A Woman Explains Why Chicks Dig Jerks

Why hear it from an evil player when you can read a normal, everyday woman tell you how much chicks love assholes? This girl confirms the Chateau maxim that Do Almost Nothing Game is an important component of any man’s arsenal of ardor.

Curiously familiar hypothetical situation: You’re at a bar with your friends when you spot a guy you recently hooked up with. You’re feeling indifferent about him, but you wouldn’t be opposed to giving it another go. You think, “Ehh, no need to say ‘Hi’ right away.” Twenty minutes later, he still hasn’t approached you. You wonder, “Why hasn’t he said anything to me? Does my hair look bad?” But granted you’re not criminally insane, you brush it off and look for someone else to schmooze. Thirty minutes later, still nothing. Well, he did wink at you from across the bar (or was there just something stuck in his eye?), but then he started talking to some girl wearing a tube dress. Your confusion escalates. “Oh god, she’s way hotter than me. I knew I should’ve worn heels.” Suddenly, your neurosis reaches “Girl, Interrupted” levels and you wonder how you got so nuts. To avoid further humiliation, you turn to a friend and ask if she wants to leave and get nachos.

Yes, the Asshole U Luv knows when and how to parcel his attentions. He knows that ignoring you to flirt with another woman in your line of sight makes you horny and desirous of him.

Fact: Girls love guys who are, for lack of a better description, total assholes.

Any man who’s lived a day in his life knows this is true. Deniers are true blue brainwashed believers in gender equalism, whores who have gotten stiffed by assholes one too may times and purify their damaged psyches within an imaginary reality, or… well… pretty much all women for whom any fact about female nature is discomfiting.

We’ve seen it time and time (and time?) again, but nonetheless, it’s an issue that riddles our minds with confusion, stress and a shitton of excitement. So, what’s a girl to do about this bleak reality?

Sit back and enjoy my beef jerky intrusion. After all, you may as well ask what’s a man to do about his lust for hot, young, slender babes with pert tits and firm asses.

The authoress goes on to list reasons why she thinks women swoon for assholes.

Most girls are turned off by a guy who showers her with attention. It bores us, it seems desperate and it can be a predictor for a slew of undesirable behaviors lurking beneath the surface. Instead, we gravitate toward guys who give us just enough attention to keep us on our toes. Here’s what I mean:

Socially-unaware-nice-guy: Hi Rachel! I saw you from across the bar. You look pretty. Can I buy you a drink? You look like a G&T gal. So, what are your career aspirations? I love kids. You look pretty.

Asshole: Hey.

She is one of the few self-aware chicks who gets it. I’m sure it’s soul-ripping for my detractors to see my Do Almost Nothing Game and One Word Game confirmed by female experience.

Think about it. Have you ever seen a guy you’ve recently hooked up with and waited an hour for him to start flirting with you? And worse, did you feel great when he finally approached you and probably said a total of four syllables that somehow made you feel on top of the world?

Forget the wordy, clever openers. Keep it succinct, stupid.

Don’t be embarrassed if that’s a yes. We’re aroused by the unpredictability of waiting for a guy to strike up a conversation with us, and the longer it takes, the more rewarded we feel when it actually happens.

Value of scarcity. Why do women love men who make their availability scarce? I submit this universal female preference has its roots in preselection — women get turned on by these types of men because in the fevered downtime the women muse that his unavailability is caused by other women occupying his time.

You know what? It’s a cop-out to say only weak girls go for assholes. Self-esteem aside, many girls crave the thrill of keeping up with a jerky guy, or better yet, putting him in his place.

This admission was like a stake through the haters’ hearts. The “low self-esteem girls fall for jerks” rationale is the go-to lie of nerdy internet femtards everywhere.

While they might not always be better at flirting per se, assholes have a certain knack for conversation that confident girls can’t wait to provoke.

Yes, it’s called passing shit tests with ease.

When you’re not looking for anything serious, few things are sexier than a well-spoken, quick-talking guy whose comebacks somehow indicate that he’ll be amazing in bed.

She’s admitting that women put up bitch shields to test men for their alpha worthiness, and that men who pass their shit tests are automatically deemed more viscerally attractive. I’m coming to the conclusion that 80% of early game, when attraction is being built, is basically passing a woman’s shit tests.

Entertaining as his drunken tales are, [Tucker Max] has spawned a new breed of wannabe assholes who masquerade as genuinely awesome guys by mimicking traits like confidence, charm and humor in the forms of aggression, sleaze and flirtatious insults. It’s difficult for our drunken brains to distinguish between worthwhile guys and those who embody that second set of qualities — and for most casual flings, we don’t care to evaluate the difference. In fact, getting attention from an identified asshole can seem weirdly special.

