Nothing Compares 2 The Wall

So sad, so tragic, the inevitable slide into sexual worthlessness that accompanies women, the withering tick tock of the cosmic clock stripping their beauty in flayed bits of soulletting mignons like psychological ling chi. A sadistic thief in the night etching, billowing, draping and sagging a new affront to her most preciously guarded asset. The comfort of her children, if she has them, acting as meager respite from the awful realization that she has been sucked dry of her whimsy and power.

But enough of that merriment. Sinead O’Connor, the Irish singer who ripped up a picture of the Pope and sweetly sang a remake of a Prince ballad, and who was, not so long ago despite the shock of her change in appearance, cute enough to bang even with her boyishly short hairstyle, has hit the wall hard enough to cause even Wile E. Coyote to wince in pain. The evidence:

Then:

And now (20 years later):

Pixie? No. Not anymore. BIXIE.

Some of you tenderhearted sorts might be tempted to ask why I am torturing a poor woman who has to endure pain enough ensconced in her deteriorating shell. Steady on, bugle boys. I might have a sadistic streak, but I don’t select my targets without some justification which makes the torture that much more pleasurable to inflict. Good old Sinead, fat and unhappy, has an internet blog, of all things!, wherein she laments her lack of a sex life and basically puts out a personal ad for a man to come rescue her from her celibate dreariness. The incomprehensible catch? She makes a list of demands for the type of man she wants.

Complaining of a lack of intimacy in recent times, O’Connor writes on her blog: “My shit-uation sexually/affectionately speaking is so dire that inanimate objects are starting to look good as are inappropriate and/or unavailable men and/or inappropriate and/or unavailable fruits and vegetables. I tell you yams are looking like the winners.”

“Needless to say what I do for a living makes it hard for me to find men that only want me cuz they like my (legendary) arse. Yet I am in the peak of my sexual prime [Ed: No, you’re not.] and way too lovely [Ed: No, you’re not.] to be living like a nun. and it’s VERY depressing.” [Ed: Yes, it is.]

So she’s taken action but O’Connor is not looking for just any man. She specifically wants a middle-aged, sweet, sex-starved man – who doesn’t use hair product, lives in Ireland, loves his mother… There’s a host of stipulations for O’Connor’s would-be sex partners.

Sinead, spinhead, spinster, Irish Lassie, lumpentits… have you looked in a mirror lately? You’re in no position to make ANY kind of demands on men. You should thank your LUCKY FUCKING STARS if you get a homeless, piss-stained BUM to stick it in your distended flabby sowhole.

It’s this sort of insistently aggressive delusion, so common amongst the aging cougar crowd, fat harpies and single moms, that pings my target designation flaydar. This is the kind of bullheaded clown steeped in pretty lies who serves as an excellent test case to be made example of for the benefit of younger, more sensible women who might be teetering on the brink of bad life decisions. You could almost… almost… say I’m a humanitarian.

Let me be clear, if I haven’t already. Ladeeeeez, listen up. When you look more like post-wall Sinead and less like pre-wall Sinead (see above), it’s time for you to ratchet down your lists of demands in men. Any man you manage to get, if you get any, won’t meet them. They won’t even come close to meeting them. I understand it gives you some psychological comfort to pretend you have standards in the face of your horrible disfigurement at the cruel hands of father time, but actually living by those ridiculous standards instead of just hypocritically mouthing them to rock yourself to sleep at night is NOT going to land you a man of any semi-respectable character, intelligence, wit or looks. If anything, such strict adherence will consign you to lifelong celibacy. The men you will find attractive, quite bluntly, won’t find you attractive. At all. You will be worse than invisible to them. You will be repulsive. A monster to avoid or mock.

The time for women to nurse a list of exorbitant demands in the men they date is when they are young, slender and cute. By young, I mean under 25. By slender, I mean BMI 17-23. By cute, I mean the top half of the women in this post. If any of those ingredients are missing, women need to slacken their demands in accordance with the degree to which they veer from the feminine ideal. So if you are old, fat and ugly, the only demand you can make of men and reasonably hope to achieve is that he isn’t a corpse. Even then, it’s a tough sell.

