Finding A Poosy Paradise By Women’s Number Of Facebook Friends

While peer reviewed, double blind, metafantastic research on the subject is hard to come by, there is a general consensus among men who have experience with women beyond licking their taints in the comments section of feminist blogs that the less attention whoring a woman the better candidate she is for a long-term relationship. The causal mechanism for this observed reality is theoretical at this point, but a reasonable proposition is that attention-craving women — like this one — have oversized egos which require constant external validation.

Women without this need for ego stroking from the betatariat and BFF choruses are, on the whole, more grounded and fulfilled with their private love lives. While they are just as attracted to desirable alpha males as any social media mistress who sells pieces of her soul to Instagram, the attention eschewing woman represents less risk as a long-term romantic investment, because her sexual and communal energy is more inward- than outward-directed.

What is a poosy paradise for most men? It is a place where, or a time when, the women are beautiful, sexually hungry, and also sexually faithful, with an eye toward long, loving relationships while they are still in their youthful primes. You can find these places by word of mouth, or by extensive travel. You can also narrow your search by collating online social media data by country and discovering where the women are least likely to whore for attention.

Probably the best data rich vein is Facebook. The average number of friends that a country’s (or a region’s) women have on Facebook is a pretty good indicator of the mean level of national attention whoring. Internet penetrance (heh) is broad enough in developed countries that fair comparisons between Facebook friend numbers can be made by country. (I suppose if you want to Game Africa, this comparison system will do you no good.)

Commenter corvinus writes,

But even your normal white American male of German-Irish-English descent has to contend with the fact that about one-third of women in their twenties are FAT, and the desirable women usually have several male orbiters and never have to worry about not having a boyfriend until they’re north of 35.

One thing I’ve noticed based on Facebook is that the hot American girls usually have over 500 “friends”, and very often over 1,000 (including plenty of frat boys that they’ve known for years and can pick from for their next boyfriend), whereas Eastern European girls tend to have only about 100 or so. I myself was never in a fraternity, and only became halfway socially adept after coming here a couple years ago, and I’m now into my early thirties. So I have a serious disadvantage as per social connections go.

Crack CH researchers trawled the net and found some social media data that helps clarify where in the world the worst attention whores reside. While the following graph isn’t separated by sex, it’s safe to assume the overall comparison is similar for both men and women across countries, even if there is a difference in average number of FB friends between the sexes within countries.

Within America, it should surprise no one that the attention whores congregate in the Northeast and Midwest, where careerist feminists and fat single moms predominate. The attention whoring in the South is probably driven by their large black population. Squinting a little, the attention whore map overlays fairly closely with the Red State-Blue State political map (especially the one that drills down to the county level, where racial political differences are more apparent). The big outlier would be the Pacific Northwest, where people take pride in their friendship selectivity.

Worldwide, Russia and Eastern Europe look like the places to be for pretty girls who don’t feel a delirious compulsion to hoard as many pretend friends as possible in an alternate virtual universe. And, again, this accords with personal experience: the EE chicks I’ve dated spent far fewer hours on Facebook per week than any American girl I’ve known.

Warm weather climates appear to be more Facebook friends-friendly, while cold weather climes the opposite. My guess is that this is a reflection of broad racial differences in temperament: K-selected, nuclear family people versus r-selected, social aggrandizing people. But there are plenty of exceptions to this rule.

In Europe, the Anglo countries don’t fair so well. Feminism was birthed in the Anglo crucible, and it is within the Anglosphere where the fruits of feminism and you-go-grrlism are most overripe. Five decades blowing buttercups up girls’ muumuus is bound to have a deleterious effect on their egos and need for infinite validation.

Beyond Eastern Europe, Japan looks like a good bet for finding women who avoid attention whoring. If you’re a white Western man, Japan is tailor-made for romantic adventure: feminine women with self-sustaining egos and men who go to bed with pillow girlfriends as competition. Just gotta get past those flat asses…

Comment Of The Week: Cruisin’ For A Putin

Suburban_elk takes home the tumescent trophy,

It has been said that in the old days, in Russia and elsewhere, the folk tradition was that a man was expected, upon marriage, to beat his wife, one time.

