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Breaking The Seal

I had two conversations going on. One with my date (first date) sitting next to me and one in my head.

“They call this game the beautiful sport. Personally, I think bowling should have that title. What do you think?”

“I wouldn’t call bowling a sport.” She smirks.

“Sure it is. Hand eye coordination. Groupies. It qualifies.”

I lay my hand on her forearm. She doesn’t pull away, but she doesn’t return my touch with one of her own. Not a positive sign. Also, I’m turned to her and she’s still facing forward. I’ll try mirroring.

“That’s a very disturbing stick figure drawing. Does your mother know you have all this pent up aggression?”

“Hey, it’s your game. If you can’t handle it you shouldn’t ask to play.” She puts the pencil down with authority.

She brushes her cheek with the back of her hand. I put my hand to my face in a nearly identical gesture. Then I tug at the hair in back of my head. Almost instantly, she plays with a lock of hair on her head. Progress!

“Sounds like your parents have one of those relationships that most people envy.” I’m genuinely impressed.

“It hasn’t always been perfect, but yeah, I’m lucky to have them. They’re a good role model.”

I have my hand on her shoulder when she says this. I’m escalating kino by the book, but she’s not touching me in response at all. Her body language, while not cold, is not warming up either, although her punchy voice tone, her sincere smile, and her glittering eyes betray a deep emotional engagement.

It has been an hour and two drinks since we met this night. People are around us, but not much paying attention to us, except for one Slavic looking girl sitting with three men on the other side of the bar who keeps checking me out. Naturally, I notice this. When women’s eyes are on me, I feel a pleasant disturbance in my calm. A nuke could go off downtown and I’ll still take mental note of some random chick looking at me curiously.

Normally, this is the time of the date when I go for the kiss, but she has sent no signals that an advance toward her lips would yield victory. I’ve had girls faceturn on me before during a lip approach, and it’s an invisible blow to the solar plexus, but I always remind myself that the rejection of a spurned kiss is nothing to the regret of a kiss not taken. Yet… she is inscrutable. Not leaning into me, not leaning away from me. Smiling, but not licking her lips. Accepting of my touches, but not returning in kind. I absorb the tension of the moment, silent and serene, careful to avoid lurching clumsily into try-hard, but the seconds are ticking and the silence is expanding. I could put off the decision and move this conversation in a new direction, but then I risk losing momentum. If seduction were a balloon, overtalking is like pinching the knot to let the air escape slowly.

When I was new to the pickup arts, I defaulted to Mystery’s kiss routine to break the seal and kiss a girl on a first date (or first night). The routine was simple.

“Would you like to kiss me?”

If she says “Yes”, I go for the kiss.

If she says “No”, I say “I didn’t say you *could*… you just had that look on your face.”

If she says “Maybe”, I say “Let’s find out.”

It was a good routine, and never let me down, but as I (re)discovered through the accumulation of experience and memories of past seductions, it was totally unnecessary. The perfect first kiss is ushered wordlessly, imposed on the woman by sheer force of masculine will, intoxicating in its bold, unspoken grandeur, sophisticated in its exquisite timing. Cleverness and calculated filibuster, more often than not, detracts from its simple glory.

But still, I needed a sign. There is always a sign if you look for it.

As I finished speaking, I stared at her. In the silence, my pupils vibrated along a beam of mental wire connected to her pupils. An unmoved girl would quickly glance away. She would have, but not before a telling second passed when her gaze met mine and lingered, and I had all the excuse I needed. Plunging headlong into her aura of feminine repose, I struck the softness of her lips with purpose, and she answered with abandon.

The only kiss routine you need is this: does she hold your gaze for a second longer than is comfortable? If so, you must move. Failure to do so will constitute the loss of a magical moment that will never quite be recaptured in the same way again.

Fanged Female Condom

In an effort to discourage rapists, a South African doctor (surprised?) has invented a female condom with hooks that attach to the penis and cause immense pain.

I don’t have a problem with this invention. But I wonder what kind of legal ramifications will confront the first woman who forgets to remove the artificial vagina dentata and maims her boyfriend’s or husband’s penis? Because I guarantee that should this device become widely available, we’re going to be hearing stories of forgetful drunk chicks quite literally hooking up and getting all hellraiser on their partners’ cocks. Jesus cringed.

