Anchoring

I was initially confused about the purpose of this short video Mystery put up for public consumption, until a reader explained that it was about anchoring.

Lawdy I was blind and now can see! But really I’m kind of ashamed I missed the thematic elements, knowing as how I’ve anchored a few beautiful babies in my life.

Anchoring is a game technique that has its foundation in the school of persuasion known as neuro-linguistic programming. It is exactly what the word evokes: a psychological technique that “anchors” an emotion or feeling to a physical, auditory or verbal stimulus. Most people are familiar with Pavlov’s Dog, the experiment which showed that a dog can be conditioned by a ringing bell to salivate in the expectation that food is coming. That is probably the most well-known example of anchoring.

Applied to the science and art of modern seduction, anchoring is a powerful tool that operates mostly on a woman’s subconscious. The intention is to first create a positive feeling in the girl, then anchor that feeling to an object, body motion or turn of phrase, and then elicit the feeling later through the use of the anchored stimulus. The womanizer doesn’t even have to be in the company of the girl for anchoring to work its magic. She could stumble upon the stimulus on her own, and the good feelings she had with him will be evoked in the silence of her own company.

For instance, in Mystery’s video, he’s framed a discussion about how life is short — “pick up the broken glass yourself, because you never know how life unfolds” — and anchored that feeling of fleeting time (and consequently the urgency to live life to the fullest with sexy cads) to a piece of glass — “keep that as a souvenir, it is no longer broken glass, it is now fairy dust to remember this moment” — which, if the conditioning is successful, will cause those feelings associated with him to flood back every time she fondles the glass in her pocket.

Anchoring, then, serves the womanizer in multiple ways: it associates good feelings with himself which can be recalled by the woman any time the anchor is stimulated, it pushes out the influence of competing alpha males (a fondly recalled moment in time will thwart the intrusions of other men, almost like a shadow AMOG), and it fortifies the womanizer’s inner state control.

On that latter point, a self-stimulus that anchors a positive memory to an object or motion can be used by men to summon confidence before doing cold approaches. To set it and later activate it, think of a time you masterfully bedded a high quality woman, and then perform some small hand motion, like a wave or a fist clench. Do this enough times and, so the theory goes, the hand motion alone will induce those same good feelings you felt when you earned that expert level bang.

Effective anchoring uses linguistic tricks like tonality, compliance hoops and future pacing — note how Mystery lingers on the phrase “you never know” and repeats it a few times, and how he gets her to do something for him, which increases the amount of investment she perceives she has put into the interaction and, thus, the “connection” she feels with him. To the male ear, Mystery’s schtick sounds like gibberish; but women have finely tuned antennae that pick up these subtle signals of mate compatibility. The science of seduction is, paradoxically, a blueprint that abandons linear male logic for a journey into female mental landscapes shrouded in mists of vaporous emotion.

By the way, Mystery is now in his forties, still shooting tingles through pink-haired vixen vajflesh.

The Dark Tetrad

There’s a growing consensus in the social sciences that women swoon uncontrollably for men who possess the suite of psychological traits known colloquially as the Dark Triad. But now a new study has come out which throws an additional psychological trait into the mix of (mostly) male pathologies that cause women to cream their pretty pantaloons:

Sadism.

Behavioral confirmation of everyday sadism.

Past research on socially aversive personalities has focused on subclinical psychopathy, subclinical narcissism, and Machiavellianism-the “Dark Triad” of personality. In the research reported here, we evaluated whether an everyday form of sadism should be added to that list. Acts of apparent cruelty were captured using two laboratory procedures, and we showed that such behavior could be predicted with two measures of sadistic personality. Study 1 featured a bug-killing paradigm. As expected, sadists volunteered to kill bugs at greater rates than did nonsadists. Study 2 examined willingness to harm an innocent victim. When aggression was easy, sadism and Dark Triad measures predicted unprovoked aggression. However, only sadists were willing to work for the opportunity to hurt an innocent person. In both studies, sadism emerged as an independent predictor of behavior reflecting an appetite for cruelty. Together, these findings support the construct validity of everyday sadism and its incorporation into a new “Dark Tetrad” of personality.

