The Measure Of A Man’s Alphaness By How Much Crap His Woman Will Tolerate

Although CH prefers the more direct means of measuring a man’s degree of alphatude, there are proxy methods for coming up with a ballpark figure for the Alpha Within. One such proxy is the amount of shit a woman will put up with from her man. The more crap she happily tolerates, the higher her man’s alpha male rating.

As commenter WillBest explains,

Women are far and away more pragmatic about men’s affairs. I know of several couples that have survived a man’s affair and none that have survived a woman’s affair.

You could probably plot your relative alphaness against what your wife will tolerate.

brothel outside country < … < discrete mistress < rumored affair < open mistress < claiming bastards < having your wife assist in selection of your harem (as seen on Marco Polo).

It’s funny ’cause it’s cruel.

A marriage can survive a husband’s infidelity because the real risk, from the wife’s gene’s POV, is the redistribution of his resources (of which love is a proxy indicator) to the other woman. As long as the husband remains primarily devoted to his immediate family’s finances, his oat-sowing won’t much affect the future of his children or the guarantee of the mother’s “maternity assurance”.

But a wife’s infidelity is much more dangerous to her family’s cohesion. She could get pregnant on one of her slutcations, and saddle her husband with another man’s spawn. (And this would’ve been more likely in the contraception-free environment of evolutionary adaptation.) This is the worst thing that can befall a husband from his genes’ POV. And if he finds out, the whole family may be nuked from orbit.

Naturally, a man’s affair isn’t automatically forgivable. Women aren’t totally inhuman; they will feel the sting of romantic rejection. But it’s true that the more alpha the man, the more tractable his woman. Hell hath no fury like a scorned wife… if her husband is a beta male. Heaven hath no angelic forgiveness like a scorned wife of an alpha male.

This post cries out for a handy dandy chart.

There’s a reason for the exponential trajectory. Observe closely, and you’ll notice most married men are betas whose wives won’t even tolerate their wandering eye without stirring up a storm of martyrdom. But once a man begins taking on the penumbras and emanations of alphaness, his woman’s toleration curve skyrockets. Each increment of alphatude results in a drastic expansion of the scope of caddish misbehavior that a wife or girlfriend will tolerate. At the extremes of male alphatude, their women are complicit in helping their men achieve the limits of sexual and romantic pleasure that are particular to the male domain of desire.

I hope this post has been instructive. May it guide you to better days in your own relationships.

The Great (Wo)Men On Marriage

Courtesy of commenter mendozatorres, a quote from Mary Haweis, authoress, who sounds spookily prescient about our current state of marriage as she reminds her readers that marriage sans concessions is a boon for women and a raw deal for men.

Alas, when people complain of men not marrying (even they who are able), they forget how little women offer in exchange for all they get by marriage. Girls are so seldom taught to be of any use whatever to a man that I am only astonished at the numbers of men who do marry! [ed: we all are, mary.] Many girls do not even try to be agreeable to look at, much less to live with. They forget how numerous they are, and the small absolute need men have of wives; but, nevertheless, men do still marry, and would oftener marry could they find mates – women who are either helpful to them, or amusing, or pleasing to their eye.

–The Art of Beauty by Mary Eliza Haweis, published in 1878.

I wonder what the prime fertility years sex ratio was in 1878?

Mary Eliza Haweis is a friend of the Chateau. She understands — more nobly, she admits — that men must necessarily sacrifice to marry, while women enjoy lavish gains and the fulfillment of lifelong dreams when they marry. This inherent marital risk bias favoring women implies that the institution should be structured to supply men with some up front guarantees of return on investment or indulgences to fulfill, at least occasionally, their own male-specific romantic prerogatives.

Not surprisingly, Mary looks to be a fairly attractive woman by the standards of her time. It’s not quite an ironclad rule, but the way to bet is that attractive women are likelier than homely women to have familiarity with the basic truths governing the behavior of the sexes. After all, what kind of woman will be more in need of soothing platitudes to make it through the day without pondering the existential release of the razor blade poised lengthwise?

Comment Of The Week: It Will Be My Honor And Privilege…

There were a lot of quality comments this week, but it was past time to give one of CH’s favorite running gag maestros, GasButtox, the honor and privilege of the COTW trophy. It’s time to give the man his doo…dy.

Feminist(butto)X,

An ambitious lass…
Who wants to have class…
Knows that my ass….
Makes whopping quantums of gas.

It will be your privilege and honor to detox my buttox. You will be using a turmeric essence, to generate a nice golden hue.