He was not supposed to enjoy it, as might a demented sadist, but he was expected to do it.

And then she always knew.

“What did she know?!”, wails the assembled. She knew love.

***

Clover_Annie graces the board with a feminine wisdom gradually being lost to generations of Western women:

“I propose that we resurrect the memento mori for the hot young ladies in our society.”

As a 45-year-old peri-menopausal woman just itching to educate these fools, let me pile on here: “Here’s what you need to understand about being ‘hot’. First, no matter your level of natural beauty, once you hit 35 or so, you will not be anywhere near hot unless you work very, very hard at it. We’re talking diet, exercise, cosmetics, and possibly plastic surgery level of difficulty, and even with that, it’s possible that bad genes or a bad youth will make this all for naught. Second, even if you are hot when you are 35 or 45 or 55, that WILL NOT MAKE YOU HAPPY the way it did when you were 20. Love and family and friends and security and a good attitude will make even the ugliest 55-year-old happy, and lack of these will make even the loveliest elderly woman miserable. Beauty is not an end, it’s a means, and you had best use it while you can.”

Make love when you can, because it is good. A maxim that has seen me well. But for women it might better be said, “Make family when you can, because it is good.” The means of female beauty finds resolution in family. For men, the equation is different. The means of male power, in whatever form, finds reproductive resolution in the love and loyalty of many beautiful women. But unlike women, men’s reproductive resolution doesn’t have a stark finish. The acquisition of power is a lifelong pursuit, because the love of young women and the pleasure of their sex is an infinite joy.

A Woman Needs A Man To Put Her In Her Place

Another stirring affirmation of CH-elucidated sociosexual realities comes courtesy of a peculiar agreement arranged between a married couple and researchers designing an experiment to test whether stubbornness by one or both spouses produces unhappy marriages. (ps: ♥)

It is better to be right than to be happy – at least for one husband on the cutting edge of science.

As part of an unusual experiment, the husband was instructed to “agree with his wife’s every opinion and request without complaint,” and to continue doing so “even if he believed the female participant was wrong,” according to a report on the research that was published Tuesday by the British Medical Journal. […]

Based on the assumption that men would rather be happy than be right, he was told to agree with his wife in all cases. However, based on the assumption that women would rather be right than be happy, the doctors decided not to tell the wife why her husband was suddenly so agreeable.

Both spouses were asked to rate their quality of life on a scale of 1 to 10 (with 10 being the happiest) at the start of the experiment and again on Day 6. It’s not clear how long the experiment was intended to last, but it came to an abrupt halt on Day 12.

“By then the male participant found the female participant to be increasingly critical of everything he did,” the researchers reported. The husband couldn’t take it anymore, so he made his wife a cup of tea and told her what had been going on.

That led the researchers to terminate the study.

Maybe the researchers thought that aiding the dissolution of a marriage violated ethical boundaries.

Over the 12 days of the experiment, the husband’s quality of life plummeted from a baseline score of 7 all the way down to 3. The wife started out at 8 and rose to 8.5 by Day 6. She had no desire to share her quality of life with the researchers on Day 12, according to the report.

Translation: The wife was appalled by the revelations into her sexual nature.

“It seems that being right, however, is a cause of happiness, and agreeing with what one disagrees with is a cause of unhappiness,” they wrote. They also noted that “the availability of unbridled power adversely affects the quality of life of those on the receiving end.”

Behaving like a supplicating beta male will increase your unhappiness, partly because it feels unmanly, but mostly because you’ll incite the seething contempt of your girlfriend or wife. CH readers won’t be surprised to read that an overly agreeable husband earned nothing but nagging criticism from his wife. The wife’s self-reported happiness didn’t budge much from Day1 to Day 6 of having her ego relentlessly stroked, but as we all know women are distinctly incapable, as a sex, of honestly and accurately aligning their socialized thoughts with their unsocialized feelings. A woman possesses a deep pool of innate talent for subconsciously reconciling contradictory emotions.