“However, only sadists were willing to work for the opportunity to hurt an innocent person.”

Not sure why, but that line makes me 😆

“Yeah, tough day at the office. Didn’t get to backstab as many cheerful coworkers as I wanted to. May have to work overtime this weekend to make up for the knife twisting deficit.”

Naturally, the question that arises is if a man with an appetite for cruelty (why you lookin’ at me funny?) has the same effect on a woman’s desire as does a man with the traditional Dark Triad traits. Narcissism, Machiavellianism, psychopathy… chicks dig men with them. How about we throw wanton cruelty into the demonic stew. Does the full flowering of the Dark Tetrad turn a skilled ladyslayer into a God of Gash? My anecdotal impression is that it does. Oh sure, no woman will actually admit to being turned on by a sadistic man, but just watch how they act after the bastard has uncorked some wholly unnecessary joke at some innocent naif’s expense.

Offhand, a few of history’s great womanizers had a streak of sadism, a thrill for the soulkill. Maybe, like the Dark Triad, sadism signals alpha male mating value. A cocky disregard for retribution or rules, an indifference to the feelings of others, a concern only for one’s own pleasure… this is the stuff of alluring men.

Or perhaps sadism is like charm: easily overdone. Too much charm is icky and provokes distrust in women. Too much sadism, or misdirected sadism, might do the same. But just a little bit, once in a while, is the spice that stirs a woman’s sexuality.

Why Having Kids Is Not A Measure Of A Man’s Alphaness

Kindred stone cold truth tellers occasionally like to rib your humble galactic overlord by pointing out that social survey data shows that beta males have more kids than alpha males as the latter are commonly recognized, and that this means betas aren’t really betas. I respond, with amused mastery, that having kids is no measure of a man’s alphaness, especially not in this day and age of brat-thwarting contraception.

But there’s more contradicting the speciousness of this “kids = alpha male” line of thought than just the expectation-busting effect of contraception. To give the readers a clue into why it’s so wrong-headed to assume fatherhood is a default alpha state, read this story.

The guy has two (putative) sons by his parrot-faced wife, yet she does no housework, doesn’t cook, and only has sex with him on his birthday, and then not even every birthday. A bit of an extreme example of a neglectful, sex-withholding wife, but the extremes illuminate what it’s like for the mediocre masses of married men who suffer similar torments, albeit less spectacularly, at the hands of their ingrate wives who prefer to diddle to vampire porn.

So, yeah, you can snag yourself a fading beauty eager to accomplish the goal of popping out some rugrats with a man she can feel certain will do as he’s told, but don’t for a second think that “””achievement””” makes you an alpha male. The alpha male may or may not get married, may or may not have kids, but rest assured he’s not begging like a dog for pellets of pussy chow or listlessly shuffling around the house in an apron holding a dust buster.

Oh no, just the opposite; the wife of an alpha male is throwing herself at him because she can’t get enough of his undomesticated dongle.

In related beta male news, a new study found that upwards of 70% of couples are not with their true loves and are just “making do”. So sad. Game can help men find and keep their true love instead of settling for any girl who will take them. Game is pro-love. Game will get you closer to God.

An Artful Age Neg

For those of you men routinely scouring the bowels and spit-shining the lacquered coifs of both ends of the dating market, the issue of age discrepancy, in either direction, is a fairly common one and, if not properly neutralized, a potential cockblock on the road to vaghalla. The good news is that gliding past any age issues is easy, and is the reason why a good game strategy often employs the tactic of initiating the subject of age before the girl brings it up and locks you into her frame, (and remember that a female-defined frame is, as is usually the case in nascent seductions, antagonistic).

Personally, I like to start off a budding romance by psychologically knocking a girl back on her heels, especially if I sense that some intractable circumstance beyond my control threatens to derail my meaty Maglev. For instance, if the target of my predation is an older woman (read: north of 25) whom I suspect, by her body language and attitude, to be excessively confident in the staying power of her fading beauty, I might quip, “I’ve never met a real life MILF before”. Is this a compliment or a curse? That’s the point. She won’t know, and the not knowing is the brain lube that psyches her up to the possibility of receiving my generous endowment.