A clarification is in order: it’s difficult for drunken *and* sober women alike to resist the charms of the asshole seducer.

And why is it weirdly special to receive an asshole’s attention? Because women imagine, rightly so in most cases, that the asshole is the apple of many other women’s eyes. And so to be the recipient of his bastard charms is to know that his quality seed is hers for the moment.

Example: If a guy won’t give other people the time of day, but he’s taking a moment of his time to be semi-decent toward you, you might think to yourself “Wow, this guy’s being nice to me. He’s usually such a douche! I must be different.” False.

Women also get turned on by the thought that they are defeating other women for the prize studs.

In the end, there’s no clear way to stay away from guys who play these games. It seems the best we can do is hold our heads high, stay on our toes and sleep with one eye open.

For me to spooge in!

How To Attract Girls By Doing Almost Nothing

Not absolutely nothing. (That would be silly advice for most men except famous dudes who can seduce simply by showing up.) But almost nothing. In the game of seduction, less is more.

Meeting for the first time

YOU: Hey.

HER: Hi.

YOU: Can I get your opinion on something? Won’t take a sec.

HER: Sure.

YOU: [look at her for a minute, then turn back to your drink]

HER: Are you going to ask?

YOU: Maybe later.

Texting

HER: I had a great time last night!

[three days later]

YOU: Ya me too.

[five minutes later]

HER: My phone was out for the past three days in case you were trying to call me.

YOU: Nope.

[She immediately calls.]

Calling and leaving a message on her voicemail

YOU: Hey. [click]

When she flakes

YOU: See you at 7.

HER: I forgot it was my sister’s birthday. I can’t make it. Another time!

YOU: gay.

When she plays hard to get

YOU: I’ve got Wednesday free.

HER: Ooh, I can’t do wednesday.

YOU: How about next Monday?

HER: That’s gonna be tough.

YOU: Too bad. [click]

The second date

HER: You know, I don’t do this on the second date. I’m not that type.

YOU: Cool.

HER: Cool? Ok, then… good.

YOU: [opening the front door]

HER: Where are you going? You don’t have to leave, you know.

YOU: Got to. Getting drinks with some girl who’s been bugging me lately.

HER: A girlfriend?

YOU: Pfft… who knows?

HER: [frantic] Ooookay… next time then? Promise you’ll–

YOU: [slam!]

Going out on a big date

HER: I’m ready to goooo!!!

[She steps out in a slinky black cocktail dress, waiting expectantly for a stream of flattery.]

YOU: Hold on… you got a hair out of place. There.

HER: Thanks?

YOU: You look alright.

Postcoital bliss

HER: God, that was great!

YOU: …

HER: I mean really good.

YOU: …

HER: Snuggle with me.

YOU: …

HER: I think I’m falling for you.

YOU: Sweet.

Birthdays

HER: Aww… um… a bag of Skittles.

YOU: There’s a note, too.

HER: [reading the post-it note stuck to the Skittles bag] ‘roses are red, violets are blue, don’t eat the green ones! you’re a great screw’.

YOU: [smiling with pride]

…Two days later, talking with her girl friend.

HER: He gave me a bag of Skittles for my birthday! What is that?! Does he love me?? What am I doing wrong? Is he seeing other women? Does he want more blowjobs? I practically got lockjaw last week!

Meeting her friends

HER: And this is my boyfriend, Jack… Jack? Where’d he go? Oh, he’s around here somewhere.

Farting in bed

YOU: BWAAAAP!

HER: Wow. Is the romance dead already?

YOU: BWAAAAP!

After a fight

HER: I can’t believe you were flirting with that girl at the party! Did you think I wouldn’t notice?

YOU: …

HER: Do you have anything to say for yourself?

YOU: Did you flood my toilet?

The 1AM booty call

YOU: Come over.

HER: omg are you serious?

[half hour later]

HER: U still up?

[another half hour later]

HER: Helllooo? U there?

YOU: Bring the movies.

The results of Do Almost Nothing Game look like this:

Curing Oneitis

A reader emails:

I rarely ask for help for anything, but I have been reading your blog for around two years. I have no problem attracting women, I generally bed a new girl every two weeks or so if I feel like it. My problem is one-itis. As repugnant of a feeling it is, and something I must admit, I need to help from the most powerful and knowledgeable source to handle this problem.

I pushed all in on my first girlfriend in terms of hard earned mental, emotional, and physical resources and she is a viper that is legend in circles around me now. She extorted more then half my money, conspired to put me into jail, almost gave me aids, and fucked all of my best friends at the time. If I was kidding, I wouldn’t be writing you this.

For the last SEVEN YEARS I have not been able to get her out of my head. I think of this person every day. I have dated seriously 20+ women in that span of time, and all of those relationships suffered because of this. This woman was the devil, and by and large the best fuck I have ever had. I would cum six times a day with her.