Sinead is an especially illustrative wall splat, as her entitlement complex, rivaling that of kings and queens, is a classic case of projection. She is attracted to men with fame and power, and so she thinks men will be attracted to women with fame and power. She has fame (loosely defined) and thinks that men will love her for it. This is the worst life station that can befall the single cougar: to have the trappings of male attractiveness with none of the trappings of female attractiveness. On paper and in thrall to their hamsters, these powerful older women think they deserve the best. In the reality of the sexual marketplace, they are the forgotten femmes of yesteryear, cavalierly shoved aside by men with options for the younger, prettier girls of their fervid dreams.

But it gets better:

And further posts [from Sinead] brought more. Prospective lovers can be lesbian; may even, she conceded, be christened Brian or Nigel; but anal sex is non-negotiable.

“Any man I contemplate has to be into anal sex …  let me now take time to make VERY clear that yes I ‘do anal’ and in fact I would be deeply unhappy if ‘doing anal’ wasn’t on the menu, amongst everything else$ So if u don’t like ‘the difficult brown’.. Don’t apply.”

When I think of the joys of anal, it’s a cute, young chick whose silky smooth back passage I’m violating. If I wanted to trek through a dank forest and hack away at thick underbrush with a machete while the stench of rotting carcass meat singed my nostril hairs, I’d sooner travel to the Amazon than Sinead O’Connor’s ass.

But I can understand why Sinead has highlighted this demand of hers. Naturally, as women age, they become more willing to experiment with all manner of sexual kink. It’s totally predictable. When you don’t have your cute looks to trade in on anymore, you have to make up the shortfall with some other, usually less intriguing, enticement, like a willingness to lodge your ass into a bottomless hammock and swing onto a dildo machine for the amusement of your loser lover.

I do wonder, though, if the Chateau message is starting to infiltrate the borg collective; if perhaps a great cougar awakening is upon us. An aging single mom writes a blog honestly appraising her low SMV and the Darwinian brutality of the dating market for women like herself.

‘I always had boyfriends when I was younger and assumed I would again after James was born,’ she says. ‘When he  was three, I started chatting online. These chats were fun — and sometimes quite flirty — but if I ever suggested  we meet, the men would often back  off, saying they were not looking for a relationship.’

A dozen or so dates followed over the years, none of them quite right. When she last registered with an online dating site she was 44 — and few men made contact. ‘Forty is a huge cut-off point for a lot of men,’ Ruthie explains. ‘There was just one I met and we had a fantastic evening. I was surprised afterwards when he didn’t get in touch.

‘Six months later, he did contact me. It turned out he’d seen some other women when he saw me and gone on to have brief relationships with them. When those relationships failed, he came back to me and I just felt, “He’ll be off again”, so I didn’t pursue it.’

Youch. This is the kind of crappy male behavior a woman on the downslope of her attractiveness and saddled with bastard spawn can expect from the men she wants to date. It won’t get better if she insists on only dating men she finds attractive. It will only get worse. Men with options simply won’t treat has-been single moms as well as they will treat already-is hot young childless babes. That is, if they deign to treat them with anything but callous indifference. More younger women need to hear stories like hers. It could save a lot of potential heartache.

And then there’s this online evidence for an awakening among older women.

Katie Sheppard, the director of relationships at Match.com, said online dating was now the second most common way couples met across the UK – behind being introduced by friends or family – and for older people it can be a perfect way to “dip a toe back into dating”.

Its research shows that dating is, especially for divorced women, fraught with complication, anxiety and worry. Looking for second-time love when children are a first priority is a challenge. Nicola Lamond, Netmums spokeswoman and mother, said: “Being a single parent can be pretty tough. Single parents describe themselves as lonely, isolated, vulnerable and worthless. There is a real sense their world has shrunk.”

There is a sense their world has shrunk… because it has.

Even Sinead has a hope of coming around to sensibility on her sexual obsolescence.

“Fire-men, rugby players, and Robert Downey-Junior will be given special consideration. As will literally anyone who applies.”