If, on the other hand, my muse is a younger woman of shy disposition signaling an organic discomfort with any coupling that may not conform to societal standards, I might loosen her up with a jaunty “You’re just a kid. Are you still on Team Edward?”

Anyhow, no matter the springboard which bounces the age discussion above the fold, if all goes as expected she will reveal her age (never accurate), and then the opportunity I need to deliver a pitch-perfect age neg presents itself.

“32, eh? Wow, that wasn’t what I expected.”

Said with pleasing sincerity, not sarcasm. You can stash the smirk for this one; you want to convey the impression that your expectations were genuinely unmet. And it works no matter what her age.

Think about what this neg does to a woman’s underdeveloped capacity for self-reflection. She’s momentarily stunned by a terrific tingle bolt of ambiguous candor. Now her brain has to process what it means, and no accessible neural algorithm is forthcoming. “Was he expecting me to be older? He must think I look young for my age. Or is he surprised that I’m younger than I look?”, deliberates the older woman. “Was he expecting me to be older because I look or act older than my age? Is he uninterested in me now? Or did he think I was younger? Is 24 old for a girl nowadays?”, deliberates the younger woman.

Whether she presses you for clarification, or attempts a hasty face-saving segue, or tries to pull a snark rabbit of faux righteous indignation out of a grrlpower hat, you win. You sit in the judge’s chair, your alpha judginess parting vulvate parapets from the bar to Timbuktu. If you must offer an explanation, season your reply to taste. But always, when possible, remain ambiguous.

“Oh, nothing, I just figured you were older/younger than you are. Based on how you sit/stand/act/laugh/dress/order a drink/behave around men like me.”

Defensive crouch achievement: unlocked.

Chicks Dig Jerks: The Photographic Evidence

Ever notice how it’s the cute chicks who glom onto assholes and JERKBOYS the most, utterly belying the assertion by sexual market denialists that the kinds of girls assholes get are low self-esteem skanks and warpigs?

So what kinds of women do the world’s biggest assholes — serial killers — fuck (and, tragically, chuck)? You’d have to be a detective investigating one of these demons to know the quality of girls he’s boning. Well now, photographic evidence has surfaced supporting the anecdotal impression that hot babes dig the biggest jerks of them all.

Rodney Alcala, a serial killer who fulfilled his grisly urges in the 1970s (and was even a contestant on a dating game show, which he won), was found guilty in 2010 of killing four women and a 12-year-old girl. He is a former photographer who took many pictures of the women who accompanied him to his various haunts and lairs. Police found the photos in a storage locker rented to Alcala, and posted them online for information the public might have about any of the women in them, (presumably some of the women in the photos are still missing). You can see a slideshow of the photos here.

Observe anything about the photos? Besides the shadow of death that lurks in them. A theme, perhaps?

With the exception of a handful of photos, most of the women look happy to be in the company of Alcala, posing for him, often seductively. And while not every woman is attractive, enough are bangable that the stream of them eagerly acquiescing to Alcala’s charms — “You want me to go *where* with you, Rodney? Ok! Yay!” — should inflame the envy and ire of your typical niceguy beta male who’d be lucky to enjoy the intimacy of two chubby girls his entire life.

In related depressing news about the nature of the female species, a Mexican man who padlocked his younger girlfriend’s pelvis in a chastity belt avoided prosecution because the poor, abused woman just couldn’t find it in herself to send him to the clink.

To the surprise of authorities, the woman refused to press charges once the man was detained.

Not a surprise to anyone who knows women well. The lovers of sociopathic jerks may occasionally, in a histrionic fit or when their bladders are about to explode, call in for white knight assistance, but when push comes to shove the ladies are loath to permanently part with their mean men. After all, the sex is SO GOOD.

Story also says the woman has been his lover for twelve years, which would mean this man was 28 years old and she was 13 when they started dating. Ah, Mexico. May you forever stay south of the border. Or, failing that, may you move en masse into Bryan Caplan’s McMansion in Northern Virginia, and vibrantly pop his bubble.