I have had threesomes (girl girl me of course), I have fucked a pornstar and a lingerie model. I am just a 25 year old pasty white hacker, but my conversations are empowering and I leave girls better then I found them. This girl though, has taken my soul.

I want it back.

Tell me lords of poon, commanders of cunt, sycophants of the “sleeve of wizard”…How do I move past this? Every girl I fuck only makes this insatiable hunger to have that kind of attraction in my life again worse. It’s starting to effect [sic] me.

Yes, the Chateau is aware this may be a fake email. But it doesn’t matter. The email provides a good excuse to riff on a new topic.

Oneitis is a disease of the amygdala that presents as a total incapacitation of the man’s logic, reason and interest in hobbies, hygiene and restful sleep. Oneitis exists in two forms, a precoital and postcoital expression of the virus. The precoital, or “#1 crush”, form occurs when two conditions are met: A girl possesses a precise beauty of the face that closely matches the beauty template the man carries in his head for the perfect woman, and this girl is within the man’s visual and aural field. The postcoital, or “no girl will ever be as good as her”, form occurs when the same conditions are met, with the additional factor that the man has boffed the girl and is now not boffing her.

More simply:

Beauty + proximity = acute oneitis

Beauty + former proximity + memories = malignant oneitis

Malignant oneitis is much more damaging to a man’s health and self-esteem because it tends to be resistant to therapeutic intervention. Acute oneitis is often solved rather simply by administering an alpha-pak of anti-obsessives, which are slutty women almost as good looking as the infectious agent but more enzymatically compatible. Side effects include drowsiness after finally busting a nut in a flesh and blood sex partner.

Once the oneitis is triggered, it assumes a life of its own, burdening the victim with crippling flights of fancy and obsessive-complusive daydreaming when the object of lust is not around. Oneitis can also blind the victim to alternative sexual opportunities in his midst, and this will later present as extreme, possibly suicidal, regret in forty years.

The reader/patient is diagnosed with a case of malignant oneitis, a particularly aggressive seven year strain. Testing revealed a subcutaneous betaness in an advanced stage of metastasization. The patient was admitted to mindfucking surgery immediately in an effort to excise the betaness and help him “move past it”. Treatment included a review of his intervening girlfriends and flings and an accurate, third party reviewed self-assessment, followed by a slap upside the head. Contraindications include memory- and photo-assisted masturbation and drinking alone. Conclusions follow.

The patient says his first girlfriend — they have been broken up for seven years — was his greatest emotional investment. If his description of her is to be believed, she is a high ranking member of the League of Extraordinary Cunts. Yet we are left to wonder why such a low down dirty blast force bitch would earn so much of his efforts? Our team of medical specialists decided she must have been one hot little minx with a golden vagina.

The patient arrived distressed, and was quick to claim he has no problem attracting women, and that he has dated 20+ women since the breakup. Each subsequent relationship ended in a flameout, because his oneitis had ruined his ability to build and maintain an emotional connection with them. (Somewhere, a lonely beta gently caresses his flaccid member, crying on the inside for a fuckbuddy with whom he can fail to emotionally connect.)

The patient also claims to have left the runner-up girls better than he found them. (Please, it is to laugh. If you are an alpha, no girl is going to feel better when you leave her. If she does, you’re doing it wrong.)

Most tellingly, the patient admitted that each new fucktoy only served to remind him of what he no longer has.

Let’s cut to the chase. There are two primary causes for malignant oneitis.

1. Investment raises the value of a girl.

You are naturally going to value that which you spent much effort winning over. We value what we think is worth more, and what is worth more is what we worked hardest to get and keep. You poured your blood and guts into a chick who stole your money, nearly gave you AIDS, got you in trouble with the law, and, most damning of all, fucked your best friends. In the end, she dumped you. In your mind’s value abacus, you rationalize your needy behavior, and her careless behavior, by assigning a much higher value to her than to yourself.

2. The girls who came after the oneitis were not as good looking.

Yeah, I know you say you have no trouble getting girls, but in every case I have examined up close, including my own, the supposed “hot” girls that couldn’t make the man forget about his oneitis ex were in actuality not as hot as the ex. Every man claims it’s “something else” about the oneitis which captivates him, and that it’s not about looks, but that is just ego assuaging bullshit. Nearly every time, the runners up are exactly that — runners up to your ex’s hotness.

I remember this six-month oneitis I was nursing. In the interim, I had gone on a tear through an assortment of women, only to discover that none could do what I wanted them to do, which was to erase her memory completely, or at least detoxify the memories by pushing them into smaller and smaller neural crevices. I wanted my oneitis reduced from a maudlin reminiscence to a harmless nostalgia. Finally, at month six, I met a girl who had a better body, and a hotter face, than my oneitis. I’ll spare you the details of what happened next, because there aren’t any details — my oneitis was instantly cured. Presto whammo. Just like that. I had a new sparkly object in which to discharge my demon seed.