Sometimes, you just can’t give the stuff away for free.

Now is the time to take the message of this blog global. To ostracize the rigidly denialist feminists and to cajole the merely confused into the light of wisdom. To, in a word, increase the sum total of happiness in the world.

It beats listening to me gloat ‘I told ya so’.

ps:

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Equality Ruins Sex

Here’s a simple formula:

Economically empowered women + empathetic men = loss of female sex drive.

Who’da thunk it!

Well, apparently not feminists, because the latest slew of research is sure to give them a crusty old vagina hemorrhage.

Using the internet, neuroscientists Ogi Ogas and Sai Gaddam analysed half a billion sexual fantasies, preferences and practices, then correlated their findings with animal behaviour studies and the latest findings in neuroscience, to come to the very non-PC conclusion that when it comes to sex, women are wired to find sexual submission arousing.

And that gender equality, far from liberating women sexually, actually inhibits desire.

This is not news to anyone who reads this blog. This research supports a critical CH maxim:

Maxim #15: Female cultural equality = male dating inequality. Female cultural inequality = male dating equality. You cannot have both by the laws of human nature.

When women make as much or more money than men, when they have equally prestigious jobs and an army of assistants, they will find that the pool of sexually desirable men dries up, and the inevitably lowered status men who are available to them are perceived as veritably castrated. Male dating inequality results, where more and more men are deemed unworthy mate prospects while the few men who still wield high status over the majority of women find their prospects enlarged.

A choice quote by a classic lawyercunt from the above article:

Corporate lawyer Amy, 38, goes to work in killer heels and a pencil skirt, commands a mega-salary and has a team of assistants at her beck and call.

‘At work, I’m always the one in control and I admit that I like it that way. It’s exciting and it’s sexy being an Alpha woman,’ she says.

But when it comes to her partner Max, who is also a lawyer, albeit with a less high-profile job, she often finds herself feeling confused about who calls the shots — especially when it comes to sex.

‘When I get home, I no longer want to be the power broker, the one who’s always in charge and in control. I need to be wooed and seduced, and to feel that Max has power over me,’ she says.

‘Sometimes he fulfils the role, but sometimes he doesn’t and I feel disappointed. It does make me wonder why I’m reluctant to take the initiative in bed when I’m confident and in charge at work.’

Women are hardwired to prefer submission to a strong man, and the stronger the man, the more abject her surrender. See: Story of O. Women BEG for you to exert your power over them. A woman craves it like you crave stuffing her holes full of love.

Luckily for men in this epoch of economic contraction and anti-male bigotry, game will allow them to bypass the female algorithm to screen for high status men by giving women the SUBMISSION TO POWER that they so desperately need without men having to rely on any societally conventional status metrics. And women will love them for it.

For the haters and doubters who latch onto the whiny cry Fake! every time this rule of game is rubbed in their faces, ask yourself a simple question. Would Amy, the corporate lawyercunt in the story, feel

a. more turned on, or

b. just as turned off as before

if her lower rung lawyer lover started gaming her using the principles espoused on sites like this one?

Rhetorical. We all know the answer to that. She would love every last second of it, and her nag-to-blowjob ratio would quickly reverse.

Feminism, to put it as bluntly as these two do, is bad for sex, and is the prime reason why increasing numbers of women are seeking help for problems associated with low libido.

Ironically, while feminism has opened the pussy floodgates for alpha males, enabling them to have their fill of noncommittal sex, the uptight little ideology has simultaneously ruined the libidos of women by, in turns, masculinizing women and emasculating men. You just can’t fuck with the primal forces of nature and expect no blowback.

According to Ogas and Gaddam, we can learn some important lessons about female sexual behaviour from observing rats in the laboratory.

They insist that if you put a male and female rat in close proximity to one another, the female will start to come on to the male, performing actions associated with sexual interest — running and then stopping to encourage the male to chase her.

But after a bit of kiss-chase, the female rat stands still, adopting a submissive stance until the male takes action. They also claim that almost every quality of dominant males — from the way they smell to the way they walk and their deep voice — triggers arousal in the female brain, while ‘weaker’ men, who are not taller, have higher voices or lower incomes, excite us less.