Beta Of The Month: On Bended Knees… Forever

Not to gloat over my prowess at uncovering the world’s cringeworthiest beta males, but I think you readers will find it particularly difficult in this edition of Beta of the Month to stare at these train wrecks without averting your eyes.

BOTM Candidate #1 is a Rainman Jr. looking guy who earned his FIRST HUG (after four years dating) on the day he proposed to his girlfriend. Aww. Slow down, Romeo!

6/10, would hug. She’s wearing sunglasses to hide her shame and contempt.

In the interest of fair and balanced shivving, maybe the guy is sniggering like a retard because he’s already boffed this chick and he likes the feeling of getting one over on her oblivious dad. But judging by that disrespectful boner protruding in his pants, I’m guessing this tiny amount of physical contact is the first he’s received since his umbilical cord caressed his neck. So for the sake of BOTM continuity, let’s just call it and state unequivocally that this beta is loping into marriage on the basis of a platonic side hug. And is that a wallet he’s holding? At least he knows he’s gonna have to pay up to get a hug on the other side that maybe, if he’s lucky!, includes a brief tit brush, tastefully clothed.

Poor bastard. He has no idea the hell matrix that awaits him.

It takes a special kind of beta male delusion to conduct one’s personal affairs in the belief that marriage will open the pearled pink gates of sex. If your girlfriend can successfully parry your irresistible betaboy charms for FOUR FUCKING YEARS and reward you with a hardcore side hug the second you promise her an early retirement plan option, then it’s a good bet she can easily glide through another twenty years of sexless (that is, sexless with you) marriage once she has a ring on it and any incentive for good behavior from her has been removed from her consideration.

A young(ish) woman saving herself for marriage is not necessarily a bad thing in the big civilizational scheme of things, but she should at least be showing signs of sweating hard to restrain her base impulses while in your company. If it looks like she’s happy parceling out tidbits of affection you can get from your mom with less effort, you had better not think that marriage to her is somehow going to magically cause her desire for you to erupt like Mount Vaginius. Marriage is just a dotted line and the smoking barrel of the state apparatus pointed at your head; it’s not an aphrodisiac that can make a woman suddenly tingle for the timid twig of a beta male.

******

BOTM Candidate #2, submitted by reader Matt, is a manlet who… um… well… yeah, I’m having trouble typing this out. The mere motion of tapping my fingers into legible patterns that describe this hapless creature might transmogrify my hands into clawed, chronically fap-worn vestiges of scalzification syndrome. But, I soldier on. The dude is on his knees begging for forgiveness from his girlfriend in public, who can’t stop slapping him in the face in front of gawking onlookers. The craven puling he vomits defies every tenet of manhood, not to mention good taste.

Dude…

The video is too grotesque to be staged. Yes, this guy is really on his knees, in the public square getting slapped around by his frail Asian girlfriend for some transgression that may or may not involve another woman or perhaps a Pokemon hug pillow, and bawling like a baby. What’s going on with the other girl standing next to her? Is she keeping away good samaritans? Providing color commentary? Moral support?

“You hit him real now, You no exist to him. You take that? Harder, hit harder! I want… I mean you want to see his shame burn in his face like a three day sake bender.”

Asians are weird.

We laugh at stuff like this because it helps ease our discomfort. You see, beta males and their antics are inherently discomfiting to the human senses. This is why we cringe when we see a beta male profusely apologize to his battle-axe girlfriend for some minor mistake, or a beta suck-up who wears “This is what a feminist looks like” t-shirts, or a beta orbiter who listens attentively while his unknowing dreamgirl dumps her problems with her boyfriend on him. The behavior of the beta male violates some universal law, or some deeply ingrained neurological module that goes code red when an expected sex role is turned on its head. It’s the same feeling one might get seeing an everyday and familiar object that would exist in the state of nature deformed into a monstrous aberration.

