Losing A Few Good Ones

Most women want marriage and children. I do not. Given that mutually satisfying and loving sexual relationships have nothing to do with marriage, the game plan of women to get hitched and pregnant can often be postponed for years while their hearts are swaddled in the glow of love. However, it is inevitable that in the course of a life full of marriage-free relationships a few good ones will be lost. As captivating and addictive as I am, I have lost some women to the dictates of their particularly strong attachments to the marriage and kids initiation sequence. I miss them all.

This is a price every ladies man who disavows marriage but who loves women will pay at one time or another. Consider it the cost of doing business. And the loss will never be without pain, as a woman under such circumstances must betray her deepest feelings in order to leave you and pursue her marriage goal anew with another man who is open to the idea.

Blame social conditioning or genetic compulsion, it doesn’t matter. Most women will, after some great time has passed, begin to clamor for an overpriced rock and a legal claim to half of your wealth and property. As I am not one to cave to such ultimatums, they have had to make decisions whether to stay with me on my terms or break it off to find a sucker husband. Some have left, and I am sure to this day we still ache for each other.

And this has hardly anything to do with principle. It is strictly a calculation of self-interest on my part. Modern marriage and kids by their nature tame men and render them less powerfully magnetic than they were as unmarried men. This may be good for molding a new army of drones to serve the perpetual consumption society, but it is bad for relationships. Because female sexuality is designed to respond to masculine power the woman who corrals a man into marriage is condemning herself to fuck a man for whom she has lost a measure of respect and sexual desire.

Marriage makes so little sense that it would take an exceedingly devious woman to bait me into the marriage trap. So far, none have managed the trick, and the few who were devious enough to manage it chose instead to follow my lead or tearfully say their goodbyes.

So I tell you men who have renounced marriage: prepare for loss. It will happen, and you will have to be ready to accept this inevitability.

But there is good news. A nontrivial number of sexy women have no interest in marriage, or are ambivalent about the enterprise. These women, despite media brainwashing to the contrary, do exist, and you can find them. It will require a little more work by you to screen for them, but the effort is worth it. The other strategy which you can employ, and which I not only highly recommend but follow in my own life, is to date young women. The marriage bug doesn’t really start to bite until a woman hits 28 or so, especially in the big cities where peer pressure and status whoring delay the age at which women seriously entertain the prospect of marriage and kids. So you can avoid the hassle of ultimatums altogether by dating early 20s and mid 20s girls.

You can also date washed up cougars who have lost all hope that they’ll get married, but really, why would you want to do that?

12 Year Old Girl With Game

A reader emails:

Hi, I want to comment you something  I saw at the mall yesterday.

There were two girls by my side (12 and 8 years old) jumping, screaming and in general being annoying and invading my personal space. They had that attitude that the kids have when they are planning something. Fortunately they disappeared after they decided their plan of action.

After few moments  they reappeared at a nearby table, occupied by three male kids. The two girls were standing there and started to talk with the boys. The girls extended their hands and chatted a few minutes. The older girl took her phone, get one boys number and then they left. Two of the boys were 12  years old and the other was 6.

It was nice to see the scene. The girls were standing all the time. The older one was relaxed with good body language. The younger one didn’t stop to smile while she hugged her bear shaped backpack. The boy was flattered, but stay cool.

So, here you have it. A 12 years old girl with game!

Best regards.

If I’m right about the growing masculinization of Western women, we are going to see more of this sort of thing. Little girls will mimic what they see the adult women in their lives do, and what they see are women running game on men, approaching men, having kids out of wedlock, racking up multiple sex partners, and generally behaving like aggressive caddish men. This is good for easy sex, but it’s also the death knell of femininity.

How many readers have noticed more aggressive posturing by women in the field? A broad cultural/genetic trend may be in the offing. If it is, one thing is certain: over a long enough time span, it’s self-correcting.

Also, good reader, stop watching kids at the mall. Some hatchet-faced femcunt whose dusty hole hasn’t had a sexual experience that didn’t chafe, might see you and alert the national guard.

Beta Valentine

The crack team of Chateau clit crits does not review movies too often because most of what passes for entertainment in theaters is rubbish. However, once every decade or so a movie so bracing, so truthful, and so relevant to the cultural moment comes along that we feel compelled to give it a platform for the readership.

The post ahead contains spoilers. If you are a giant vagina, close your eyes and think of momma’s womb.