What they seem to be suggesting is that the cavemen were right all along and that what women really want is to be dragged by the hair, all the while feigning reluctance, by macho men waving clubs.

Maxim #2: All successful seductions are adversarial in nature.

Even female rats exhibit the same tendencies that human females do: the love of being chased, the anticipatory flirting, the insufferable but charming coyness, the anti-slut defensive posturing, the desire to submit to a dominant male, with ass perched high in the air, undulating in expectation.

When I put this proposition to my friend Katie, 42, who runs a successful event planning business and is married to Geoff (who gave up a job with the police force that he hated and is doing a stint as house-husband, looking after their sons, aged three and six), she blushed with embarrassment.

‘It seems so disloyal to admit this because Geoff is so lovely in every way. He’s brilliant with the children, he does all the shopping and cooking, but the truth is I’m just not turned on any more,’ she says.

‘He knows how tired I am at the end of the day, and though he’s just being considerate, instead of asking me if I’m in the mood for sex, I long for him to be a bit masterful and say: “I want you. And I want you now.”

‘On the few occasions when we do make love, the only way I can get excited is by having a lurid fantasy about being taken by force by a man in uniform.’

I think we can declare, with this vaj-smash CH post, that on the date of 18-8-2011, feminism died. May the gruesome corpse shortly rot into spinsterly decrepitude and spare us all the spectacle of watching me do the Snoopy happy dance and gloating “I told you so!”

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Chicks Dig Jerks: More Scientific Evidence

The blows of excruciating truth continue raining down on feminists’ block-like skulls. A recent scientific study (via reader “Dor”) confirms a core theme of this blog that chicks really do dig jerks.

The personality traits that compose the Dark Triad [i.e. narcissism, psychopathy and Machiavellianism] have typically been considered abnormal, pathological and inherently maladaptive. Although individuals with these traits inflict costs to themselves and others, the Dark Triad traits are also associated with some qualities, including a drive for power, low neuroticism and extraversion, that may be beneficial. Together with low amounts of empathy and agreeableness, such traits may facilitate — especially for men — the pursuit of an exploitative short-term mating strategy.

So what is this study telling us? What Heartiste concepts are validated?

– Narcisisstic, irrational self-confidence is more attractive to women than modest, rational defeatism. (See: Poon Commandment XI)

– Being a rule breaker (a form of psychopathy) is attractive to women. (Playing by the rules will win you plaudits from polite society, but it won’t help you get pussy.)

– Using people for personal gain is attractive to women.

– The Dark Triad works best for short term sexual hookups (the kinds of mating opportunities most men would jump at if they were easy to get). LTRs require a small but significant infusion of beta provider game to remain healthy and satisfying for any woman.

– Being disagreeable (an asshole, that is) is attractive to women.

– Being power-hungry is attractive to women.

– Never sweating the small stuff is attractive to women.

– In other words, being an aloof, uncaring asshole — an amalgamation of all the above traits — makes you optimally attractive to the greatest number of hot chicks.

– Contrary to feminist flailing to gender equalize the attractiveness of assholes by claiming that men prefer bitches, this study conclusively shows that the Dark Triad suite of asshole traits works better for men than it does for women. That is, men don’t dig bitches.

– None of the above would ever be admitted by women, so don’t bother asking them.

Women who can’t help but love men who hit them, like Rihanna, are only the bleeding edge (heh) of a general and primordial inclination by the fairer sex to swoon for emotionally callous, manipulative assholes. You may hate this assessment, but you can’t disagree with it. You’re soaking in its truth.

Those who hate the messenger (yours untruly) for shedding light on this reality often like to ask if I would be OK with some erudite guy telling men to be assholes to get chicks if my hypothetical daughter was to wind up in the arms of such an asshole (like this dude). Of course, I wouldn’t. Amoralistic biology ensures there will be competing and contradictory passions, double standards up the wazoo. What father in his right mind would want his daughter to fall for an asshole? And yet, I am not my hypothetical daughter’s pleasure center. What I would want as a hypothetical father should not stain the quest for truth.

