Random Blasts Of Thoughts And Reader Emails

Mr. Rudy writes:

REALLY IMPORTANT QUESTION

OK, maybe it’s not that important, but seriously:  do you ever feel slightly bad for Alpha-ing a chick to the point when she’s in a puddle of her own tears and you’ve moved on weeks or months ago??  I know what you’re going to say, but really, aren’t some chicks going to have a happier life never having known an Alpha and content in their Oprah-watching life, not asking many questions while they pass their days with some clueless Beta??  I say this as a full Alpha with maybe some Beta guilt.  Because I can’t count how many chicks I’ve done this to, where they are left to pick up the pieces and wonder what happened…

-Guilty (kinda) in San Diego

p.s. Think about it a while before you respond, it’s not as cut and dry as you think…

There are a few women in my life I feel bad about having hurt. A man who never feels bad for any women he has hurt is either a spergy monster machine or he has never loved a woman enough to feel guilt for causing her pain. I emphasize “few”. Only the vulnerable women who gave me every last ounce of their hearts received the blessing of my guilt when I hurt them. If I wasn’t selective with my emotions I’d be a diagnosed depressive spending my waking hours flagellating myself for the tortures I’ve inflicted on all those innocent babes.

Then of course there are those women who deserve the opposite treatment. Rest assured my karmic scales are balanced.

***

Anonymous wrote:

CH, much of what you say is hilarious, but filled with wisdom. I am dealing with something that needs your insight.

I have been dating a specific woman for two months, along with taking other women out.

On our first date, after a few beers, I told her, “If we have sex, you need to know that I will lick your pussy, you can blow me, and i will fuck you in the ass, but I won’t fuck your vagina.”

For two weeks, I got to do all three on an almost nightly basis….usually in my car.

Then, one night, having a sore back from the incorrect posture of sitting in the backseat foot well while enjoying lunch one too many times, I decided to get a hotel room.

She put the condom on me, then acted like she was backing her ass to my cock then quickly slipped it in her pussy instead. So, for the next hour, I let her rock out, then climbed on top to finish the job.

That was the last time we had sex.

I need to understand what happened.

For the next month, she seemed to flip out at the least misstep. Thinking I worked everything out, still no sex after the hotel.

Then, this week, I sent her a text, having not seen her for a week, “Hey Baby, I miss you.”

She sends back, “I know.”

Screwed in the head by this response (I wanted a, “I miss you, too,” response) I sent her another , “You know I miss you?”

“Yes, I do.”

So I text her back, “Then, good. I don’t need to tell you any more.”

Silence for an hour.

I text her again, “It really hurts that the more I tell you I desire you, the less you tell me you desire me.”

She texts back, “I have had it with your shit. Don’t ever call or text me again.”

“No worries. I won’t.” I send.

“Good, I won’t miss you.”

I text back, “I know.”

That’s the end of it. How could I have handled it better and not beta?

(Reason for no vag sex is because of some state laws.)

First, your texting was atrocious. Major Jumbotron fail. As for why she freaked out after vaj sex? A few thoughts spring to mind. She’s hyper-religious. She’s had an abortion in the past. She has AIDs. She was cheating on someone with you. She got indoctrinated in the interim by a Take Back The Night anti-date rape crusade of butch lesbians. I was thinking maybe you were bad in bed, but you wrote that you two did it for over an hour, usually the sign of a woman who is enjoying herself.

A bigger question is why you would tell her you won’t bang her in the vaj but you’ll do her in the ass? Is this supposed to be the 21st century version of chivalry? If there’s a state law against vaj sex (? is she underage?), then I’m sure it applies to ass sex as well. Otherwise, don’t assume a woman’s feelings about vaj sex are your moral crisis. Your job as a man, should you take it, is to seduce the woman and bang her every which way you can get away with. If she doesn’t want it in the vaj, let her decide that for herself.

***

Ariel wrote:

I just had a really good idea for passing these shit tests where the woman is seeking validation or compliments.