So the rule of thumb is not GFTOW, it’s GFTOHW (go fuck ten other hotter women). No oneitis can withstand such an assault on its mind warping parasitism. Of course, by fucking ten other hotter women, you risk ten-itis, which is a perpetual ringing in the ear caused by all the sex screams of your exes.

The corollary to the above rules is that if you are carelessly and indifferently drowning your sorrows in uglier pussy, your oneitis will GET WORSE. Fucking less attractive chicks, (which will become ridiculously easy if you have game, since your game + oneitis-fueled aloof attitude is a very potent blend of chick crack), will throw your past success into stark relief. You are probably better off wanking it than bedding unsatisfactory girls.

There are two cures for malignant oneitis, and each depends on the man’s libido. Men who can go a few weeks or months without sex should avoid banging lesser girls in favor of putting in the work to find a girl with equal or better looks than the oneitis.

Men with high libidos would do well to fuck around indiscriminantly for a while until they settle on a girl who is the equal or better of their oneitis. A very horny man in the grip of oneitis will sulk unproductively if he doesn’t have a play pussy to occupy his attention. Such men can emotionally handle fucking lesser chicks without it messing with their self-conception.

Another important point to make is that men who have tight game will never recapture the glory of their first sexual experiences when the raw emotions flooded them with abandon. Game is like coke: The highs are always great, but each snort numbs your brain a little more. When you can attract an acceptable number of good looking girls at will, the sex is going to become less momentous. It’s an occupational hazard. In comparison to your current game-fueled bounty, an ex from long ago will seem of outsized importance in your mind simply because your emotions then were more uncontrollable and etched a stronger impression on your memory. In reality, that first love may not be as objectively good as the girls you are currently fucking, but your mind has played a trick on you and you can no longer make an unbiased judgement.

The patient is therefore released from Le Clinique Chateau with these instructions:

– Take a month off from actively skirt chasing.

– Don’t burn your ex’s photos, but do store them in a lockbox in the attic where it would be a pain for you to conveniently access. Burning photos and other memorabilia is a powerfully symbolic act that ironically reinforces her importance in your life. Better to nonchalantly store that shit like it was any other old knickknack you no longer have use for.

– When you return to the field, focus on gaming girls hotter than what you are used to. This is like weightlifting: you need to incrementally go up in difficulty to see any progress. The challenge will help you concentrate on the present instead of the past.

– When you meet a girl you really like, invest in her. Don’t go for the bang right away. You want to increase her value in your mind, and the way to do that is, one, to make sure she’s hot, and two, to take your time winning her over. Sluts are not gonna cure your oneitis, but hard-to-get girls will.

– Finally, if none of the above works, scour the earth for a woman who is as beautifully evil as your ex was, and fall in love with her before you’ve said “hi”. The ensuing passionate fling and humiliating breakup should replace your old oneitis with a new oneitis, which, if nothing else, is at least a change of scenery.

A graphical representation of the patient’s progress:

Beta Fights Back

what a mistake i have made
to reputedly conceive
with a woman whose face
could strip bark from a tree

You want to feel sorry for this poor bastard, but then you are left asking “WTF was he thinking?” Marriage and cuckolding is beta enough, but for a good-looking, high status man to hitch his wagon to such an ugly broad? It defies natural law.

A filmaker is suing his ex-wife for allegedly duping him into believing for 17 years that a child was his daughter.

Andrew Douglas, who directed the 2005 remake of The Amityville Horror, is demanding back hundreds of thousands of pounds in child support.

He says Ameena Meer asked him to marry her after claiming she was having his baby. But the real father, according to the lawsuit, was another Briton she had been cheating on him with.

Mandatory paternity testing is coming, and it is going to put an end to these vile shenanigans by women. In the meantime, men can act to protect themselves by following one simple rule:

Don’t screw hatched-faced man-women.

The more eerily a woman resembles a man, the likelier it is she will cheat, cuckold and cover it up for 17 years. Just look at the markers of high prenatal and serum testosterone etched into this whore’s face. Is her nose a Ginsu knife?

Once pregnant, Miss Meer said she didn’t want a baby born out of wedlock because ‘it would cause great shame and disgrace to her parents, who were practising Muslims’.

Ah, a little of the ol’ religion guilt-trip coercion. If I were him, I’d have told her to have fun with her stoning.

The writer moved to London and married Mr Douglas in August 1992. But the couple split months after Sasha Douglas was born and Miss Meer took their daughter back to her New York home.