Blue Valentine is an exploration of a modern marriage in the process of disintegrating, told via alternating scenes between the couple’s sordid present and their romantically heady past of five or six years ago. The flashback scenes aren’t labeled as such; the viewer knows they are flashbacks by the youthful hairline of Ryan Gosling’s character, Dean, and by the fact that there’s no kid around. The effect of the flashbacks is like a prolonged near-death experience, where the characters’ dying relationship is punctuated by gauzy vignettes of happier times.

Although the theater was filled with SWPL women probably on a bender from Glee house parties, don’t mistake this film for a chick flic. There’s too much truth told in the portrayal of a relationship hitting the skids for this to be anything resembling the typical sappy romance movie. For one, there’s no happy ending. Women’s faces after a manipulative cheese-fest chick flic show the telltale signs of throat-lumped weepiness: the glisten of fresh tears on cheeks. But the crowd of women filing out of the theater after Blue Valentine had only the vacant-eyed look of a shellshocked soldier who has just seen his buddy catch shrapnel. Or, in this case, catch a little too much reality.

Quite simply, there hasn’t been a movie in our lifetimes which depicts the fall of a man from charming nascent alpha to inept needy beta, and the loathing that this engenders in his lover, better than Blue Valentine.

Every male reader of the Chateau needs to see this movie, if for no other reason than to absorb the lessons it offers as a cautionary tale. The movie hits upon a number of powerhouse themes of this blog, and doesn’t flinch from the consequences. It makes one wonder if the director, Derek Cianfrance, reads this humble outpost of id brutality.

Michelle Williams plays Dean’s girlfriend/wife/pedestaled princess, Cindy. The two of them are from lower middle-class backgrounds. She’s a young, knocked up slut with daddy issues (she confesses to a nurse in one riveting scene in an abortion doc’s office that she has had “20, maybe 25” sexual partners, and the guy who got her pregnant — an alpha male wrestler — left her holding the baby bag), and he’s a high school dropout who works as muscle for a moving company who unironically wears American bald eagle sweaters and loves his job because it allows him to drink at 8AM. In other words, they are proles, with tastes, habits and dysfunction to suit.

Gosling and Williams give stellar performances. You will not see better acting unless Daniel Day-Lewis is on the bill. And this is the kind of movie that absolutely requires a high level of acting expertise; the subtle emotions and facial tics that are evoked to flesh out two ordinary people in a downward spiral of contempt, bitterness and fear, victimized not by each other but by ancient, primal mating forces pushing them in opposite directions, are beyond the range of most actors and actresses.

The casting here is important, because an unrealistically good-looking female lead would have strained credulity. Williams is cute, but not hot. She has a thick Teutonic neck, a slight belly roll, narrow hips, and an incipient double chin lurking underneath her long flowing blonde locks. That her cuteness is physically grounded like this helps explain why a guy of Dean’s caliber can feel simultaneously awed by her beauty and motivated by her attainability. Williams’ pedestrian 7 or 7.5 ranking delivers the message that exquisite female beauty is not the only instability factor that can corrupt a marriage; a man’s betaness can do the same.

The critical Chateau (and game) themes this movie hits upon include:

– alpha pump and dumps and beta providers and how women react to each type of man
– negs (AKA teasing) as a pivotal component of successful courtships
– the never-ending cycle of female shit testing
– the flame-out of male shit test failing
– forcing closeness before attraction is built
– the near impossibility of reviving a woman’s love after it has been squandered by beta behavior
– the deviousness of a woman’s female friends
– the well-poisoning that ensues when a woman gains higher social status than her husband
– the absolute irrelevancy of children to influence the modern woman with regard to her relationship choices
– the influence of competitor alpha males on a woman’s relationship trajectory
– the misguided idealism and romanticism of kind-hearted men
– the utter cluelessness of kind-hearted men about the nature of women
– the brute self-denial men practice when they project their romanticism onto women
– the inability of women to understand — let alone control — their own maelstrom of emotions
– the wisdom of the 2/3rds rule when expressing sentiments of love
– the recklessness and stupidity with which the lower classes careen in and out of relationships
– how easily unenlightened men are blindsided by women’s biomachinations
– how easily women can be bedded with simple charm
– how complimenting a woman can turn her off
– how a failing relationship can cause a man to forget what he did to attract the woman
– how a man can lose his sense of self when he allows himself to be defined by the strength of his LTR or marriage
– the foolishness of pursuing a relationship with a single mom
– and the tingle-killer of excessive self-deprecation.