When you identify a shit test, for example a woman says “I hate this dress, it makes me look fat…” or something stupid like that, find the nearest guy, or even girl, and ask them if they like her dress or if it makes her look fat or whatever relates best to her shit test.

Being that generally people are polite, they’ll compliment or validate her INSTEAD OF YOU!

Instead of GIVING AWAY your power, you’re actually DEMONSTRATING POWER over somebody else, and making her FEEL BETTER about whatever she was concerned about at the same time. Everybody’s satisfied!

I just had to get that out there. It struck me as brilliant.

I like it. Very shrewd. Just be careful not to ask a guy like me if your girlfriend looks fat in that dress if she really is fat. I might stick the shiv in real deep and tell her that style is too revealing for a woman of her… class.

***

We’re getting closer to defeating humanity’s cruelest disease:

Researchers develop dietary formula that maintains youthful function into old age

HAMILTON, ON. February 11, 2010 – Researchers at McMaster University have developed a cocktail of ingredients that forestalls major aspects of the aging process. […]

The study found that a complex dietary supplement powerfully offsets this key symptom of ageing in old mice by increasing the activity of the cellular furnaces that supply energy—or mitochondria— and by reducing emissions from these furnaces—or free radicals—that are thought to be the basic cause of ageing itself.

Using bagel bits soaked in the supplement to ensure consistent and accurate dosing, the formula maintained youthful levels of locomotor activity into old age whereas old mice that were not given the supplement showed a 50 per cent loss in daily movement, a similar dramatic loss in the activity of the cellular furnaces that make our energy, and declines in brain signaling chemicals relevant to locomotion. This builds on the team’s findings that the supplement extends longevity, prevents cognitive declines, and protects mice from radiation.

Ingredients consists of items that were purchased in local stores selling vitamin and health supplements for people, including vitamins B1, C, D, E, acetylsalicylic acid, beta carotene, folic acid, garlic, ginger root, ginkgo biloba, ginseng, green tea extract, magnesium, melatonin, potassium, cod liver oil, and flax seed oil. Multiple ingredients were combined based on their ability to offset five mechanisms involved in ageing.

I’ll be a happier man than I already am if we can put a stop to the scourge of declining female beauty.

***

Because sometimes a reminder is needed:

Optimal Waist-to-Hip Ratios in Women Activate Neural Reward Centers in Men

Secondary sexual characteristics convey information about reproductive potential. In the same way that facial symmetry and masculinity, and shoulder-to-hip ratio convey information about reproductive/genetic quality in males, waist-to-hip-ratio (WHR) is a phenotypic cue to fertility, fecundity, neurodevelopmental resources in offspring, and overall health, and is indicative of “good genes” in women. Here, using fMRI, we found that males show activation in brain reward centers in response to naked female bodies when surgically altered to express an optimal (~0.7) WHR with redistributed body fat, but relatively unaffected body mass index (BMI). Relative to presurgical bodies, brain activation to postsurgical bodies was observed in bilateral orbital frontal cortex. While changes in BMI only revealed activation in visual brain substrates, changes in WHR revealed activation in the anterior cingulate cortex, an area associated with reward processing and decision-making. When regressing ratings of attractiveness on brain activation, we observed activation in forebrain substrates, notably the nucleus accumbens, a forebrain nucleus highly involved in reward processes. These findings suggest that an hourglass figure (i.e., an optimal WHR) activates brain centers that drive appetitive sociality/attention toward females that represent the highest-quality reproductive partners. This is the first description of a neural correlate implicating WHR as a putative honest biological signal of female reproductive viability and its effects on men’s neurological processing.

Executive summary: No fat chicks.

***

S. wrote:

Say you go to a bar and strike a conversation with two girls. One is really hot. The other one is a classic beta.