It never ceases to amaze how incredibly ignorant some men can be about marriage and women. Like the dumb broad dressed in a tramp’s miniskirt walking at 2AM through a well-known bad neighborhood, the man who willfully blinds himself to the nature of women deserves some of the fault for creating his shitworld.

In the court documents, Mr Douglas says he had little contact with Sasha until her tenth birthday and felt depressed about failing as a father.

How can you tell a man is a beta at heart? He will always blame himself first.

Miss Meer, who has had two more daughters with her second husband, allegedly told the director that ‘a price tag was attached’ if he wanted to play any part in the girl’s life.

In a legal climate that was fair toward men, a stone cold lying bitch like Meer would be thrown in jail for extortion. But, no, the femtards will applaud her moxy and shift blame to the man for “walking out after being a part of this child’s life for so long”. As I always tell the femtards when they play this lame “unextractable part of life” card: if the cheating bitch was worried about the child not having a biological father in its life, she should have thought of that before she whored around.

He said he paid nearly £450,000 in child support and tuition fees, gave Miss Meer £17,000 when she fell behind with her rent and handed out a further £6,500 for a new bathroom.

This guy Douglas is a case study demonstrating how a conventionally high status man can be a beta in his soul. That examples like Douglas exist is why this definition of the alpha male is the right and proper one.

Tests showed [Douglas’ DNA] was incompatible with the 17-year-old’s. Miss Meer allegedly brushed off his concerns, telling him in a telephone call last September:

‘If you’re not Sasha’s father, it must be immaculate conception.’ A DNA test taken later that month revealed that it was virtually impossible for Mr Douglas to have been the father.

Cuckoldry is a valuable reproductive strategy for women. Women will tell the most blatant whoppers to protect this “choice”. I doubt there is a single woman in the world who, when exposure threatens the gravy train of child support, will confess to the dirty deed. This is why MPT is needed; there is no way any man can fully trust a woman in the matter of paternity, no matter how much she loves him. MPT will protect men from the female version of rape. It will save them years of emotional and financial servitude. A fully functioning MPT regime would have two primary results:

It would curb female infidelity.

It would lower marriage rates, as women become more careful about which men they marry. This, consequently, would increase single mom-hood and abortion rates.

A woman who knows the technology is virtually failsafe and the law is gender-neutral will think twice before stepping out on her husband sans contraceptive. Because of this modern day restriction on a very ancient secret female prerogative, the fembots will fight tooth and nail to prevent MPT with concomitant changes in the law that further bastardize the meaning of family and the connection between genetic progeny and paternal responsibility. This is why absurd laws are cropping up lately redefining cohabitation as marriage (with all the servile duties and legal impositions that implies) and holding the non-father boyfriends financially responsible for the bastard spawn of the single moms they are fucking. (This is another good reason to avoid using single moms as anything other than pump and dump receptacles for your withheld sperm.)

The court file says the biological parent is ‘a British man who, unbeknownst to plaintiff at the time, was involved in a sexual relationship’ with Miss Meer.

Stuff like this is rarely “unbeknownst” to alpha males.

The real father refused to marry her and so ‘knowingly and with malice’ she told Mr Douglas the baby was his.

Real father = alpha. Deadbeat dad fucks her and bolts, while the well-off, responsible beta with a heart of gold foots the bill for the rancid cunt’s cock-hopping and her little bundle of dystopia. Where have we heard this story before?

The legal papers say Mr Douglas still loves the girl he believed to be his daughter, but wants his former wife to pay back the child support and pay compensation for emotional damages.

If Douglas wins, this could be the start of something beautiful. The feminists and their diaper-loading enablers have run roughshod long enough over our venerable institutions. A serious rectification of the West’s corrupted legal system is in order.

A friend of the filmmaker told the New York Post that Mr Douglas was ‘a stand-up guy’ who ‘took Ameena at her word 17 years ago’.

Maxim #19: Never take a woman’s word; a woman’s actions are the best interpreters of her thought.

Betas never seem to learn this lesson, and it is a lesson they pay for dearly, over and over, because women smell beta from twelve parsecs, and it stirs a contemptuous, malicious compulsion in them. Alphas can be victimized, too, but they rarely are, for the alpha male by his character and his game exerts a calming, domesticating influence over the nastier primitive spirits animating a woman’s will. Often, and incredulously to those of a constitutional gullibility, a devious evil woman for whom no second is too soon to stick the shiv in a betaboy’s back will act against her own interests to spare the dignity of an alpha male who has happily shamed her.

He said Miss Meer has now banned Mr Douglas from seeing Sasha.

So much for the importance of the child being a part of the father’s life.

Miss Meer told the newspaper that she had never knowingly lied to her ex-husband.