It would have been interesting to see how the wife rated herself on Day 12, but the self-reported result wouldn’t have had much impact on her *true* feelings, as manifest by her compulsion to nag the shit out of her husband for agreeing with everything she said. Never mind the wife’s words; her actions say it all. Women don’t respect, don’t desire, and certainly don’t tingle for excessively agreeable men. We know this from cold hard experience, and we know this from scientific inquiry. What a woman wants is a man who will put her in her place when she’s wrong or being silly. To stand up for himself. To call her out on her bullshit, aka shit tests. Oh sure, she’ll make a show and bitch and moan at first… but then watch her face vulvaically glow with desirous urgency as the life-giving waters of his insistent masculinity pour into her thirsty feminine soul. Yeah, just like that.

The Chateau covered this ground before, referencing a similar study. “Yes, dear” men get nothing but headaches, both their own and their wives’. “No, dear” men get enduring love, bordering on worship, from their grateful wives.

Continuing with the linked study above,

The three doctors think they might be on to something, and they wrote that they would like to see the work continue: “More research is needed to see whether our results hold if it is the male who is always right.”

Happy Whoridays! There has been “research” along those lines. As commenter Trimegistus asked,

Everywhere this article has been reported on they leave out the obvious, critical detail: WOMEN don’t react well to always being agreed with by men. If the experiment had been done with the opposite approach (wife agrees with hubby) it could go on for years because both of them would come to find it satisfying and pleasant.

A wife, writing on PuffedHo about her most intimate personal matters, decided that in order to resurrect her marital lust life she would agree to her husband’s desire for as much sex as possible. She didn’t want to do it, not on a conscious awareness level at any rate, but she discovered that acquiescing in total to her husband’s wishes made her own life a lot… happier! And less stressful. Feminists of course will be delighted to learn that wives who follow the Biblical command to obey their husbands enjoy a much more positive state of mind.

This is where women need to be, even if they will never say so, or are incapable of saying so, outright: Following the lead of their lovers instead of leading them around like a neutered cat on a leash. Anything less would be… unsatisfying.

Pajamaboy Caption Contest

Now it’s your turn. Leave your ideas for captions in the comments. Winners will be announced in a future post. Good luck and happy shivving!

Bonus!

Obama’s America: Land Of The Twee, Home Of The Fey

Organizing for Action, a creepily nondescript leftoid group tasked with propagandizing President Barack Obama’s (jesus it still sticks in the craw to say that) healthcare law, have released an ad campaign on Twitter under the hashtag #GetTalking that, well, you’ve gotta see to believe.

I didn’t think it possible that the Barack Boyman Brigade’s “Hosurance” ads could be beat in loathsomeness, but you’d never go broke underestimating the junk-tucking faggotry of Obama’s sop troops. You could build an online comedy empire just copy/pasting Obama Administration-authorized jpegs.

No wonder feminists are so bitter. These are the newborn androgynes they’re stuck dating. The feminist has sold her womanly soul — what was left of it — for a battalion of bootlickers to escort her to ideologically reaffirmed spinsterhood.

Can you look at that swaddled manlet for more than two seconds without laughing? I could carve a better man out of a banana. We laugh because that’s one of our natural human reactions to seeing something repugnant. It’s similar to the chortles induced when watching a fat woman trip and bounce a few times off the pavement. So gross, we have to laugh it off.

Think about why this ad was approved for mass distribution. Your first instinct is to ask yourself, “What were they thinking?”. A fair question. It’s targeted at urban liberal SWPLs, just the demographic filled to brimming with these vegetable lasagnas. A brimful of asslove off the 95.

So right there you know that Obama’s healthcare law needs these effete clever sillies to sign up so that the money can be compassionately thieved and redistributed to the parasite class (soon to capsize and tip over into majority status). Perhaps the creators thought that a gelding in a onesie was the way to appeal to the SWPL yuppies they need to sign up. If they thought this, and their intentions were sincere, we can conclude that stuff like this works on SWPLs because SWPLs take a kind of twisted retard pride in acting and looking like house eunuchs. To them, this androgynous lifestyle of hot cocoa and plush jammies signals sophistication and success. They’re so coddled and insulated in their Caplan-esque bubble that they can’t tell when they’re coming off like perfumed pansies. Cerebral Scalzi, meet schizopareeneia.