There are scenes in this movie where you will cringe with a mix of disgust and pity. When Dean leans against a door frame, sobbing and pleading with Cindy to “tell me what to do. I’ll do whatever you want to make it better”, you want to slap him hard across the face and lead him to the tree of knowledge that is the Chateau. When he forces a hug upon her in the hopes that it will stir those old feelings and she responds with a stiff-armed turtling, visibly aching to escape his touch, your cringing will reach epic proportions.

Similarly, there is a visceral sex scene, while not very graphic (you only see boobs once in this movie), that you will have a hard time watching. Suffice to say, a woman out of love is no fun to make love to.

The disgust you will feel over Dean’s immolation and Cindy’s cold retreat is made all the more palpable by the flashbacks to times when Dean was the cocky, charming troubadour who swept Cindy off her feet with some solid early game and a hipster ukelele. In what is perhaps the greatest (and thus most realistic) neg ever delivered in a Hollywood movie, Dean says to Cindy, during his second attempt to pick her up, that he “heard pretty girls are nuts. You must be crazy insane then.” Pitch perfect. That, my friends, is how you deliver a competent neg. In fact, Cindy even acknowledges the neg concept when she replies “you have a funny way of insulting and complimenting a woman at the same time.” It wasn’t long after that they fell into bed.

The attention to detail is apparent in Blue Valentine. Cindy gets knocked up by an aloof alpha whom she allows to fuck her raw dog from behind, rutting like animals. He, naturally, cums inside her and issues a perfunctory “Oops, sorry” after he is spent. She rushes to the toilet to urinate out the sperm but it is too late. In another flashback we see her examining a pregnancy stick with fear in her eyes.

In contrast, when Dean first lays with Cindy, he goes down on her. He eats her out dutifully until she has climaxed. We do not see Dean penetrating her during that scene. The message is clear — alphas fuck the way they like to fuck, betas selflessly please their women. Since Dean never has a kid with Cindy despite a flashback scene where he expresses his desire to have one with her, we can assume that either she went on the pill or she required him to use a condom even in the marital bed.

Another message that should not be lost on the viewer: Cindy keeps the alpha asshole’s kid while denying Dean a genetic legacy of his own. She changes her mind while laying down and in stirrups in the abortionist’s office that she wants to keep the kid. Dean seals his fate when he agrees to love and support her and her kid, because he wants to build a family. Cindy, a desperate, broken single mom-to-be, eagerly jumps into a Justice of the Peace marriage with Dean.

But Cindy cannot tame her desire for a higher social status man (read: a bigger asshole), and Dean’s satisfaction with his banal employment, and his profligate flattery of Cindy’s looks, eventually undermine the charm which initially attracted her. Her growing contempt for his beta neediness is so strong that she is willing to cast Dean out and traumatize her kid, who loves Dean because he is a doting stepfather.

This is why you should never treat single moms as anything more than holes into which to dump a few inconsequential fucks. As harsh as that sounds, a worse fate awaits the man who would attempt to build a relationship with a single mom. Every minute of every day, her kid reminds her of the alpha asshole who impregnated her, and whose seed she willingly chose to bring to life. You, as the provider chump assuming the role of the unrelated daddy, will always be second best in such a woman’s eyes, particularly if she chooses not to have kids by you. You will always be that guy who wasn’t quite good enough to burden her with child.

What man would want to live with such a daily reminder of his inadequacy? Well, men without any game, for example. When you feel the restriction of lack of options, you tend to settle for the dregs of womanhood.

Dean is a sympathetic character, so it would have been easy to stoke the audience to his side, but thankfully Cianfrance avoids that pitfall. Though less superficially sympathetic, Cindy is no villain. She is just following the dictates of her Darwinian script. She knows not what she does, and so you can’t really get annoyed with her. She even says as much: “I’m done, I can’t do this anymore!” This is the wail of a woman who feels unsettling guilt for falling out of love with a good man, and yet can do nothing about it.

The only real villain in the movie is the brief appearance of Cindy’s female co-worker, a grade A cunt who shouts “Don’t let him brainwash you, honey” at Cindy as she is leaving the office to calm Dean down. She even has sharp, vampiric teeth which she flashes at Dean through the office glass.