Women know. She knew she was fucking around, and thus she knew there was a chance the kid was another man’s, unless she is a functional retard. This slippery sophistry shouldn’t convince anyone.

‘Of course I didn’t lie. I obviously didn’t think that he wasn’t her father,’ she said. ‘If he wants to be her father, he should provide for her. Isn’t that what’s fair?’

Let me tell you what’s fair, MIZZ Meerkat — a full remittance of all child custody monies plus interest and punitive damages paid forthwith to your ex-husband, jail time that is the equivalent of whatever sentence a man would receive for raping a woman and burdening her with the cursed spawn that was the result of such an unholy union, and your motherhood card revoked in a public shaming spectacle so outrageous you spend the rest of your life a mere husk of a woman devising macabre ways to off yourself and end the unremitting emotional pain that forever tortures your every waking moment.

THAT is what’s fair, you filthy festering cunt.

She said the lawsuit was ‘a terrible thing for him to do to his daughter’.

And that’s how to know it was the right thing. A terrible justice invoked. Evil trembled, desperately searching for allies, but none were to be found.

Bristles

“Wow, I can’t believe I neglected to do this. Can I come inside and use your bathroom real quick? Yeah, I know, I should have gone at the bar.”

She cocked her head and a wisp of sandy blonde hair tumbled across her left cheek. She smiled.

“Of course, you can use my bathroom.”

“Just the bathroom, that’s all. I’m gonna hold you to that.”

She giggled. “Ok.”

Her place was smartly decorated. A geometric mobile acted as a partition between her bed and the room. She pointed to the bathroom and I closed the door. Lifting the toilet seat, I let my gaze relax on her patterned wallpaper. This pissing felt particularly pleasurable. I flushed and exited, walking to her studio apartment window.

“You have a good view of the students across the street. Are you an exhibitionist?”

“I don’t think so. Are you a voyeur?”

“Yes.” I walked into her personal space. She held her ground. “Who isn’t a voyeur?”

“Well, I’m not a pervert, but if that’s your thing, I won’t stop you.”

“If I want to be stopped, I’ll let you know.”

She parted her mouth as if about to formulate a reply, but fell short. I noticed her palms had opened and were facing my thighs.

“I really… like your place…” I leaned in and softly brushed my lips sideways across hers.

Her tongue escaped with a fury, pushing for the dark recesses of my mouth. I withdrew, pulled back, and examined her pupils. She became shy.

“Oh god, that makes me nervous.”

“What does?”

“You doing that. Looking at me and not saying anything.”

“Good. It’s hot when you’re nervous.”

Kissing resumed. I could taste a little of the artisanal beer on her tongue. She pressed into my face, and a whimper echoed in her throat. Something scratched my upper lip. I pulled back, then returned to her mouth. Still more scratching. Pulling back once more, I spot checked her upper lip. All clear. A visual inspection revealed nothing but soft skin. More kissing. More irritating scratching. Like a Brillo pad scrubbing my philtrum. Five minutes and a semi-chub later, I disengaged to allow my upper lip a moment of relief from the interminable stinging.

She opened her mouth for more, eyes half-lidded. I paused. Her eyes widened quizzically. Reluctantly, I rejoined the oral battle with her tongue, lips, and whatever phantom torment occupied the tender region between her upper lip and nose. The pain resumed, and I could no longer deny it; she had a hedgerow of invisible bristles above her mouth — scratching, scraping, scrubbing the epidermis from my face. I could not even fool myself these were soft female hairs; I was kissing 5 o’clock stubble. Once more, I stepped back and microscopically perused her face and mouth. I could see nothing. But the bristles were there, invisible and abrasive.

“You know, it sounds cliched, but I’m not that kind of girl.” Her red face and swaying hips belied her words.

“Hey, I’m trying to turn over a new leaf. I’m a different guy from the old me. I’m a gentleman now.”

“Oh… Ok.”

“I’ll give you a call.” One more kiss, this time with my mouth pursed defensively, and my fingers already deleting her number.

Outside, I passed a group of undergrad girls reveling in the 1AM street lamp glow. All tits and ass, bursting into existence. Their philtrums glistened, danced and swayed, and I wondered which of them held no secrets.

Comment Of The Week

Throbbing Gristle describes what he’d do to Jessica Valenti, Slut Apologist:

Can I be the first to admit I would give quite a lot to grudge-fuck Valenti. She’s crying out to be ballgagged, trussed and put to the mighty Frothomir. Again and again and again. Then booted out on the street with but a tattered rag to cover her shame.

Consensually, of course.

Doubleplusvenality if her husband sits in a corner watching the debauchment and quietly sobbing as he pokes glumly at his limp noodle with a crabbed finger.

Players Die Young

It’s time to take an internet-y jaunt around the world of science and extract nuggets of wisdom from the minds of your betters.