If Obama’s supporters and media messengers are all mental and sexual onesies — and evidence accrues that that is indeed the case — then these ad creators would have no clue that they’re broadcasting prime mockery material to their enemies. It’s hard to believe that could be true, what with all those 130+ IQ neoCalvinists comprising the Obama cult machine, but accelerated social sorting by ideology can easily blind a person to how they’re perceived by those not like him.

The other explanation is that “Organizing for Action” knows exactly what they’re doing, and have concluded that savagely ridiculing their own base and benefactors is the road to victory. I’m not sure how they connect the dots in that strategy, although I could see how self-deprecation can work as a status signaling tactic among people ensconced in a hermetic cultural milieu. It may also reflect a deep-seated need by Obama’s leftoid advocates to burnish their anti-white (really, anti-self) bona fides, and belittle the American white man as a satisfying reminder of his diminishing place in the homeland he built. For many SWPL liberal whites, astonishing as it may seem from an evolutionary genetic perspective and to people still in possession of healthy mental faculties, the thought of psychological and demographic self-castration sends a tingle up their legs.

So here we are, presented with yet another emasculated white male as the punchable face of Obama’s America. There are shreds of hope…

…but the balance is rapidly tipping, in numbers and in influence over national affairs. The man on the right dies in pointless wars for a ruling elite staffed by an army of de-balled fancyboys like the male on the left. Who do you think sets the agenda, writes policy, propagandizes it and puts it into action? It isn’t the guy with the gun. As a commenter at Randall Parker’s Parapundit wrote, if we had a real democracy, a political system where the majority’s wishes were actually obeyed by the elite, America would look a lot different:

The elite support democracy but democracy of the sort the Western industrialized nations have in which all but the most trivial decision-making processes have been removed from elected representatives and placed in the hands of unelected judges, bureaucrats, and trial attorneys.

Populism is in complete opposition to this type of democracy. If the people could vote directly on each individual issue, they’d support all these things: an end to almost all immigration, legal and illegal, and sending back people in the country illegally. Strong defense, but non-interventionist foreign policy. Strong tariffs on just about everything to put American workers back to work. Tough crime laws and severe prisons. Death penalties after one month. Gun ownership, but with licensing. Removal of vagrants from the streets. Forcing the mentally ill into institutions. Equitarianism not egalitarianism. Forced government jobs for everyone who can’t find one in the public sector. An end to affirmative action. You get the idea, they are on the opposite side of the elites on all issues.

A male in a onesie. There’s your ruling elite running the country into the ground.

Populism — strictly, white populism — is dangerous to the elite, and that explains their program of importing a new people to undercut the influence of the middle class whites who represent the greatest threat to an avaricious, globalist, culturally severed ruling class intent on hoarding power until their last breaths and the last breaths of their assortatively inbred posterity. And you know, the elite might win, because the majority’s wishes, courtesy of the open borders project of soft genocide and demographic replacement, will soon align with the elite’s wishes.

A soft, neutered pale Ewok as the representative of America’s bold march into a progressive, humanist future. A discrete choice made by a discrete committee in a sea of remarkably similar thematic choices, and yet this seemingly trivial promotional decision tells us so much about the mind of an enemy moving precariously close to outright tyranny as the next evolution from psychological debasement to achieve its goals.

You know what’s happening? Multidirectional, multivariate, multicausal American decline. Every metric, every signpost, every judicial fiat, every subversive narrative points to the same destination: The drain. The deviants and degenerates and destroyers are as close to the sun now as they’ve ever been. This is their moment. They can feel the warmth of validation. The radiant glow of coerced acceptance. The flare of triumph over human nature. Fat Pride, Femcunt Pride, Freak Pride, Furry Pride, Slut Pride, Anti-White Pride, Gay Pride and now Pantywaist Pride. Pride cometh before the fall.

Speaking Power To Truth

A malignant white leftoid decided to try and get himself arrested for a nuisance crime to prove (in his own mind) that police “stop and frisk” profiling of blacks and hispanics is wrong because it presumably lets a lot of white Manhattanite would-be criminals off the hook.

Wearing a suit and tie and carrying a couple of cans of spray paint, he had a hard time getting arrested. Even after tagging a public building in full view of security cameras, he still couldn’t get arrested (a cop at the scene was bewildered by the leftoid’s brazenness, and who can blame him), so he turned himself in, where he discovered that white cellmates had fewer bruises on them than non-white cellmates from what they claimed (always trust a con) were altercations with cops.

