towards compulsory cooperation and away from voluntary cooperation. How a group of people determine achievement says nearly everything about how their lives are going to be lived – this is why Kay Hymowitz noted that these degrees “take years” in “preadulthood” but mistakenly blamed the “knowledge economy” instead of noting the shift away from material resourcefulness and towards credentialing as the source of social standing.

Any “rearrangement” of the economy is likely to be organic in provenance rather than orchestrated, but I’m open to evidence saying otherwise. I’m not a big believer in conspiracy thinking; most of what strikes naturally skeptical people as conspiratorial is just the emergent property of millions of minds with shared neurogenetic predispositions coalescing around certain ideologies and policies that then gives the impression to dissenters of calculated malevolence. This is my working assumption, though I allow that conspiracies — even society-wide conspiracies — have existed and may yet exist again. It’s also not outside the realm of possibility that organic social and economic frameworks may eventually morph into self-conscious networks with conspiratorial underpinnings intent on preserving their power.

The flood of Western women into the workforce has had, and will continue to have, massive, heretofore unexamined in an honest way, unintended downstream and upstream effects on social and sexual organization. It was practically preordained. When you fuck with the god of biomechanics, expect uncontrollable consequences to belch forth from the depths and rake at your legs dragging you into its disorienting hellhouse. This was never going to be a simple matter of giving upper class, bored housewives something to do. Female economic self-sufficiency rivals the Pill, abortion, easy divorce and alternative male sexual outlets for the acid bath demolecularization potential each has on the standard model of growth industry civilization.

If the result of feminism, equalism (aka anti-white male “progressivism”) and all these other little earthquakes rattling the very foundation of the Western sexual market is to make various sectors of the economy more risk averse and more status whoring, and thus more pleasing to women’s innate preference for a hidebound, exclusive aristocracy and genteel “makework” in service to the lords, and less friendly to the openness, candor, effrontery, class shuffling and innovation that is the preference of men seeking to make a mark in the world, then we really have to ask ourselves what the end game will look like. Because, right now, the accumulating signs do not point to a happy future.

Executive summary:

Credentialism stifles innovation and risk-taking, and solidifies a de facto corporate, academia and government aristocracy preferred by women. Credentialism is a natural outgrowth of feminism and equalism, which themselves are natural outgrowths of the feminine sensibility. The root of these twin evil ideologies must be destroyed and the ground upon which they grow salted before the West can begin an era of renewal that returns it to the eternal principles enshrined by the gods of the copybook headings.

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Dimensions Of A Perfect Woman

Courtesy of reader Mike, here’s a page from a late 19th Century booklet named “Woman’s Own Book of Toilet Secrets”. The page describes the “dimensions of a perfect woman.”

I’d woo that.*

Here’s what it says, for those with Magoo eyes:

The dimensions of a perfect woman are: Five feet 5 inches in height, weight 128 pounds. Arms extended should measure from tip of middle finger to tip of middle finger just 5 feet 5 inches (the height). The length of her hand should be a tenth of that, her foot a seventh, the diameter of her chest a fifth. From her thighs to the ground she should measure just the same as from her thighs to the top of her head. The knee should come exactly midway between the thigh and the heel. The distance from the elbow to the middle finger should be the same as from the elbow to middle of the chest. From the top of the head to the chin should be just the length of the foot, and the same distance between the chin and the arm-pits. A woman of this height should measure 24 inches around the waist, 34 about the bust, if measured under the arms, and 43 if measured over them. The upper arm should measure 13 inches; the wrist 6 inches. The calf of the leg should measure 14½ inches; the thigh 25; the ankle 8.

FYI, her perfect dimensions are BMI 21.3 and waist-hip ratio (estimating based on chest measurement) 0.70 on the dot.

Sounds like the perfect woman of the early 21st Century, too. And she’s facially pretty, as well.

Now where else have I come across these ideal female measurements? Oh yeah.

Chateau Heartiste: reacquainting the world with turn of the (last) century truths.