The hot one says, “Dude, you’re nuts, totally, Avatar, was, like, awesome! Hurt what? Sorry, haven’t seen that one. But, seriously, come on, Avatar was AWESOME! Like, fucking, really… I mean, great movie. Remember how he goes PFFF on that dragon? I can’t believe you didn’t get it.” And she wrinkles her pretty nose. And the bar stand is reflected in her eyes. When it’s not reflected, you can see the back of her head in there. Sort of.

The other girl is smart and funny and loved District 9. She wants to discuss the 2blowhards blog with you or the latest article in New Yorker. She is flirty and has a nice smile. The problem is… what was her problem? Oh, I remember now. Her BMI is 27. She’s not gorgeous. Her hair is slightly frizzy.

Needless to say, you are going to leave with the first girl. Right? ‘Cause, you know, she’s like, awesome, dude.  And you want to fuck, not discuss Almodovar. You already have a great outlet for your intellect – this blog.

Sigh.

I find your cynicism and rejection of bland political correctness refreshing. But I would love, love, love to talk to you in 20 years. Heck, make that 10.

Next time you are in Potomac/Rockville area, let me know. I have many more questions to ask. (Oh, and don’t worry: I am almost 40, have two kids, wear size 10-12, and am not interested in Greek alphabet measurements of human worth, even sexual worth. Just immensely curious.)

You keep writing.
S.

“PFFF on that dragon”. Lol.

Taking your scenario at face value (that is, I’ll dismiss for the moment the valid objection that it is presumptuous to assume a random hot chick a man meets must be a bubblehead), I’m afraid you won’t like my answer.

Here, across the internet where I can’t know what you look like, I’m drawn to your style. Left to my own imagination, I would have envisioned you as sexy as possible. But now that I know you are almost 40, with two kids, and a BMI of 27, you might say the blood has been let out of my chub. I don’t relish this fact. I’m a slave to my bioalgorithm as much as you are, as we all are. I cannot will myself to feel sexually attracted to an unattractive woman no matter how cleverly obscure her cultural references.

So the answer to your question is: yes, I would take the hotter chick home. And I would continue dating women who met both my criteria of physical attractiveness as well as mental stimulation.

***

Smoke wrote:

I have a super hot Polish cleaning lady. She’s maybe 22 and comes to clean through a service twice a month.

Any tips on closing her?

Ah, Polish girls. Beautiful, romantic, sweetly naive Polish girls. I have a gripping story about a Polish girl I loved that I thought about revealing on this blog, but decided against. Maybe I’ll save it for the book.

Tip: She’s a cleaning lady and foreign. Your status is already sky high relative to hers, so you need to connect with her by bridging the gap. Right now, she truly believes you are out of her league, and will likely deflect any of your flirting with her because of this. A little alpha-style self-deprecation is in order. (Don’t go overboard.) Learn a couple of funny Polish words and mispronounce them on purpose. She’ll giggle and correct you. You’re off to the races.

***

Sman wrote:

Hey!!!! Thanks again for another round of reader replies. I wanted to bring something to your attention.

A friend recently showed me a clip from the Tyra Banks show about women that train their young daughters to be gold diggers from an early age.

How early? The youngest girl there was 6 years old.

Early intervention is always best, I say. But a difficulty presents itself when attempting to instill the righteous values of reductionism in your little princesses — at 6 years old you can’t be sure she’ll grow up hot enough to successfully play the golddigger game. Parents of ugly daughters may want to take this into consideration and fast track their little monsters into Womyn’s Studies at the overpriced private grad school of their choice, where she’ll be safe from the predations of men and their penetrating rapebringers.

***

Anise wrote in a comment to my HIIIII!! post:

Talking about men, clothes and food with one’s girlfriends is one of the joys of being a woman and having girlfriends. Sheesh. I don’t care if you don’t like my tone. This is not your conversation.

As for the gays, they are owed a debt by aspiring PUAs. Grooming, fitness, hygiene, the glorification of youth and sexual pleasure über alles. Sound familiar, fruitcake?