I present the truth, suggest ways to exploit this truth, and allow the readers to ultimately decide which path to take for themselves.

One thing we know for certain: if it’s young, fresh, maximally fertile pussy you want, you can’t go wrong cranking up the assholery.

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Chicks Dig Jerks: The Veil Of Self-Deception

Swatting her cat off her couch before sitting down on it, I rested my eyes on her thighs and then up at her face. Cradling a tumbler of scotch, I asked, “How was ladies’ night with the girls? Any juicy gossip?”

She beamed with eagerness and inhaled loudly. “It was great! Let’s see, what have I heard… Oh, there was this girl Gillian, you haven’t met her, an old high school friend of Kelly’s, who’s been seeing this guy for eight years. Everyone hates Gillian’s boyfriend because he’s cheated on her, more than once.”

“Worse than a one night stand?”

“Much worse, but that’s bad too, so don’t get any ideas. He was cheating on her for a whole year with another girl. He had a relationship with this girl while he was seeing Gillian.”

“Wow, that is…”, I searched for a suitably ambiguous word that would simultaneously express disapproval and admiration, “…brazen.”

“It’s dickish is what it is! And then after Gillian found out, he cheated on her again with someone else. But Gillian never left the guy. Eight years together, and she’s still seeing him.”

Doing my best to affect surprise and consternation, I stentoriously proclaimed, “I would think that a hidden relationship with another woman is pretty solid grounds for breaking up, but I guess Gillian didn’t see it that way.”

“I know, it’s crazy. And Gillian is really attractive, too. She could have any guy she wanted. There were tons of guys at the club going up to her, but she couldn’t be bothered. Why she stays with him is a mystery.”

I cocked an eyebrow. “Do you have a picture of her from the night?”

She held the camera in front of me. “It’s her.” I solemnly judged. A hard 9.

She exasperated, “We’ve tried telling Gillian to dump him, but she won’t listen. All she does is complain about him, but she never leaves him. So we gave up trying to help her. If that’s what she wants. It just doesn’t make any sense why a girl with her looks would put up with that from a…”

“Douchebag.”

“Yeah, a douchebag.”

Mischievous tendrils curled around my thoughts. “I’ve noticed it’s the prettiest girls that go for the biggest assholes. Why do you think that is?”

“Well…” she stutters. “I don’t know. *I* don’t go for assholes.” She smiles and pushes me into the couch cushion.

“I think hot girls love a challenge, and assholes give that to them.”

My sexy interrogation subject looked around the room distractedly, as if the conversation had suddenly ceased to enthrall her.

I pressed. “I bet there are lots of great guys who would treat Gillian well, who she doesn’t give the time of day to.”

“I guess so. What can I say? Who knows why some girls go for these guys. I can’t figure it out. It’s not something I would do.”

“I know you wouldn’t.” I poked her cat in the anus with a pen I was holding. It meowed and leapt to the floor.

******

If you ask the typical woman why girls, particularly good-looking girls, dig jerks, you’ll usually get a flurry of denials or a shoulder shrug of bewilderment. What you will never get is an accurate appraisal of the phenomenon. There is such a glaring disconnect between the reality of girls chasing after assholes, (something which every man who has lived a day in his life has seen often enough that it has become a well-worn cliche), and the inability of girls to recognize the readily observable facts of their own behavior, that it leads one to believe women were born with a self-deception mental module that prevents them from having sufficient awareness of their sexual desires.

If this is so, then it at once must engender a sort of charmed understanding, even cooing pity, for women when they attempt to grapple with the issue of their sexuality, like children fumbling with letter blocks to form that first monosyllabic word. We want to reach out and hug them for the accomplishment of achieving cognizance of 1% of what motivates their lust. It is simply the case, therefore, that a full theory of female sexual behavior must include the working assumption that women are barred by some shadowy biological force emanating either from the brain case or the loins from, one, recognizing their actions in the sexual marketplace for what they are and, two, from properly explaining them when they do accept the facts laid before them.