Naturally, the leftoid is humblebragging about his revealing exposé of the criminal justice system and, I’m sure, he’s now a hit at Upper West Side parties where he has cashed in his anti-white status whoring points for beaucoup feels. But all this moron did with his campy street stunt — aka criminal tourism — was prove that criminal profiling works. There are so few suited-up white men in NYC spraying graffiti (the number doubtless hovers around zero) that one of them carrying a can of spray paint isn’t cause for suspicion. The one white guy who does get punished for it is a performance artists who intended to write about the experience in The Atlantic. His race commits so few petty crimes in New York that he had to force the issue to get any notice from the law. So, the cops were right to ignore this buffoon.

Leftoids are fond of reciting their religious belief that blacks committing nuisance crimes — like trespassing — are handled more roughly by cops than are whites doing the same. What leftoids always fail to consider is that cops have good reason for the putative double standard; a black kid running across a suburban lawn is more likely to be heading on his way to a home invasion than is a white kid criss-crossing backyards. Those crime stats… they just don’t lie.

How To Evade Tough Questioning From Women

This one time, in gigolo camp…

I’d like to relay a conversation I had with a past lover who asked a very pointed question as we were strolling along a riverbank (yes, really! Hallmark called and wanted their moment back), in hopes that it will impart a valuable lesson for the next generation of pussy houndlings. Our love ended when she moved far away, but she later returned for a few weeks and met with me to wax nostalgic over old times. The pertinent part of our convo follows:

Her: Did you use game on me?

Me: (momentarily rattled) What do you mean?

Her: I mean did you say things that would make me fall for you? Were your feelings real?

After a few seconds pause to collect myself and stop from blurting an ill-formed, self-incriminating reply, I stowed my easy smile and summoned my Very Serious Face.

Me: Since when did you become so cynical? One thing I’ll always regret is turning a woman like you into a cynic. It doesn’t suit you.

Her: I’m not cynical. I was just wondering if you meant what you said to me.

Me: Tell me, was I a bad influence on you?

Her: No.

Me: But I was. You sound like a different girl today. That’s not good. You’ve lost something, and it kills me inside.

Our conversation took a detour at that juncture, as we passed a store that reminded her of the place where I picked her up. When we returned to the subject, she asked me what I meant when I said she was different now than when I met her. All talk of “game” had ceased.

Note three themes: 1) I never answered her question directly. 2) I redirected the conversation so that she was put on the defensive, having to reconcile both a possible change in her personality for the worse, and blame for making me feel like “it was killing me inside”. 3) The “bad influence” assumption fed her desire for JERKBOY drama.

The wild-eyed feminist reader shrieks, “That’s manipulation!” Is it? Substantively, nothing I said was false. Her fling with me really did provoke in her a small measure of cynicism. It’s also true that she was a naturally big-hearted girl for whom cynicism conflicted with those temperamental attributes that made her special to me. And finally, I did in fact feel kind of bad for arousing in her dark suspicions. And it is a fact as well that women welcome a bit of badboy excitement in their love lives.

But there would’ve been no gain to be had, for either of us, from admitting under interrogation that I had used game on her or from expressing regret for the use of game rather than regret for the effect that it had on her uncorrupted, trusting love. Because I knew from experience that when women ask seemingly pointed questions, what they really want to know goes much deeper, to primal feelings that women hold near and dear, like, for instance, the nature of loving reciprocation. Directing my replies to those deeper feelings in her, as if I was talking to a separate being or the real woman behind the curtain, would yield fuller intimacy.

So I had used game. And I meant what I had said to her when we first met. The two aren’t mutually exclusive. Game was the best way to persuade her that my feelings for her were genuine, because I knew that she would need that professionally administered seduction to be open to receiving my sincere message of love. Yes, you evade tough questioning from a woman to sidestep discomfort and bad feelings, but you also evade her dead end inquisitions to grapple with the turbulence of her hidden, animating emotions. The art and science of seduction can be as enlightening as it can be bewildering. And there’s no woman in the world who doesn’t love it for both reasons.