God’s Perfect Beta

Author A.J. Jacobs has been the subject of lampooning at the Chateau before:

In this Esquire article (with a very disturbing photo at the top), the author recounts his experience trying to set up his drop-dead gorgeous babysitter on a date.  For some inexplicable reason, she can’t seem to find a man on her own, so her host dad decides to help her out by impersonating her on an internet dating site and sifting through the e-suitors until he finds someone acceptable (to her, not to him, though the line is blurred).

Reading about his efforts, I can’t help but think what a milquetoast this guy is, as exemplified by what he imagines his hot nanny would look for in a guy.  It’s a classic case of beta projection.  But I suppose throughout history LJBF’ed betas have served as male cockblocks intercepting the natural desire of girls to hook up with the kinds of men who stomp all over betas.  If I were him, I’d be working the magic on my nanny, not working to get her banged by someone else.

Well, the madam of milquetoasts is back, this time with an article about how he agreed to do everything his wife told him to do for one month, as part of research for a book he was writing. The project itself is cutesy, in that it’ll help push copy, but the lessons he draws from his experience working as his wife’s house eunuch are hilariously delusional.

At 20 days in, I start to think the power is going to Julie’s head. Her requests are coming thick and fast  –  and are no longer softened with a ‘please’ or ‘would you mind?’

She has started snapping at me. I try to ask her something while she is watching MasterChef and she answers me with a wave of the hand, sign language for ‘get out of the room now’.[…]

Later, when I sit down to join her, she says regally: ‘Can you turn up the volume?’ We’re watching Ten Years Younger  –  her choice.

‘You have the remote,’ I say, trying to keep my temper. ‘I know. But I want you to walk to the TV and turn up the volume on the set.’

I’m not supposed to argue with her. I heave myself off my chair. Thank goodness there’s only two days left.

Julie admits that she is in a mood as she knows that the experiment is about to end and in 48 hours she’ll have to go back to doing everything.

Oh, that’s not the reason she’s “in a mood”. You have meddled with the primal forces of nature, Mr. Jacobs, and she won’t have it! Is that clear? You think you’ve merely stopped a domestic deal. That is not the case! The feminists and their boybitches have taken billions of balls out of this country’s scrotum, and now they must put it back! It is ebb and flow, menstrual gravity! It is psychosocial balance! You are an old man who thinks in terms of oppressors and oppressed. There are no oppressed. There are no patriarchies. There are no conservatives. There are no liberals. There are no progressives. There is no feminist utopia. There is only one holistic system of systems, one vast and immane, interwoven, interacting, multivariate, multihelical dominion of DNA. Genes, neurons, glia, electrochemical signaling, enzymes, mitochondria, and spiritless matter. It is the universal system of reproduction which determines the totality of life on this planet. That is the natural order of things today. That is the atomic and subatomic and galactic structure of things today! And YOU have meddled with the primal forces of nature, and YOU… WILL… ATONE!

Am I getting through to you, Mr. Jacobs? You write feelgood pablum on your little 13 inch laptop and howl about egalitarianism and shared spousal duties. There is no tidily egalitarian world of your fevered mental account balance sheets. There is no 50/50 child rearing responsibility. There is only estrogen, testosterone, eggs, and sperm. Those *are* the governing bodies of the world today. We have never lived in a world of harmonic convergence and ideologies, Mr. Jacobs. The world is an emergent phenomenon of the incessant, eternal quest for sex, Mr. Jacobs. It has been since man crawled out of the slime. And our children will live, Mr. Jacobs, what few of them are born, to see that… perfect world… in which there’s no lifelong monogamy, guaranteed paternity, or two parent families. One vast and ecumenical hedonism, for whom all men will work to serve a common erection, in which all men will hold a share of dystopia. All pleasures provided, all ejaculations immortalized, all desire sated. And I have chosen you, Mr. Jacobs, to serve as example to men on what not to do.

To my surprise, I tell her that will not be happening  –  this has definitely made me appreciate how much my wife does around the home.

Before the experiment, I probably thought I was doing 45 per cent of what needed to be done  –  it turned out it was more like 20 per cent.