Women truly DO NOT UNDERSTAND why it is they love the types of men they do. Evolution, in its infinite wisdom, has decided that it is in the best interests of genetic propagation for women to be fairly well shielded from the crass machinations of their own lust drives, in a way that men are not. So the next time a girl who is very important to you, and whose opinion you respect, bafflingly throws up her hands in complete ignorance of the ancient urges that guide her attractions, do the wise thing and cut her some slack. She really has no idea.

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Women Prefer Dominant Men. You Don’t Say!

Straight from the laboratory, yet another study confirms a core game concept (namely, the concept of demonstrating higher value than the woman you are trying to seduce):

Why do men seek status? Fitness payoffs to dominance and prestige.

In many human societies, high male social status associates with higher fertility, but the means by which status increases lifetime fitness have not been systematically investigated. We analyse the pathways by which male status begets reproductive success in a small-scale, Amerindian society. Men who are more likely to win a dyadic physical confrontation, i.e. dominant men, have higher intra-marital fertility for their age, and men with more community-wide influence, i.e. prestigious men, exhibit both higher intra-marital fertility and lower offspring mortality. Both forms of status elicit support from allies and deference from competitors, but high status men are not provisioned more than their peers. Prestigious but not dominant men marry wives who first give birth at earlier ages, which multivariate analysis suggests is the strongest pathway between status and fitness in this population. Furthermore, men are motivated to pursue status because of fitness gains both within and outside of marital unions: dominant and prestigious men have more in-pair surviving offspring as well as more extra-marital affairs.

Chicks dig male power, and power is a catch-all word encompassing the variety of dominance displaying avenues that men pursue to attract women. Large men who can beat other men in fights are dominant. Captains of industry are dominant. Men who demonstrate artistic talent that wins accolades from others are dominant. Musicians who wow audiences are dominant. Preachers who captivate whole congregations are dominant. Men with enough social savvy to win friends and influence people are dominant. Men who are deferred to for their expertise are dominant.

And, yes, men who can seduce by displaying the characteristics of dominant men are irresistibly sexy to women.

In game, many factors contribute to dominance displaying. The oft-misunderstood neg is best seen as a tool to rapidly express male dominance by switching the approval seeking algorithm from the man to the woman. DHVs (demonstrations of higher value) are subtly embedded assertions within a conversational framework that suggestively influence a woman to believe the man she is talking with is a dominant alpha male. Compliance tests (eg: getting a woman to hold your hat for you while you go to the bathroom) are displays of dominance that rely on the natural human instinct to perceive those in whom we have invested our time and attention as high status people. (After all, who in their right mind would spend energy on a low status person? Right?) Flirty teasing is a form of dominance in that the use of it implies you are so high status that you don’t care if your teasing offends and turns a girl off.

Men who lack dominance do the opposite of all the game tactics described in the above paragraph. They are self-deprecating and loath to assert themselves or hint at their accomplishments. They will never neg, preferring instead to compliment women. They will never ask a woman they’ve just met to do anything for them. And they drone, instead of tease. So if you find yourself acting like a low status man, stop, and immediately force yourself to do the opposite. Think of Opposite George. It’s funny ’cause it’s true.

Girls are subconsciously hard-wired to respond with sexual interest to men of higher value than themselves, and to men of higher value than other men in their milieu. In other words, women are attracted to dominant men, and dominance is relative to social conditions. A penniless singer in a crappy indie band can get as much play as a high-powered lawyer, because their social circles are distinct and they don’t directly compete, either man to man or by proxy through the girls who follow them around. A janitor who has better game than a stockbroker will take the girl home more often because his skill at instantly communicating his dominance trumps the broker’s higher occupational status in any venue outside of the office environment or expensive restaurants where the broker’s fatter income really shines.

Dominance that results in gina tingles can be achieved through two strategies. Dominance over other men (DoM) or dominance over women (DoF). There is much overlap between these strategies, though the overlap tends to go in the direction from DoM ==> DoF. That is, men who are dominant over other men are usually dominant over women, while men who show dominance over women (think of every smooth-talking seducer in the literary classics) are a little less likely to be dominant over other men, though still more likely than the average beta bear.