Contrary to the delusional claims of feminists and their fellow travelers in the degenerate freak mafia, there has never been a time in history when women weren’t physically objectified, by either women themselves or by men. Objectification of the female form is the manifest nature of sexual selection. Shaking a fist at it and whining for it to change on feminist blogs is akin to forming an advocacy group for the reversal of the earth’s orbit. Except for some minor fluctuations at the margins, these timeless truths of human sexual preference are unchanging. Wailing for the ghost of Rubens won’t spare the resentful, rump-faced rejects from the unalterable truth that a fatopia, or a lawyercunttopia, or a manjawtopia, or a bigfatbeardedfeministtopia has never existed in modern human history, and likely hasn’t long before that. Fat, ugly, unfeminine, and/or older women were never in demand and never considered desirable by men or women with skin in the game.

The feminist, of course, will move the goalposts until her ego is sufficiently assuaged. When the evidence all around her belies her bromides, she will rhetorically assert:

Men liked plumper women in the past!

Nope. Playboy centerfolds in the 1950s fell within the ideal 17-23 BMI range and the 0.65-0.75 waist-hip ratios, just as Playboy centerfolds of today do. (Dec 1953 Playmate of the Month Marilyn Monroe had a 19.6 BMI; Nov 2009 Playmate of the Month Kelley Thompson has a BMI 18.6.)

Ok, then. Men liked plumper women in the distant past!

Nope. Pamphlets from the 19th Century depict desirable women having the same measurements as desirable women of today.

Ok, then. Men liked plumper women in the ancient past!

Nope. Fat “mother goddess” icons were not viewed as sex objects. And Rubens’ contemporaries painted slender babes, adding weight (heh) to the notion that Rubens was a fat fetishist outlier.

Ok, then. Men liked plumper women in the prehistoric past!

Nope. Figurines thousands of years old have been found of thin, young women with hourglass shapes wearing miniskirts.

Ok, then! Fuck you, misogynist pig!

Mmm, I taste your hot, bitter tears laden with saturated fats.

Beauty is objective. Beauty is measurable. Beauty abides universal standards. Beauty is an ironclad cosmic law that can’t be wished into irrelevance. Beauty is the golden ratio that holds illimitable dominion over all. Beauty

is

not

in

the

eye

of

the

beholder.

It is an inherent trait of the beheld. And it is immune to societal reengineering campaigns to reconstitute it for the benefit of those lacking its blessings.

Feminists and equalists, YOU LOSE. GOOD DAY, LOSER. YOU GET

NOTHING…

but eternal torment and anguish until your last breath escapes the prison of your ugliness and lies.

*I can already see the female readers rushing to the mirror with tape measure in hand, to find out how close they conform to perfection. It’s ok, ladies. Your reaction is normal and healthy and reflects a subconscious understanding and acceptance of reality that will redound to your personal advantage. Don’t let some whiny, bloviating porky pig convince you otherwise.

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Women Don’t Handle Rejection Well

Rum writes:

On a parallel track [to women being less familiar than men with continual horniness]; modern American women have no skill at all in coping with sexual rejection. If they come on to you straight-on and you tell them “No!!” – you will not see much gracious-ness or even sanity in their response. They may well try to hit you as their brains short-circuit and go into panic mode.

Astute observation. I’ve had a few girls whose looks I didn’t much care for come on to me in the manner of a man on the hunt. When I say “come on to me”, I’m not cavorting with literary license. I mean, the women cold approached me and asked me out, asked me to join them for a drink, or, in one memorable case, asked me to take her back to my place.

Since these women were not physically acceptable to me, (and since I was dating around at the time and had my sexual urgency dampened), I turned them down. I was nice about it. A simple “No, thanks”, and the girl’s hopeful bright face would immediately darken, her features turn upside down, and she would shuffle back into the shadows a crestfallen hunchback of unanticipated crushing defeat.

One girl I did this to nearly broke into tears, and even in the dim lounge light I could see her lower lip tremble. She then re-approached me later in the night and shouted at me that I was an asshole, jabbing a finger into my chest. (My steel-reinforced pec easily deflected the projectile.) Of course, all eyes turned accusatorially in my direction. You can never say the white knight brigade, men and their female instigators, pass up a chance to fly to the aid of a woman in distress of her own doing. Just a friendly reminder that the unforgiving, stark reality of the sexual market and sex differences massages perception so thoroughly that witnesses to female tribulation automatically assign her any and all benefit of the doubt, and guilt is readily and instantly assumed to be the burden of the man ensnared in the altercation. This perception breaks only under a preponderance of unassailable evidence to the contrary, which is almost never gathered or examined in the cock-propped hothouse of a nightclub. I thus beat a hasty retreat.