Conversely, when we see a charismatic alpha male handle his woman with expert care, and refuse to bow and scrape for scraps of female approval (or for stays of female punishment) when he has done her wrong, or not quite done her right enough, we relax. We exhale. We smile contentedly. We do this because such a scene means that everything is right with the world. Everything is cool. This is normal and the sun will not explode tomorrow.

I propose a new emoticon for sackless beta males:

\’/

Note the micropeen and vague vaginal evocation.

The voting:

For those wondering why it’s not more correct to label these two candidates omega males rather than beta males, take stock that they at least have slender girls in their lives, in however limited a capacity. The typical omega male is either an involuntary celibate or a wiping implement for a blubbery land whale. The beta male has not reached the depths of loserdom that the omega male occupies. The problem with the beta male is that the prize he has managed to acquire keeps threatening to slip from his grasp. He lives in a constant state of fear and horror that his tenuous hold on his girl will fray, and she’ll sail into the arms of a better man.

In some way, the beta male is worse off than the omega male. Many omegas learn to accept their invisibility to women, and find contentment in dropping out of the mate race to pursue more readily available pleasures, like food or hobbies. Betas, in contrast, can see the ass ring dangling inches from their reach. So close, they are taunted constantly with plump juicy rewards, if they just try harder. And that is why they fail.

Comment Of The Week: There’s A New Kid In Town

Peripatetic commenter PA writes,

With regards to ejaculations such as “stick to poon”, “I thought this is a Game blog,” “how does this race-post help me get laid?” that predictably pop up on ideological posts such as the previous one — here is why they happen:

Liberals have been coasting for decades on a deadly concession from righties that they (libs) are: 1) smarter; 2) better; 3) sexier.

And like every illusion, the one about liberal supremacy of mind, heart, and body is becoming a spent force. A brief explanation follows.

1. The lie that leftists are smarter: though this may not be apparent, liberals have abandoned their claim on intellectual superiority. Free inquiry and scrupulous reason is now the domain of the so-called “dark enlightment”. The leftists, feminists, anti-racists, statists, now resort to censorship, personal destruction, and faggoty snark. Leftist thought is, as Bryan Caplan arrogantly admitted, little more than marketing for the ruling classes.

2. The lie that leftists are better people: we all know the founding moment of leftist moral superiority, when Welch told Joseph McCarthy: “at long last Sir, have you no decency?” Please take the time to read THIS, up to and especially to the sweet payoff in the post’s final line.

3. The lie that leftists are sexier. Or more cool, more attractive, more hip. That is the one they still hold on to, willfully oblivious to the fact that they are fearful, tight-lipped prigs. But this is exactly why no-name commenters mews “stick with poon!” when slapped with a CH clear-talk evisceration of a feminist of an anti-racist shibboleth. They are disturbed, very deeply, by the fact that verve, coolness, sexiness, style, and Game are ours, not theirs.

The brains, the heart, and the body ascent toward excellence when congruous with themselves, each other, and with truth, beauty, and honor. And those things are what we seek, while they desperately try to bury.

While fatties, feminists and feckless freaks are fun manboob-sized targets upon which to practice one’s soul carving skills, the maestros of gleeful malevolence at CH really love to sharpen their shivs on the strip-mined ids of more evasive prey. Blasting double-barreled buckshot through a SWPL leftoid’s snark-and-Stewart-pumped ego is a thrill that no lumbering megafembot sporting an exposed id the width of a barn door can provide. And, as PA says, as long as your heart and your mind are true, so shall be your aim.

Not many have the stomach for the hunt. Fewer still have it for the ultimate hunt: to hunt the hunters. Stare with sharp eye, breathe with cool repose, hold with steady assurance and, at the precise moment of uncoiled contempt, relish the glory of dropping a paper titan, sniveling, to his knees. Where he knows deep in his heart he has always belonged.

***

Runner-up Comment of the Week winner is tspark156.

There is a simple truth that betas are unaware of or simply ignore. It is the misunderstanding and deliberate ignoring of this truth that is responsible for the state of western society today. Women hate men that give and love men that take.

Correct. But if you ask women, they’ll tell you the exact opposite. So don’t bother asking women what they want. They’ll only lead you down a dead end.