Womanizers live fast, die young.

Promiscuous males are so intent on pursuing sexual partners that they can neglect even essential tasks such as eating, says a new study published in the Journal of Evolutionary Biology.

The finding suggests that male promiscuity is not more common – despite its potential evolutionary advantages – because it is subject to natural limitations: playboy males have stunted growth and go to an early grave. […]

When the male fish were regularly supplied with new unfamiliar females throughout their life, they spent less time looking for food and more time pursuing the females. Males living with unfamiliar females also grew more slowly and to a smaller adult size, and tended to die sooner.

In contrast, males living with a single partner ate regularly, grew steadily throughout their lives and lived longer.

“The considerable costs of promiscuity to the individuals involved reveal a natural limitation on promiscuous behaviour, previously undescribed in vertebrates,” says Jordan. “Perhaps those who wish for a more promiscuous existence will see this as a warning.

Sure, this is a study of fish, not humans, but it may be relational. I can recall during my most deliriously promiscuous months I suffered from frequent colds and exhaustion. My health regained its footing when I settled into serially monogamous relationships.

There is one possible way out of this trade-off between promiscuity and health: be a late bloomer. If you start your womanizing career after you have fully grown and gained your maximum size, strength and constitution, you may not suffer the deleterious health consequences of chasing a wonderful variety of pussy. Vitamin D helps also.

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Femtard fave bonobos aren’t the free love communitarians originally thought:

A team of researchers led by Gottfried Hohmann of the Max Planck Institute for Evolutionary Anthropology has discovered that the higher up a male bonobo is placed in the social hierarchy, the greater his mating success is with female bonobos. But even males who are not so highly placed are still in with a chance of impressing females.

Researchers reported for the first time direct support from mothers to their sons in agonistic conflicts over access to estrous females. Martin Surbeck from the Max Planck Institute for Evolutionary Anthropology discovered that the presence of mothers enhances the mating success of their sons and thereby causes mating to be more evenly distributed among the males. As bonobo males remain in their natal group and adult females have the leverage to intervene in male conflicts, maternal support extends into adulthood and potentially affects male reproductive success. (published in: Proceedings of the Royal Society B: Biological Sciences)

Variation in male mating success is often related to rank differences. Males who are unable to monopolize estrous females alone may engage in coalitions with other group members to chase higher ranking males off these females and to thus enhance their own mating success.

High status male bonobos get more sexual access to females, just as in chimpanzee tribes. Here, there is the additional influence of high ranking bonobo mothers helping their sons get a screw. Mothers benefit because sexually successful sons give them more grandchildren.

In addition to rank, the presence of mothers does indeed enhance the mating success of sons and thereby reduces the proportion of matings by the highest ranking male.

Mothers and sons seem to be inseparable and mothers provide agonistic aid to sons in conflicts with other males. As bonobos are male-philopatric, i.e. males remain in their natal group, and adult females occupy high dominance status, maternal support extends into adulthood and females have the leverage to intervene in male conflicts. The absence of female support to unrelated males suggests that mothers gain indirect fitness benefits by supporting their sons. “Females do not grant this kind of support to unrelated males. By helping their sons the mothers may likely increase the number of their own grandchildren”, says Martin Surbeck.

It never made sense to believe that mothers wouldn’t have some influence over their sons’ reproductive success. It is, evolutionarily speaking, in mom’s interest to see her son do well with the ladies. There are parallels to human families. Mothers of murderous sons nearly always absolve, excuse or defend them. Mothers, despite having an almost universal lack of game knowledge, do exert a sort of primitive effort to set up their sons with “good girls”. Sometimes these efforts even work. I imagine in more matriarchal societies, like sub-Saharan Africa where fathers are generally less involved in family matters, mothers play a big role in increasing the status of sons and helping fight off (not necessarily physically) competitor males who could vie for sexual opportunities with the same women as their sons.

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Single moms take note: if you want help from the bastard spawn of your first badboy lover in raising any future spawn, you had better have the future children with the same badboy.

Help from earlier offspring in rearing a subsequent brood should evolve more easily when the mother is strictly monogamous. A comparative study of birds provides evidence in support of this view.

Cooperative breeding, in which more than two individuals combine to rear a single brood of young, has evolved repeatedly in animals, and most commonly in insects and birds. This situation poses an evolutionary paradox: because individuals have only two parents, some of the carers in these cooperative societies are helping to raise young that are not their own.

A related study shows that promiscuous females reduce a society’s cooperativeness.