This lack of an obvious foe perhaps explains the blank faces of the crowd leaving the theater; what do you do when there is no one to root for, and no one to revile?

And that really gets at the heart of the matter. The forces that nurture relationships and that break them apart aren’t agents of good or evil. They are laws, like gravity, that we all must accommodate if we want to find love and be happy. Blue Valentine does the best job to date of any movie at illuminating the crass functioning of the mating market and the competing, and mutually alien, desires that animate men and women. It’s a dark and claustrophobic reminder of the fragile contingencies which sustain love. If the movie makes the phalanx of women leaving the theater uncomfortable, it’s only because it hits a little too close to home.

Perspective

When her head nestles in my neck
and her fingers graze my ear
and her sleepy breath whispers hymns
my worldly worries disappear.

Why You Shouldn’t Support Your Girlfriend’s Goals

Mingus comments:

The drummer in a band I was in when I was younger thought it would be a good idea to buy his hot girlfriend a bass so they could “jam” and spend more time together, since he was always with us 4 nights a week. After a few months in the garage she got “okay” and decided to start her own band with some other hot chicks. They were terrible, but they were hot and dressed slutty – imagine a bad punk rock version of the bangles, but unlike the bangles they were all equally as hot as susanna hoffs (drummers GF kinda looked like her). Like an idiot he tried to help them out by starting to book shows with the “new hot chic band” opening up for us. We had a pretty good local draw, but after a few gigs the new hot chic band started to get more and more attention (duh) from the bookers because they could pack the joint….big surprise. Next thing you know hot chic band are headlining weekends and getting the calls to open for the bigger touring acts and he eventually becomes the over protective BF/roadie loading her ampeg 8×10 bass cab at each show and making sure no one tries to fuck her. Of course over time she dumps his sorry ass because of her new found rockstardom and his diminished higher value even though he was pretty much the reason she got there. Common hobbies=bad idea.

Hilarious. And I have similar horror stories I could tell about men I’ve known who bent over backwards to help their girlfriends realize their own dreams a little too successfully.

Helping to raise your girlfriend’s social status above your own is akin to a fat chick helping her equally fat boyfriend lose weight and learn game while she stays fat. You are shooting yourself in the foot. Every time you encounter one of these sanctimonious beta bitchboy turds crowing about the love and support he gives to his girlfriend or wife to, say, get through medical school, laugh in his face because he is in for a rude awakening when she starts boffing a doc during her late night residency shifts.

The crux of the matter is that women do not desire men of equal status. They desire men of higher status than themselves. It’s academic from where your status accrues; it could come from game, money, looks, wit, humor, artistic talent, popularity, social savviness or stone cold aloofness. As long as you are higher status than her on some important evolutionarily circumscribed metric, her veins will course with lust for your animal magnetism.

Maxim #1a: Women desire men of better quality than themselves.

When you think you are doing good by your woman to help her achieve career success or to lift up her social standing, you are in reality clumsily playing with the hellfires of the Underlord of Biomechanics. You do not fuck with the primal forces of female hypergamy without paying a steep price in consequences.

There are a few caveats.

If the realization of her goal won’t raise her status above yours, *and* it won’t put her in the company of a lot of high status men for long stretches of time, then feel free to support her. If she wants to be a day care operator, and you are a high flying salesman, earn brownie points by encouraging her to pursue her dream.

If her goals and dreams are precious little musings that you know she won’t see through to achieving, then feel free to support her.

If her goal is a threesome with you and a lithe young chick, support the shit out of her. But make it seem like you’re being dragged into participating.

“Having common hobbies kills the spark for me.”

Lara, presumably a girl, wrote the subject heading in the comments to yesterday’s post.

Lara may be a troll, or she may be a girl lying about what she sexually responds to in order to score retarded internet debate points, but her blurt has a kernel of truth. Dating advice columnists, a most loathsome breed, and marriage counselors are fond of telling the lovelorn how important it is for a man and woman to share interests and hobbies if they want to make a relationship work for the long haul. This meme has, in fact, become so imbibed by the general popluation that you cannot date a girl, or listen to a girl talk about what she wants in a man, without hearing her say that “he has to share my values“, or “he has to like the same things I like.”

A conversation I had with Zeets the Throwback Barbarian comes to mind.