Now I actually notice when the hand soap dispensers and loo roll are empty  –  and refill them. And it’s made us both realise it’s not always the big gestures that matter.

We now make an effort to be nice to one another and, obvious as it sounds, it makes us both happier.

Marriage is an accumulation of the little gestures. The little gestures are the ones that count  –  like making chicken piccata.

I admit that when I hatched this grand plan, I rather hoped Julie would grow to hate the new doormat husband and miss my insubordinate, slobby and annoying ways.

You, yourself, Mr. Jacobs, noted how your wife was “in a mood” toward the end of the experiment. You may want to reflect a bit on why exactly she entered a mood and began imperiously ordering you around the house as if you were the hired help.

Boy did that backfire. Julie describes our little experiment as ‘the best month of my life’.

How many times a week did she agree to fuck you during this experiment in self-emasculation? Was it more or fewer times than typical? Perhaps you reveal the answer in your article:

Clearly happy at being relieved of her cooking duties, Julie says: ‘If you cook for me every night, we could make love every night.’ ‘But I don’t want to make love every night,’ I protest, somewhat alarmed. [ed: of course you wouldn’t. men generally prefer making nonstop love to attractive women.]

‘I thought all men did?’ she asks ‘All men who are 17,’ I inform her. Which brings up a question. How often should the ideal husband sleep with his wife?

The average married couple has sex just about twice a week, according to several recent surveys (a statistic probably skewed by the randy just-married 22-year-olds).

Is that what the woman wants? Or is it some compromise? It’s not clear. ‘How often is ideal for you?’ I ask. ‘Once a week sounds good.’ She pauses. ‘Don’t write that down.’

I wonder if you could be honest about just how much better or worse was your sex life while you snapped to attention at your wife’s every beck and call? I suspect not.

And my male friends are full of resentment because their wives are forever saying ‘why can’t you be more like AJ?’

The worst advice your male friends could take would be to be more like you.

But the lessons I’ve learned have, without a doubt, improved our marriage.

A one month sociological contrivance which ended with your wife “in a mood” as she harangued you to raise the volume on the TV without using the remote she had in hand is not evidence for marital improvement.

Unfortunately, they have torpedoed my comfy, ignorant existence for ever.

On the contrary, you’ve never been more comfortably ignorant.

Readers may ask, if A.J. Jacobs is the Moloko Plus of betatude, how is it he was able to snag a wife and bear children with her? Simple, reader. He snagged her younger, slightly hotter self when he was insubordinate, slobby, and annoying. And he keeps her because she is unattractive. When your wife has even fewer options on the sexual market than you do, then you can be all the post-modern enlightened feminist bitchboy you want to be without much consequence.

But not zero consequence. Excessive betaness has been known to push even wives well past their expiration dates into a loveless, sexless torpor. I think Mr. Jacobs knows this deep in his soul, which is why he’ll go back in no time to being the slobby, annoying, inconsiderate husband his wife fell in love with. Which is how god intended.

Apropos yesterday’s post:

This paper examines the extent to which human capital and career decisions are affected by their potential returns in the marriage market. Although schooling and career decisions often are made before getting married, these decisions are likely to affect the future chances of receiving a marriage offer, the type of offer, and the probability of getting divorced. Therefore, I estimate a forward‐looking model of the marriage and career decisions of young men between the ages of 16 and 39. The results show that if there were no returns to career choices in the marriage market, men would tend to work less, study less, and choose blue‐collar jobs over white‐collar jobs. These findings suggest that the existing literature underestimates the true returns to human capital investments by ignoring their returns in the marriage market.

Source: “Marriage and Career: The Dynamic Decisions of Young Men” from “Journal of Human Capital”

You can read more here.

I am proven right once again. There are radical sexual marketplace consequences from the integration of women into the workforce. The sexual market is not a positive sum game. Economically empowered women curse themselves with a smaller dating pool of acceptable men, because female hypergamy adjusts itself relative to the status of the woman. This explains why we see the absurd phenomenon of ugly, aging, unmarried bitter lawyer cunts refusing to settle. Once millions of women are working at the same or higher level as working men, those men — who in the past could count on their worker drone jobs to give them enough status over women to sexually attract them — see their sexual market leverage decrease as a consequence of immutable female hypergamy.