Theory predicts that the evolution of cooperative behaviour is favoured by low levels of promiscuity leading to high within-group relatedness. However, in vertebrates, cooperation often occurs between non-relatives and promiscuity rates are among the highest recorded. Here we resolve this apparent inconsistency with a phylogenetic analysis of 267 bird species, demonstrating that cooperative breeding is associated with low promiscuity; that in cooperative species, helping is more common when promiscuity is low; and that intermediate levels of promiscuity favour kin discrimination. Overall, these results suggest that promiscuity is a unifying feature across taxa in explaining transitions to and from cooperative societies.

So, a society of sluts = Mad Max Beyond Thunderdome. POF’s fiancé wept again.

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Women are more compassionate than men because it benefits their health. File under: the eternal solipsism of the female body.

The research demonstrates that concern for the well-being of others does, indeed, benefit the self. By increasing the effectiveness of social support, compassion served a stress reduction function for women in the study.

Signaling, stress reduction, SWPL membership dues… call it what you like, it’s clear that compassion is not exactly the noble human trait our pious poseurs and puritanical lefties would tell you it is.

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Women, do you want to marry a man who won’t cheat on you? Then make sure he has higher economic status than you.

The more economically dependent a man is on his female partner, the more likely he is to cheat on her, according to research to be presented at the 105th Annual Meeting of the American Sociological Association.

“But for women, economic dependency seems to have the opposite effect: the more dependent they are on their male partners, the less likely they are to engage in infidelity,” said Christin Munsch, a sociology Ph.D. candidate at Cornell University, and author of the study, “The Effect of Relative Income Disparity onInfidelity for Men and Women.”

What’s going on here? Two explanations jump to mind: one, lower earning men cheat because their higher earning wives emasculate them either through withdrawal of sex or by snarky verbal slapshots. Thus, they seek the reinvigoration of their testicular fortitude in the flaps of another woman’s vulva. Or, the higher earning wives fell in love with the sort of lower earning but charming ne’er-do-wells who are more apt to cheat because they can. Either way, it’s in both men’s and women’s interest, if faithful, long term marriages are their goals, for the wife to be hotter than what the husband has previously dated and for the husband to be higher status — as measured by income, social standing, or some other status variable like fluency with game — than the wife.

But this is not the whole story.

Ironically, men who make significantly more than their female partners were also more likely to cheat. “At one end of the spectrum, making less money than a female partner may threaten men’s gender identity by calling into question the traditional notion of men as breadwinners,” Munsch said. “At the other end of the spectrum, men who make a lot more money than their partners may be in jobs that offer more opportunities for cheating like long work hours, travel, and higher incomes that make cheating easier to conceal.”

So basically, men will cheat under a lot of different conditions. Alert the media! Men like a variety of pussy! Unless the woman is exceedingly hot — like a 9 or higher — she should avoid marrying a much higher earning man if she doesn’t want to endure the pain of infidelity over and over and over…

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Trusting people aren’t necessarily more gullible than skeptical people.

People high in trust were more accurate at detecting the liars—the more people showed trust in others, the more able they were to distinguish a lie from the truth. The more faith in their fellow humans they had, the more they wanted to hire the honest interviewees and to avoid the lying ones. Contrary to the stereotype, people who were low in trust were more willing to hire liars and they were also less likely to be aware that they were liars.

Moral of the study: If you are going to aspire to be a manwhore taking advantage of innocent blondes of Northern European descent, you had better have a good poker face.

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For the men (you women should lift too, but I don’t want you getting any ideas that the 2.5 pound pink dumbbells are gonna make much difference to your cellulite ridden asses): you can build just as much muscle doing high rep light weights to failure as doing low rep heavy weights to failure.

Current gym dogma holds that to build muscle size you need to lift heavy weights. However, a new study conducted at McMaster University has shown that a similar degree of muscle building can be achieved by using lighter weights. The secret is to pump iron until you reach muscle fatigue.

“Rather than grunting and straining to lift heavy weights, you can grab something much lighter but you have to lift it until you can’t lift it anymore,” says Stuart Phillips, associate professor of kinesiology at McMaster University. “We’re convinced that growing muscle means stimulating your muscle to make new muscle proteins, a process in the body that over time accumulates into bigger muscles.”

I have put on sixteen pounds of muscle in the past five months lifting very heavy weights, two sets for each exercise of approximately 6-10 reps and 4-7 reps each. My routine is formed around a core of the big four: deadlift, squat, bench and wide grip pullups. I also take whey protein, creatine, and an assortment of peer-reviewed legal supplements, and my diet is 80% paleo. (Note: I have nothing against steroids.)

I’ve done both the high rep light weight and low rep heavy weight methods to failure, and I find that the latter leaves me feeling more aggressive and torqued. The former gives me more of a pump, which quickly subsides after a half hour. I like the feeling of accomplishment I get from incrementally lifting heavier weights, so I will stick with that method. Perhaps a mixed routine incorporating both methods is the way to go.