What put this particular GasButtox sonnet over the top was the “turmeric essence” quip. For those who don’t know, FeministX, aka little spoon, is of Indian heritage.

If GasButtox and GBFM were in the same room together, their conversation would be very entertaining.

“lzzlolzzlol alpha fux beta bux”
“alpha essence beta buttox”
“lzzlllzzllll more cockas for you”
“milk milk lemonade in front go the cockas out the buttox my gas is made”
“lzzl bernankified wimmins loolll”
“a slut so crass, bernankified to the last, perches behind my ass, to eight ball my salubrious gas.”

The Day-To-Day Feminist

Are you curious what constitutes the daily life of a girl who thinks herself a feminist? An anonymous commenter caught a glimpse of the Day-to-Day Feminist’s paltry, predictable world.

Sitting behind a girl on the bus yesterday, through the gap in the seat i got to see her flicking through her smart phone. She started off browsing Buzzfeed, pausing on an an article featuring melodramatic gifs with woman humour. i watched as she then progressed onto articles featuring makeup and period pain. With a knowing look I went back to my own business. 5 minutes later i looked back and i was met with the word ‘feminist’ on her screen, being edited by her in instagram to make it more eye catching. Shortly after this she began browsing her facebook feed, i payed particular attention as she paused the mindless perusing when pictures of attractive girls came into view to carefully inspect them. The girls were cute and wearing short dresses. I couldn’t see the bus girls face but instinctually I imagined her brow and mind contorting with white burning jealously and loathing.

A snapchat comes in on her phone, she opens the app, watching the 10 second images. She faces the camera towards herself and the dull twilight of the bus is sharply illuminated by a bright flash. she and i look at the resulting photo almost simultaneously, both of us unimpressed by the sight we see. She deletes the image, like a perfectionist artist discarding a painting that has failed to reach the standards of his minds eye. She tries again, same outcome. A third try fails to capture any beauty. She exits the app, putting down the phone, defeated.

I see clarity and ponder the hard truths thought by this blog and feel a sting of pity for this girl.

The Day-to-Day Feminist is the day-to-day girl. That is, she’s the opposite of every principle feminists claim to uphold. She calls herself feminist while comparing her looks to the standard established by beautiful women, keeping tabs on her Facebook neighbors, fulfilling her need to feed on buzzy gossip, and prettifying herself so that she can compete better in the sexual market for desirable men.

Feminists are at war with femininity, so they don’t like this reality about women, which is why they loudly insist “real” women are the opposite of the way women behave when left to their own devices. “REAL women have curves.” “REAL women love math.” “REAL women get raped.” “REAL women slay dragons.”

FYI, the next time you read or hear the words “a REAL woman…”, assume that the opposite of whatever is to follow is the truth.

REAL women don’t confuse obesity for curves.
REAL women don’t much like math and don’t perform as well as men at high level math.
REAL women hardly ever get raped, and the few that do are usually raped by non-white, non-frat boys.
REAL women know that the average, out-of-shape man could easily best them in a fight.

The Interview-Style Kiss Of Death

Reader “flies” wonders why his text game has such poor reception. Read on, and watch how quickly a girl’s sexual curiosity can turn ice cold when you sound like you’re interviewing her, (or she treats you like you’re being interviewed, and you do nothing to alter her frame).

Hello, I have a question about text game:

I’ve added recently a girl friend in Skype from my little brother’s Internet social circle (she’s living at 1h+ of driving). I was like “let’s add her, practice my text game”.

She’s a cute asian, not hesitate to make sexual innuendos. She talks to my brother a lot, but he’s in orbiter status.

After several days of her accepting my invitation, I have this text exchange, though I was out of state (I couldn’t find anything witty and stuff):

21:07 girl: Hi c:
21:25 me: hey
21:25 girl: how are you?
21:26 me: yea. You look like in great mood.
21:27 girl: Yeeeeah?
21:27 girl: What do you do?
21:28 me: training
21:29 me: you do you train
21:33 girl: yes
22:00 girl: why?

My questions are: Is it bad that I ended it like this? And What I could’ve done to make it progress more? I’m not used to text game, so it’s really tough for me.

The last few times I got a number, it all went down super fast the moment I started texting with the girls I picked up, even if the girl was attracted in person and it went well live. My guess is not enough comfort or lack of escalation (like asking the number before leaving because I didn’t escalate enough to what could’ve been a kiss in person).