Result: men turning away from the drudgery of building careers as a surefire investment strategy for acquiring pussy. The ROI of a corporate 9 to 5er is decreasing rapidly, and men are beginning to catch onto this.

Prediction: as long as women remain a large and growing segment of the white collar job market, men will continue to “drop out”. Replacement strategies for men include:

– prostitution (with concomitant calls for legalization)
– sexbots/3D porn
– video gaming
– growth of high paying blue collar trade jobs that women studiously avoid
– thuggishness
– game and assorted pickup strategies. (i.e. the birth of the “alpha mimicry market”.)

There are now more beta and omega male losers than ever before thanks to the whittling away of men’s traditional route to status through work. (Note: reproductive success does not equal sexual market success. While less promiscuous “betas” — and I use quotes to imply that promiscuity is not necessarily a defining characteristic of alphaness — may have more children on average than more promiscuous “alphas”, the timing of those childbirths are the relevant variable. A beta who goes his entire 20s and maybe even his 30s watching from the sidelines as the young hot babes ride the alpha bang bus is going to find cold comfort once that rode worn and tossed away wet former hottie deigns to settle for him in her waning 30s in order to pop out a couple kids before she well and truly hits the wall headlong.)

I can’t say when the breaking point in such an unstable system occurs, or how it will occur, but it will happen, sooner or later. Unlimited Third World immigration, of course, only exacerbates this inherent instability. I think betas and omegas would do themselves much good if they jettisoned their antiquated morality, kicked out the legs from the pedestals they raise women onto, and turned to the task of learning how to give women exactly what they crave — male dominance and high status through game. That way, they can enjoy not just reproductive success with cougars, but sexual success with kittens.

The End Of Beta Providers

Hanna Rosin wrote a stream of consciousness diatribe against men in The Atlantic recently called “The End of Men“. As with most of these articles written by foot soldiers of the femborg collective lamenting — or celebrating, if the tone is any indication — the regression of men into second and third class status in American society, evidence for certain assertions is woefully lacking, and where the authors uncover something truthful about the condition of modern men, they only paint half a picture because of their refusal, out of ignorance or deceptiveness, to confront the full reality of the sexual market; in particular, female hypergamy. Without grasping the very different compulsions that animate men’s and women’s sexual drives, one will never have a clear understanding of male-female relations and cultural trends. Because ultimately, all culture, all markets, spring from the fundamental sexual market.

In the ’90s, when Ericsson looked into the numbers for the two dozen or so [fertility] clinics that use his process, he discovered, to his surprise, that couples were requesting more girls than boys, a gap that has persisted, even though Ericsson advertises the method as more effective for producing boys. In some clinics, Ericsson has said, the ratio is now as high as 2 to 1. Polling data on American sex preference is sparse, and does not show a clear preference for girls. But the picture from the doctor’s office unambiguously does. A newer method for sperm selection, called MicroSort, is currently completing Food and Drug Administration clinical trials. The girl requests for that method run at about 75 percent.

Leaving aside the possibility of selection bias in the couples who make gender requests at fertility clinics, a trend toward proactively favoring girls over boys would be expected and predicted by evolutionary psychologists in a culture where an individual woman had an increasingly better chance of reproducing in adulthood than an individual man. As women are the limiting reproductive variable, and as men’s provider value is decreasing at the same time they are falling behind in the resource acquisition race relative to women, it makes far more sense for parents who, subconsciously, want children who can grow up to give them lots of grandchildren, to favor daughters over sons when a choice is available. It’s a reasonable bet hedge.

Even more unsettling for Ericsson, it has become clear that in choosing the sex of the next generation, he is no longer the boss. “It’s the women who are driving all the decisions,” he says—a change the MicroSort spokespeople I met with also mentioned. At first, Ericsson says, women who called his clinics would apologize and shyly explain that they already had two boys. “Now they just call and [say] outright, ‘I want a girl.’ These mothers look at their lives and think their daughters will have a bright future their mother and grandmother didn’t have, brighter than their sons, even, so why wouldn’t you choose a girl?”