ME: Your parents have been together a long time. Do they go shopping at arts and crafts boutiques like other mature couples do?

ZEETS: Hell no. My Dad plays poker twice a week to get out of the house, and my Mom hangs out with her friends on the weekends.

ME: They’re not attached at the hip then?

ZEETS: Not even close. They need to get out of each other’s hair. They have different interests. They both like to swim in the pool, though.

ME: But you can really see the love they have for each other.

ZEETS: Exactly.

This “shared values and interests” chestnut is a load of horseshit. Lara is hitting upon something important in her throwaway quip. Men and women who like the same things and do a lot of activities together risk instilling the contempt of familiarity in each other. This is particularly the case for women, who must abide their genetic programming to find overly accessible men undesireable.

Women may squawk a big squawk about wanting men who share their interests, but in reality they most admire and love those men who have their own interests, and who pursue those interests without regard to the women’s participation. Women, in short, love to be spectators to men’s passions. They love to be dragged into a man’s world.

As with all things gender related, women want to look up to a man. They do not want an equal or a play time buddy. Feminists who claim otherwise are lying, not only to you and me, but, more importantly, to themselves.

Triangulation

Obama’s post-blood libel “Let’s move past the hate that was completely generated by my side” speech which sent tingles up Rich Lowry’s khakied pants is a classic example of triangulation. Obama nods and winks for a few days as his ideological allies go on the offense smearing their political and cultural enemies, and then emerges from the fray to deliver an impassioned call for unity and civility, thus positioning himself as the savior with the efflorescent halo who can bridge the divide and turn those frowns upside down. Naturally, this bridging involves a lot of government largesse and leftist cultural brainwashing.

Is Obama a better triangulator than Clinton was? That remains to be seen, but there is no denying that triangulation is effective psy ops on the mediocre masses. Expect Obama’s poll numbers to jump and open borders amnesty to receive a modest osmotic boost in support.

If the right ever wants to win at this game they need to get it through their thick skulls that the way to victory is through the game concept of framing. Frame the debate, win the hearts and minds. Take a page from the Alinsky school for radical revolution: the best defense is a good offense.

Whenever these cultural blow-ups occur, the right is always left reeling on its heels, in the defensive posture. They need a little more of that irrational confidence and lack of scruples that the left has in spades. They need to be more proactively mischievous. Instead, the right continually plays the role of the qualifying girl to the leftist PUA. That’s a great way to get screwed, but doesn’t do much for avoiding pump and dumps.

This is one of the many reasons why Palin generates so much hate. She may not be the brightest bulb, but she knows how to set the terms of the conversation, and this drives the left insane, accustomed as they are to wielding the cultural bullhorn.

The right also needs to learn to deal with a media industrial complex that is almost wholly a propaganda arm of the left wing and Democrat party. Limbaugh and Fox have their followers, but in the scheme of things they are kazoos against the buzzsaw din that echoes from Hollywood, TV, the music biz, academia, the education racket, news organs, government, NGOs and workplace reeducation camps, all run to a great extent by leftist ruling class elites. This saturation megaphone may not conspire in the traditional sense of the word, but they coordinate by instinct, like fire ants converging on an El Paso picnicker.

Once the right grasps the fact of this stacked deck and what it means for them, they will understand that, despite Obama’s calculated call for unity, the left never intends to play cricket with them. Not as long as that bullhorn stays glued to their lips. The right can get its own bullhorn, but that doesn’t solve the problem; they need to learn to ignore, mock, satirize and NEG, in equal measure, the bleatings of the enemy’s bullhorn. And before that they need to pin their foes against the wall with their own brand of accusatory self-serving righteousness. In other words, set the frame.

It’s odd at first glance that a tiny cadre of high IQ elites can direct the national conversation with such precision, but it starts to make sense when you realize that most people want to be led by a strong band of alpha males. The apolitical middle will heed the hatchet job of the Associated Press and the siren lies of humanities professors and maudlin TV documentaries, and they will fall in line, and wearily assume the problem is now in capable hands and with people who have honest intentions. Meanwhile, the nation dissolves in an acid bath of deceit, a victim of its elite’s facility with psychological manipulation.

Game has taught me to see the unacknowledged, and often unperceived, machinations that govern the behavior of men and women. Not surprisingly, it has also allowed me to see the underlying forces that animate the political sphere, for that sphere is merely a subset contained within the larger sexual market.