It’s fair to say that all these girls (not many in total, but enough to draw a generalization about women who would be in similar circumstances) reacted to my rejecting them in a despondent, tail-tucked way that would rival the most maudlin beta male display of public sexual humiliation.

It’s easy to figure out why. Most women are not accustomed to sexual rejection, delivered straight up like a hot lance to the soul. Not even the less attractive ones have this experience, because there is usually a man sufficiently low enough in the mating hierarchy, and desperate enough for sexual relief, who would accommodate these lonely ladies’ wishes. A woman who approaches a man for sex instinctually believes, with some justification, that her offer will be received with pleasant surprise and cooperative eagerness.

Since she believes this, and since taking the approach initiative feels so strange to her female sensibility, the less attractive woman who pursues this inverted courtship strategy will generally approach only men significantly higher in value than the men she would normally get by waiting to be approached and pursued. Some of these out-of-her-league men will abide, because a convenient one night stand, even one that will be less exciting for him, is hard to turn down. But some of these men won’t, for a variety of reasons, not least of which is the fact that dating attractive babes tends to sour men on wasting even minimal time perfunctorily pump and dumping good-to-go plain janes.

The average woman doesn’t have the wealth of experience that the average man has with direct, active sexual rejection. When, on those rare occasions, she does experience it, her state control is shattered and her negative emotions come flooding to the surface, bobbing like dead fish on a polluted lake. This manifest wretchedness will evoke feelings of sympathy and even misplaced guilt in the man who did the rejecting, which is a point against any belief in the moral superiority of women, who rarely, if ever, feel similar sorts of sympathetic outpourings for the much greater numbers of men they reject in the course of their (fertile) lives.

Men of all stations in life have to deal with sexual rejection more often than do women, and as such they develop a strong shell that protects their egos and allows them to hunt another day, instead of curling into the fetal position and waiting for death, or the next episode of “The New Normal”. Women have never developed this purposeful shell, this strength of self-possession, and their inability to handle unambiguous rejection with dignity testifies to their underlying emotional and ego weakness. Men who get nervous at the thought of approaching women would do well to keep this in mind: you are far better equipped than your prey to surmount a temporary setback. Your masculine detachment is a gift. Take pride in it. The qualities that every societal siren blares that you should be ashamed of are those very qualities that will serve you so well.

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Womanese-to-English Translator

Online translator services are really helpful in a pinch when you’re overseas, but what do you do when you’re talking with a woman who speaks your language? American women speak English, at least syntactically and grammatically, but the meanings of their words and sentences often mislead as much as inform. After all, if women said what they meant and spoke clearly and honestly, wining and dining them with all-expenses paid dates would be a thing of the past. You’d know within a few minutes whether she was going to put out for you or not. And if she was interested in sex, you’d know exactly how to proceed to ensure it happened.

So for those times when you actually care what a woman says to you — i.e., those times you’re talking with an attractive young babe you want to crotch smash — your life (and sanity) would be immeasurably improved if you had a Womanese-to-English translator at your instant disposal. Imagine the following conversation:

YOU: Hi, can I buy you a drink?

HER: Sure!

YOU: Cool.

HER: Thanks. [drinks up, eyes room, alpha male pops up out of nowhere and she leaves with him, laughing all the way]

YOU: fuck.

Now this is how the above conversation would go if you had a Chateau Heartiste Womanese-to-English Translator on hand:

YOU: Hi, can I buy you a drink? [turns on W/E Translator, patent pending]

HER: Sure, I won’t turn down a freebie, but it will hurt your chances to have sex with me.

YOU: Nah, I changed my mind. I won’t buy you a drink.

HER: So… you seem kind of interesting. New around here?

See how your life would be so much better with the W/E Translator at your side? Here’s another sample conversation that many of you will encounter in the course of your pickup career:

YOU: I collect walking sticks. Come, let’s go to my place. I’ll show you my collection.

HER: Ok, but nothing’s going to happen tonight.