That’s one reason. The other reason is that young girls are simply easier to raise than young boys. I have little nieces and nephews, and it’s easy to observe how much louder, rambunctious, temperamental, and ill-behaved the boys are compared to the girls. This is not an excuse to drug them; that same whirling dervish quality also imparts boys with the innate ability to invent, improve, and build civilizations from the ground up… and fight and screw like champs. For dual earning, self-absorbed parents on the go go go, better behaved daughters who don’t demand so much of their attention are a welcome relief.

Up to a point, the reasons behind this shift are obvious. As thinking and communicating have come to eclipse physical strength and stamina as the keys to economic success, those societies that take advantage of the talents of all their adults, not just half of them, have pulled away from the rest.

“Thinking”? I can see an innate advantage in communicating, as women are generally more extraverted and verbally adept than men, but in the thinking department men have the edge. Not only do more men occupy the far right tail of genius on the IQ bell curve, they also have a higher mean IQ than women.

And because geopolitics and global culture are, ultimately, Darwinian, other societies either follow suit or end up marginalized.

There is agreement among the commentariat that societies with emancipated and economically empowered women outperform societies with traditional sex roles, and that it is assumed this performance differential will hold up for eternity.  But things change, the center cannot hold. Who’s to say gender egalitarian societies don’t contain within themselves the seed of their destruction? Or: this ride ain’t over yet.

What if the modern, postindustrial economy is simply more congenial to women than to men?

Conscientious application to menial desk jockey multitasks is what women’s brains are best at. Our society exists at a strange moment of economic limbo between two worlds — the past manufacturing based world and the future transhuman world — a limbo where paper pushing, legalistic gear grinding, government welfare administration, and service with a smile has infested like a toxic mold almost every tier of vertical and horizontal economic productivity. It is the kind of work, in substance and in psychological reward, that is soul-crushing to men but fulfilling to women. And it is the kind of work for which colleges, with their mile wide but inch deep liberal arts programs and their empty-headed women’s studies classes, are preparing with perfect precision their students for the female-majority workforce of the anticipated future.

The postindustrial economy is indifferent to men’s size and strength. The attributes that are most valuable today—social intelligence, open communication, the ability to sit still and focus—are, at a minimum, not predominantly male.

As I’ve written before, all that female-oriented yapping, organizing, and paper shuffling means nothing if you don’t have the male-dominated engineers and scientists to produce the products that yappers huddle about to sell.

Yes, the U.S. still has a wage gap, one that can be convincingly explained—at least in part—by discrimination.

Unlike articles written by respected authors in respectable magazines with a national exposure read by millions, we here at this little internet outpost must abide the truth. And the truth is that little to none of the sex wage gap has to do with discrimination. It is instead a result of differences in occupational choice, (mediated by women’s natural biological proclivity to prefer pursuing careers in lower paying nurturing jobs), and by women’s decisions to take time off work for family reasons.

I’d say pwned, but I think Hanna RosinPlotzinDingleheimerSchmidt would enjoy that.

Yes, women still do most of the child care.

Because Rosin doesn’t confront the existence of female hypergamy and status whoring, she does not reflect on the fact that men who do play kitchen bitch and contribute half or more of the child care and domestic duties quickly betatize themselves straight into sexless purgatory. Women can bitch all they want about unhelpful men in the home, but when push comes to shove, those women stop pushing into the crotches of their enlightened domesticated partners. Smart men know this, so they learn to ignore the bitching in favor of getting their dicks wet.

It may be happening slowly and unevenly, but it’s unmistakably happening: in the long view, the modern economy is becoming a place where women hold the cards.

One of the commenters absolutely schooled Rosin about some of her assumptions of a female-dominated economy. You can read that comment here.

The list of growing jobs is heavy on nurturing professions, in which women, ironically, seem to benefit from old stereotypes and habits.

Stereotypes don’t materialize out of thin air. They usually have a very large kernel of truth.

Theoretically, there is no reason men should not be qualified. But they have proved remarkably unable to adapt.

This is the new talking point you’re going to hear from feminists now. “Men are not adapting.” Funny, when men were 80%+ of the workforce 50 years ago those feminists weren’t sorrowfully noting that women weren’t adapting. They were banging the mutlicult, West-loathing, equalist drums of Zion against the eeeeeevils of discrimination.

Nursing schools have tried hard to recruit men in the past few years, with minimal success.