My first question is, “Do you even English?” Not snarking you, I’m just wondering if some of your trouble has its origin in your broken English. If American girls are your target, broken English will be an obstacle, unless you’re from a sexy export country, like Slovenia.

My second question is, “Are you especially good-looking or do you possess high social status?” Because if you are as dull in person as your text game makes you sound, then you’ll need compensating attributes for girls to overlook your conversational torpidity.

My third question: “Why are you betraying your brother?” Maybe he’s not interested in girls that way. You should still give him a head’s-up about your backroom dealings.

Again, I’m not trying to unduly harsh your mellow. But your text exchange comes across like a very boring interview, which is doubly remarkable considering how few words you needed to convey such dullness.

Rule #1 for beginners: Don’t ask a girl what she does. First, you don’t give a shit. Second, she knows you don’t give a shit. Instead, try a teasing alternative: “I bet you’re in the [x] business. I can tell by your look.” This is a sort of cold read that chicks love, and will be much better received, leading to more fruitful conversation avenues.

Now that I’ve corrected your most glaring game misstep, I’ll point out that you’re probably on the right track in your belief that rapid number closes without sufficient emotional connection are leaving girls feeling less than enthused about you the next day when the glow of the previous night has worn off. Getting a number, however rushed, is usually better than not getting a number at all, but don’t expect your lay rate to budge upward much from a pile of hastily relinquished phone numbers that the girls probably gave you because you caught them off-guard.

Resolve never again to ask interview-style questions of girls, and make it a personal growth mission to refrain from asking girls for their numbers until you’ve passed certain pickup trail markers, as defined according to your level of comfort, that may include, say, a well-received touch on one of her erogenous zones or a verbal signal she’s into you (did she ask you three questions in a row? that’s one positive indicator of female interest).

Compassionate Communication Workshop

Any remnants of white masculinity in the American culture are being swept away for good. Commenter JohnnySixpack relates,

I was in a “compassionate communication” workshop today (required of all hospital providers here)

To get through it, I amused myself by tallying up the race/sex pairings in the powerpoints. One of the more egregious segments was on “medical literacy” and how patients don’t understand what we are telling them. All patients were described at having a 7th grade reading level or lower.

The scenarios were depicted thusly:

Black male doctor to white male
Hispanic male doctor to white female
White female doctor to white male
Black female doctor to white female

Insidious.

And invidious. The anti-white man propaganda is bad enough, but then one steps back and is forced to ask himself, “What the hell is a compassionate communication workshop, and why does it vaguely sound like humiliation torture to strip men of any desire to express their manhood?” Then of course one wonders if the pegged 7th grade reading level for the typical hospital patient is perhaps a bit too generous.

Ah well. This waking nightmare will have its reckoning soon. The craven disfigured beasts devouring the last shreds of cultural goodness seem to get hungrier with each swallow. They hunch over the carcass of their nation with a purpose that belies any hope of compromise. They will eat until nothing’s left, or they will be made prey themselves.

Cuckularity: Sweden Passes the Self-Parody Inflection Point

Sweden is the experimental lab of the deranged feminist and equalist revolutions. Manjaw and manlet Mengeles perform a gruesome vivisection of Swedish society, reattaching parts until a bolt of lightning gives life to the ünterandrogyne as zie menacingly rises from the operating table.

The “Together” project is another weapon against Racism.

Motala Municipality’s summer home is the scene of a project that’ll see young Swedes and refugees from Somalia and Afghanistan build bridges together.

here comes the cuck shot…

Camp organizer Kajsa Nilsson was asked why the camp only allows Swedish girls, but allows foreign man and girls, who are sometimes much older than the Swedish participants. “In the countries that many of these young men come from, they are used to dating girls younger than themselves, so we see [this] as a cultural compromise.”

“I mean, what a welcome to Sweden, right, when you meet a friendly young lady?” he added.

the very best of welcomes.

The camp is held at Motala summer home in the hope the Swedish girls may create “interfaces” with strangers.

The different activities to bring the two groups together include draktillverkning,

swedish for “rape play”.

This post was a delayed April Fool’s prank. But you believed it, because it was, sadly, believable. Ten years ago, you’d chortle skeptically. Today, you assume Swedish self-cucking is par for the course.

And your assumption would be more right than wrong. A Swedish “multicultural center expert” converted to Islam and joined ISIS. That story is true.

I’ll leave this post on a hopeful note. There are nationalists — aka sane people — in Sweden. One lovely Swedish nationalist lass did her own compare & contrast experiment.

It’s funny cuz it’s self-evidently true.