There are notable exceptions, which have been discussed in posts like this one and this one. A man can be a wealthy CEO and still be a piss-poor nincompoop with women, while another man can sweet talk the hottest chicks out of their pants but have no interest or talent in running companies or leading groups of men to victory.

If it’s quick sex you want, then the DoF strategy should be your primary focus. The investment required to be dominant over men is significantly more costly than the investment required to display attraction-inducing dominance over women. Game is primarily a DoF-centered strategy (though there are important game concepts dealing with AMOGs — alpha male other guys), but the mastery of game will eventually redound to mastery over other men, because success will women will fill you with confidence that will carry over into all areas of your life.

The DoF strategy may seem separate and distinct to the DoM strategy, but that is an artifact of the particular skillset brought to bear on the issue of seducing women, and the time compression that DoF operates within. Cockiness, aloofness, negs, DHVs, teasing, hoops, takeaways and venue bouncing — all of them displays of dominance over the women you are picking up — are simultaneously subcommunications of dominance over other men as well. A woman who gets aroused at your neg and subconsciously replaces her suitor assessment mental algorithm with a “self-assessment” mental algorithm (as one astute commenter put it) is turned on by your deft composure in the presence of her beauty as well as the tacit implication that your self-interested, cocky confidence is powerful circumstantial evidence that you also possess a facility with dominating other men.

However you seek it, know this: the pussy must always be subordinate to the cock. If it isn’t, she’ll let you know with an icy cold stare, a backturn, a polite dismissal or, worst, another man’s baby.

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Phrenology Is Legit: Wide-Faced Men Are Untrustworthy

Think you can’t judge a person’s character by the shape of his skull? Think again:

Researchers spanning many scientific domains, including primatology, evolutionary biology and psychology, have sought to establish an evolutionary basis for morality. While researchers have identified social and cognitive adaptations that support ethical behaviour, a consensus has emerged that genetically determined physical traits are not reliable signals of unethical intentions or actions. Challenging this view, we show that genetically determined physical traits can serve as reliable predictors of unethical behaviour if they are also associated with positive signals in intersex and intrasex selection. Specifically, we identify a key physical attribute, the facial width-to-height ratio, which predicts unethical behaviour in men. Across two studies, we demonstrate that men with wider faces (relative to facial height) are more likely to explicitly deceive their counterparts in a negotiation, and are more willing to cheat in order to increase their financial gain. Importantly, we provide evidence that the link between facial metrics and unethical behaviour is mediated by a psychological sense of power. Our results demonstrate that static physical attributes can indeed serve as reliable cues of immoral action, and provide additional support for the view that evolutionary forces shape ethical judgement and behaviour.

So, you really want to limit your dealings with guys who look like this:

This whole subject — that character traits and behaviors can be predicted by physical features — is pregnant with deliciously unsavory thoughtcrime. Do women get more viscerally aroused by wide-faced, beady-eyed men because of women’s attraction to the male dark triad of personality traits? Are long-faced, large-eyed men, presumably more trustworthy, more likely to ascend the corporate ladder? Do wide male faces differ in frequency among population groups? Are people with sloping foreheads really stupider than people with high foreheads? If the genes responsible for making wide male faces and beady eyes also predispose those men to unethical or criminal behavior, what does that say about free will? Criminal culpability? And why, in the first place, would wide faces evolve to be associated with a badboy personality? Why not long faces?

And can we make predictions of women’s behavior based on their facial structure? This blog previously examined the connection between women’s looks and their behavior, and the hysterical screeching it caused amongst the feminists suggests that this avenue of inquiry will not be one any scientist concerned about his reputation or tenure track will want to vigorously pursue.

Luckily the Chateau is here to talk about the things everyone else REALLY wants to talk about, but is afraid to do so.

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The Bar Girl, Ten Years Later

Reader whorefinder remembers a tragic story from his past.

Story time: you’ve all heard of Coyote Ugly, the bar in New York City? Many of you who are above 25 remember there was movie about it, which, unfortunately, turned out to be a beta-male-chick-flick as opposed to the semi-porno it should have been. Such a waste…

Anyway, I live in NYC, and have frequented the bar many times over the last 10 years or so. And this is the sad story.