If a high rate of female participation puts men off from working in certain fields, then it stands to reason gay marriage will put men off from marrying, if we follow feminist logic down rich avenues of discussion. Damn logic… you scary!

There is probably some truth to that, but the bigger reason is likely biological; men don’t enjoy working in nurturing jobs because men don’t like nurturing people. It doesn’t give us a scrotal tingle. Now smashing shit up… that’s fun!

But even the way this issue is now framed reveals that men’s hold on power in elite circles may be loosening. In business circles, the lack of women at the top is described as a “brain drain” and a crisis of “talent retention.”

Serious question: how much of a free market economy is positive sum? Is it not inconceivable that adding twice as many workers to the job market would displace a bunch of men already working into unemployment or underemployment, instead of adding to overall growth? Why is “brain drain” the default assumption, instead of “brain rearrange”?

Even around the delicate question of working mothers, the terms of the conversation are shifting. Last year, in a story about breast-feeding, I complained about how the early years of child rearing keep women out of power positions.

Poor fembot! Suck it up.

For recent college graduates of both sexes, flexible arrangements are at the top of the list of workplace demands, according to a study published last year in the Harvard Business Review. And companies eager to attract and retain talented workers and managers are responding.

Single moms like to talk about how they do things on their own, and they “don’t need a man”. But in fact, flex time and related corporate incentives *are* a form of substitute husband and father. That money for flex time has to come from somewhere, usually in higher prices for the company’s products or in lowered salaries for its employees. It is private welfare, but welfare just the same. Now companies can choose to offer this to their heart’s content; after all, no one is forcing me to buy their products or work there and thus subsidize the lifestyles of a bunch of single moms and harried working moms. But my advice to men who want to maximize their earning potential — work for companies that don’t offer generous payoffs in an effort to recruit working moms. It is likely you will command a higher salary with more patriarchal companies.

Researchers have started looking into the relationship between testosterone and excessive risk, and wondering if groups of men, in some basic hormonal way, spur each other to make reckless decisions. The picture emerging is a mirror image of the traditional gender map: men and markets on the side of the irrational and overemotional, and women on the side of the cool and levelheaded.

That same testosterone that causes men to make risky stock market decisions also causes them to risk building gleaming civilizations and all the creature comforts therein that you ingrate feminists couldn’t live without.

Most important, women earn almost 60 percent of all bachelor’s degrees—the minimum requirement, in most cases, for an affluent life.

Only about 1/5th to a quarter of Americans are genetically capable of succeeding at undergraduate college. So is Rosin here suggesting that 4/5ths of Americans are doomed to a long eternal struggle to make ends meet? And, in light of this, what is her opinion on the importation of millions of peasant class Mexicans?

In a stark reversal since the 1970s, men are now more likely than women to hold only a high-school diploma. “One would think that if men were acting in a rational way, they would be getting the education they need to get along out there,” says Tom Mortenson, a senior scholar at the Pell Institute for the Study of Opportunity in Higher Education. “But they are just failing to adapt.”

There’s that word rational again. And that word adapt. Here’s a scary thought for the platitude spouters to chew on: Perhaps men *are* acting in a rational way. Perhaps they are adapting to the new culture, aka sexual market ver. 2.0. When in the past men could reliably attract women with a decent middle class job working in a dreary corporate office or along a clattering assembly line, they put in the effort needed to get those jobs and paychecks. But now, in a mating landscape where women work and earn almost as much as men and, consequently, have devalued the traditional currency of barter in the mating market and shrunk their dating pool, men are responding to this disincentive to bust their balls for diminished sexual reward by dropping out (omegas), doping out (video gaming and porn consuming betas), and cadding about (alphas and practitioners of game).

Maybe men see the matrix better than Rosin thinks. If the economic empowerment of women means men have to work three times harder just to get the same old, now rapidly fattening, pussy they got in the past for less effort, then maybe they’ve figured out that the system is rigged against them. Maybe they’ve made a very rational decision to get access to this pussy by other means. And let it be said that there is more than one way to stroke a kitty. Remember, women don’t get wet for a paycheck; they get wet for the alpha demeanor that a man who is good at collecting paychecks exudes. And as any reader of this site knows, that alpha demeanor can be learned and applied.