YOU: [dejected face] oh, ok. Well, can I get your number?

HER: [gives fake number]

Feel like a lah-hooo-ser? You should. But you don’t need to ever feel that way again with the W/E Translator (patent pending, internationally copyrighted)! How would the above conversation have turned out when run through the W/ET for accuracy?

YOU: I collect walking sticks. Come, let’s go to my place. I’ll show you my collection. [turns on W/ET]

HER: Ok, but nothing’s going to happen tonight if you give up trying.

YOU: [smug face] Don’t worry, I won’t.

HER: [takes your arm]

Beautiful love, with an assist from the W/E Translator. Can a price be put on such a product? It can’t, but now you can have it for the low low price of $49.99, an infinity dollars-minus-$49.99 savings! You’d be crazy to pass up this opportunity.

More game-changing, dick-wetting, money-saving, sanity-sparing magic, courtesy of the W/ET:

Before W/E Translator

YOU: [making bedroom move on your wife]

HER: [turns over] I have a headache tonight. Maybe another time.

After W/E Translator

YOU: [making bedroom move on your wife]

HER: [turns over] Can’t do it. My vagina is still sore from fucking my boss.

Before W/E Translator

HER: When are you going to dust the cat hair balls like I asked?

YOU: Sorry, honey, I forgot. I’ll get right to it.

HER: Nevermind, I already did it. You obviously don’t care.

YOU: What?! Of course I care about you! Where did this come from?

HER: Just forget about it. I’ll be at the spa.

After W/E Translator

HER: When are you going to stick up for yourself and say no to me?

YOU: So this is what you mean. I get it now.

HER: My complaint about the cat hair balls is really a passive-aggressive taunt directed at your repulsive feeble betatude.

YOU: It’s refreshing to know how you really feel instead of making me read between the lines.

HER: I’ll be filing for divorce in less than a year.

***

Since I doubt your woman will stop talking anytime soon, the W/E Translator is useful in every situation. Just read these typical obfuscating female words and watch them transform right before your eyes into distilled truth.

HER: I don’t deserve you.

W/ET: Treat me like shit if you want to get in my pants.

HER: I’d rather not corrupt an innocent man.

W/ET: Your inexperience with women is a turn-off.

HER: I’m not nearly as nice of a person as you are.

W/ET: I’m really nice to jerks, but I won’t be nice to you.

HER: I’m a bit too immature to appreciate a guy like you.

W/ET: Call me in ten years after I’ve ridden the cock carousel and my looks have taken a hit.

Act now, and we’ll throw in the bonus W/E Nonverbal Translator! Just hold it up to visually record your girlfriend or wife, and receive a verbal confirmation of her real state of mind.

HER: [scarfs down ice cream]

YOU: [activates W/ENT]

W/ENT: “This ice cream is more exciting to me than your dick.”

***

HER: [parks her fat ass on a sofa to watch The View]

YOU: [point W/ENT at her]

W/ENT: “I no longer feel motivated to please you because you are an uninspiring beta herb.”

Amazing stuff! And guess what? The W/ET even has a super secret algorithm that can tell which words women speak are truthful. That’s right, it knows what needs translating, and what doesn’t! When a woman says something unexpectedly candid, the W/ET flashes a green light. That’s green light for “go to your nearest chapel and profess your belief in a higher being, ESP, and Bigfoot”.

HER: You’re too safe and predictable for me.

W/ET: *green light*

HER: You’re giving me too much power and I resent it.

W/ET: *green light*

HER: I wish you’d stop doing as I say because you logically figure it’s how to avoid a crushing break-up.

W/ET: *green light*

There’s even a setting that allows you to program the W/ET so that the closer a woman comes to speaking the unadulterated truth, the brighter the green light shines in your face.

HER: My vagina burns for violent sexual adventures with an emotionally opaque, aloof badboy who makes me a little scared for my life.

W/ET: *GREEN LIGHT GREEN LIGHT GREEN LIGHT*

Sold yet? You should be! $49.99 will give you such a massive competitive advantage over every other man it’s a wonder this product isn’t ILLEGAL! Buy now before the divorce lawyers find a way to classify the W/E Translator as Schedule I contraband! (Operators and coping therapists standing by.)

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