You see, there’s a redheaded bartender who’s worked there since I started going. We’ve chatted a few times over the years, but nothing more–like a good bartender, she remembers my face when I come in, but she wouldn’t know me from Adam if I walked by on the street.

Now, we’re the same age. I started going around age 22, which was, coincidentally, the same year she started working there.

Back then, I couldn’t buy a date. A beta at heart, I marveled at the hot women at Coyote Ugly (hot in a roadhouse skank way) shaking their asses all over the place. The redhead, at the time, was in her physical prime. While not the best looking, her body was banging: slim, curvy, and elastic. She gave off that crazy-fuck vibe like something else. Danced like a motherfucker, looked like a poor man’s angel.

Now I know she was a skank, because each time I moseyed in, I saw a new guy with her. He’d sit down the end of the bar, bored, but occasionally, when no one was looking, she’d give him a kiss. In my early-to-mid 20’s, sad to say, I closed out Coyote Ugly and other bars way too often, and yet still went home alone to punch the clown. And the redhead would, monthly, be leaving with a new dude to get fucked by.

As I grew, matured, and, most importantly, developed game, I actually started to have success with women, and places like Coyote Ugly and strip clubs became distant memories for me, only to be visited for nostalgia, boredom, or shits-and-giggles when buddies are in town. I can pick up a hotter woman now much easier than spending $60-$100 to watch a whorish one be a cocktease to me and feed me bullshit. This is what game does—changes your perspective on everything, makes you disdain what you once would have given an arm for.

Those times I did roll into Coyote Ugly, the redhead would invariably be around. I found out from a bouncer she eventually became the bar manager, hence her hanging around even if not working behind the bar. But her look changed, too.

Years of hard drinking (Coyote girls often drink with the guys, although they invariably will get you to drink way more than them to push up your bill) and smoking outside gave her deposits of fat on her once-pristine body. Years of having a new cock every night left her face haggard, old, and tired, even when she faked a smile. Years of bad food from late night shit shops left her unable to speedplow through dance routines on the bar she once cut like a young farmer in summer. Years of screaming to the bar to “make some noise” and one too many bummed nicotine sticks left her voice low, deep, and gravelly—like the welfare queens you might hear on COPS.

She knew it, too. When she began, she dressed in a bikini top and short, short shorts almost every time I saw her (or ass-tight leather pants). Then, as she withered, she dressed more conservatively (at least for a wannabe roadhouse bar)—longer shorts and looser pants, to the point her tops were more “Jersey Girl out in the 1980’s” than Coyote Ugly. She took to wearing a short sleeve button down when going out for a smoke and then “forgetting” to take it off behind the bar. She wasn’t in denial—just trying to hide Father Time’s and Mother Bad Decision’s abusive marks.

I went in there the other night with a 25 year old Russian hottie I’m banging, for the first time in a year. And saw the redhead. Now 31, her face is permanently jowly from the screaming, nicotine, fatty food, and cocks. She’s well on her way to obesity, and doesn’t even bartend any more, even as a fill in—just a manager. Her once strawberry red hair, which was light and airy, is now stringy, greasy, and worn from one too many guys yanking on it. She even has stretch marks—apparently, she had a kid.

When I walked in with hottie, she was sitting at the edge of the bar, encouraging the new girls to act as she did once, when spring was in her step. She looked up at me and her eyes flickered two painful emotions: recognition of my face, and shame. She was shamed by me, a man who once probably openly salivated at her but was too shy to do anything about it, standing there, now confident, brazen, and cocksure, arm around the waist of a girl ten times hotter than her—and also knowing that I remembered her when she could stop a clock. Now, the only thing that stops for her is a bus.

Long story. I think I’ll cross post at my site.

Somewhere in the readership, a trashy, loudmouthed, has-been skank who spent one too many years walking the trail of pecker tears just cried at her reflection in the mirror.

Cautionary tale, ladies. Don’t say you weren’t warned.

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