When financially self-sufficient women turn away from beta providers as a source of sexual arousal, they substitute other alpha male qualities in its place. That is why Rosin’s article would have been better titled “The End of Beta Providers”. It’s a brave new world, and the answer is more game, more players, more sexual healing. It’s win-win for everyone… except modern society.

Victoria is a biology major and wants to be a surgeon; soon she’ll apply to a bunch of medical schools. She doesn’t want kids for a while, because she knows she’ll “be at the hospital, like, 100 hours a week,”

Do you want a girl who talks like this operating on you?

…and when she does have kids, well, she’ll “be the hotshot surgeon, and he”—a nameless he—“will be at home playing with the kiddies.”

Translation: she’ll be the subpar surgeon, and he will be at home masturbating furiously to teen porn while she’s out getting creampied by the biker patient with the sleeve tattoo who knows how to press her submissiveness buttons.

And yet, for all the hand-wringing over the lonely spinster, the real loser in society—the only one to have made just slight financial gains since the 1970s—is the single man, whether poor or rich, college-educated or not. Hens rejoice; it’s the bachelor party that’s over.

I’ve never seen such an obvious case of cunty projection. I’m here to report, Mizz RosinFluffinHack, that no marriage, no kids, lotsa sex is a bachelor party without end. Far from being over, it’s in full swing.

Still, they are in charge. “The family changes over the past four decades have been bad for men and bad for kids, but it’s not clear they are bad for women,” says W. Bradford Wilcox, the head of the University of Virginia’s National Marriage Project.

Bad for men who don’t have game or other compensatory alpha traits to secure sex. Definitely bad for kids. Good for women? Questionable. While women may think they are getting what they want right now, in the long term those fatherless kids are more likely to grow up into sluts and juvenile delinquents. And then the pendulum will swing back with an unstoppable force slicing and dicing the illusion of material comfort and free choice into a million little gelatinous bits. Single moms are literally breeding their undoing.

At the same time, a new kind of alpha female has appeared, stirring up anxiety and, occasionally, fear.

Fear and anxiety and intimidation, oh my! The classic femcunt squid ink to complicate the very simple truth that men don’t find afeminine, go-getting, ball-busting alpha tankgrrls sexually attractive. Well, unless they’re really hot, in which case refusing a pump and dump would be… uncivilized.

The cougar trope started out as a joke about desperate older women. Now it’s gone mainstream, even in Hollywood, home to the 50-something producer with a starlet on his arm. Susan Sarandon and Demi Moore have boy toys, and Aaron Johnson, the 19-year-old star of Kick-Ass, is a proud boy toy for a woman 24 years his senior.

For every cougar dating a younger man, there are 100 older men dating younger women.

A character played by George Clooney is called too old to be attractive by his younger female colleague and is later rejected by an older woman whom he falls in love with after she sleeps with him—and who turns out to be married. George Clooney! If the sexiest man alive can get twice rejected (and sexually played) in a movie, what hope is there for anyone else?

Yo, Hanna Montana, it’s a movie. You’re not making the point you think you’re making here. In real life, aging George Clooney smartly avoids marriage and boffs a steady stream of hot young babes.

In fact, the more women dominate, the more they behave, fittingly, like the dominant sex. Rates of violence committed by middle-aged women have skyrocketed since the 1980s, and no one knows why.

This is one of those claims that I’m just sure is being massaged into a teetering steaming shitpile, but I’m too lazy to go digging for the relevant studies confirming or denying.

Then the commercial abruptly cuts to the fantasy, a Dodge Charger vrooming toward the camera punctuated by bold all caps: MAN’S LAST STAND. But the motto is unconvincing. After that display of muteness and passivity, you can only imagine a woman—one with shiny lips—steering the beast.

Mrs., or is it Ms.?, Hanna Rosin had her kids named RosinPlotz, after her last name and her husband’s last name. I wonder what their wedding vows were?

“I, Hanna’s grateful half, take you, Hanna, to be my lawfully wedded spousal partner, in sickness and in health, in good times and in bad, and in joy as well as sorrow. I promise to love you unconditionally, to allow you to love whomever whenever and not complain when you are self-actualizing, to support you in your goals, sexual or otherwise, to honor and respect you and the man you will eventually shack up with when you tire of my honoring and respecting, to laugh with you at me and to cry with myself on the day you so choose to expand your horizons and capacity for love to others, and to cherish you for so long as you choose to let me keep my money, house, and quality time with our kids.”

“I, Hanna, accept your marital terms, and promise to append your surname to the ass end of my surname for our kids, so that they may always know who is in charge.”

Man’s last stand, indeed.

A man and woman have a conversation upon meeting for the first time. During it, the man learns that the woman works for a telecom company and graduated from Wake Forest. After twenty minutes, the man decides the pickup is going well and asks for the girl’s number, offering Thursday as a good night for them to meet and continue their prelude to a rogering chat. She gives it to him but apologetically explains she’ll be busy Thursday attending a friend’s charity event. He acknowledges this obstacle and they settle on meeting Friday instead.

Friday rolls around and the man, wanting to impress the woman, regurgitates some key information she mentioned during their initial meeting. The conversation then proceeds like this:

HE: Hey, good to see you again!

SHE: You too.

HE: Must be busy working at that telecom company.

SHE: Yeah, I suppose it is.

[Five minutes later, after some more talking…]

HE: So do you know any other Wake Forest alumni in town?

SHE: There are a few.

[More blah blah-ing…]

HE: By the way, how was your friend’s charity event yesterday?

SHE: Oh, it was pretty good.

***

If the impression you got from this exchange is borderline creepy stalker vibe, you’re not alone. The guy in my above example sounds TRY-HARD. Most girls would be put off by a man laundry listing a bunch of prior conversational touchstones to force rapport. Women complain a lot about how men JUST DON’T LISTEN, but in reality they are turned off by men who listen too well. Or, more precisely, they are turned off by men who listen for the obvious, but ignore the subtext. The fact is that a high status man would not remember much of what a girl told him anyhow, so men who have poor listening skills are often quite attractive to women, at least in the early stages of a seduction. Later on, in the midst of an LTR, when a girl is yearning for signs of dependability, love and commitment, a man would be wise to occasionally remember the little details.

I’ve written before how poor listening is many men’s downfall in the comfort building stage of seduction, but as game is an art as well as science, there are qualifications to some rules. Reciting a girl’s important historical and cultural moments back to her as if she were a history book you studied for a test is going to make you sound like you are trying to impress her, which is a tingle killer if ever there was one. The key to correctly impressing women is to seem like you’re not impressing them at all. Even better is to seem like she is there to impress you, while still saying and doing those things that will subconsciously impress her. The girl above will wonder (all wondering performed in the primitive hidden recesses of the hindbrain of course) if the man has any life at all if he can so clearly remember the name of the company and the date and time of a charity event that some random girl he met just once before had mentioned to him.

More importantly, this kind of rote regurgitation is *boring*. If you are going to recall anything about a girl, make it her values or her personality quirks or her opinions on whimsical subjects. Say she told you she likes the color purple, has a bad habit of cracking her knuckles when she gets nervous, and is a thrill seeker. Now, on the followup date, a demonstration of your listening skills might go like this:

YOU: If you crack your knuckles, I’ll know that means its time for another drink to calm you down.

***

YOU: Didn’t you say your favorite color was mauve, or was it purple? I’m hoping it’s mauve, because purple is the color of kings and queens. It means you are going to be high maintenance for any man. Are you high maintenance?

***

YOU: Let’s do something crazy and go down to the river to watch the moon rise. I figure you’ve got an adventurous streak like I do.

***

Hopefully, you see the difference in how to capitalize on your efforts to listen intently to what a girl says about herself. You DO want to let a girl know you’ve remembered things she said, but it matters *which* things, and it matters how you demonstrate your powers of recall. A truly advanced seduction artist listens for themes instead of dry facts, values instead of descriptions, and he relays his knowledge of her not by repeating her self-revelations like an overjoyed kid reciting the alphabet, but by slyly hinting at what he knows about her.

Link Of The Day

Fred Reed on “the 99th percentile“.

The tendency of the Beltway 99th to live in an imaginary world, of conservatives to think that everybody can be a Horatio Alger, of liberals to believe that inequality arises from discrimination, guarantees wretched policy.

I’d add, “of libertarians to believe humans are rational actors”.

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