Anise has a point. The influence of gay culture has spruced up some of the less appealing aspects of the straight male culture. It may not be palatable to a lot of traditional men with grit under their fingernails, but we live in a day and age when male peacocking is making a strong resurgence as an effective tool of seducing women. Yes, men who wear armbands and cowboy hats are drawing the attention of women and getting laid. I like to dabble in the gentlemanly art of fine styling, myself.

Of course, this works the other way. Gays left to their own devices, free of any societal shaming or disgust or benign influence from surrounding tribal groups, rapidly spin out of control, reformulating their world until it resembles a technicolor musical complete with frills, doilies, and dogs small enough to fit in shirt pockets. So gays with a touch of the masculine (and from what I’ve heard, most gay men prefer gay lovers who exude some masculinity) owe a debt to the straight males in their midst.

Btw, when you screech “Hiiiii!!!!” really loud so the whole bar can learn how well-liked you are by your peers, yes, it becomes a part of my conversation. Know that you are being mercilessly mocked. Suck it up.

The Core Principle Of Game

I was out recently with a buddy who knows of the DC blog scene and occasionally reads my blog (HIIIIIII dude!!!!). We went to a club that has a cramped basement dance floor. Very loud, very crowded, and very sweaty. This is the type of place that affords much illicit groping if that’s your bag. I didn’t go with any intention to hit on girls, or even to flirt much, so I leaned back against the bar and watched my buddy work a crowd of four chicks. As I leaned masterfully, one of the girls in the group sauntered over adjacent to me to buy herself a drink (or a timeout). I sized her up with a cocked eyebrow and a calculated frown. She was cute, early to mid 20s, long brunette hair, and short, with an ample bosom. That old notorious feeling came back again. You can’t keep the inner cad locked down for long.

I opened for the kill.

“Lemme guess. You’re with a bachelorette party.”

She winced. “Nooo! Thank god, I hate those things.”

I studied her reaction while musing to myself that perhaps a patented CH meme is getting out into general circulation. I had my opening. Finish her!

“Wow, I could have sworn you were assigned to accost men for your engaged friend. I’m relieved. Cheers.”

I suspected she was smart enough to know the word ‘accost’, and would appreciate my use of it. She stared at me blankly for a few seconds registering what I had just said. She turned her head away slowly, then whizzed right back around again to face me. I suspected correctly. She roughly grabbed my hand.

“Come out and dance with us! You do realize you’re at a dance club?”

“I don’t dance.”

“Oh, right, I forgot, men don’t like dancing.” She rolled her eyes.

“True.” She was still holding my hand. I made sure to pull away first. “You’ll have to get yourself a gay boyfriend for dancing duties.”

She laughed. “Oh, is that what they’re for?” Enough of her frame. It was time to reframe so that she was following my conversational lead.

I placed my hand on her forearm. “You don’t seem at all like the type of girl who would be happy in a place like this.” This wasn’t a line. She really wasn’t the type who normally goes to this place. Not phony enough.

“What do you mean by that?”

Reframe established. Subtle neg delivered. She was in the tingle-generating defensive crouch.

“Look around. Most of these girls are faking it. Can you fake it as well as they do? If you can, then I guess I was wrong about you.”

Remember, gentlemen, conversations with women don’t have to make logical sense. They just need to sound sexy.

She smiled and cocked her head in that way girls do when you’ve pleasantly surprised them. “Do you want a drink?”

Ah, the first real shit test. Now we were getting somewhere. Men, take note. When a girl is standing right next to you at a bar, and she asks “Do you want a drink?”, be careful! She is really asking “Will you buy us a drink?” Smart girls know how to massage this shit test so that they maintain plausible deniability.

“No, thanks.”

Passed.

“You’re not going to drink tonight??”

“No, I’m just not in the mood for a drink right now. You know, when you dance, don’t forget to twirl. Like this.” I took her hand and she happily spun around for me.

We gabbed some more while standing at the bar. Eventually, her ass gingerly found its way into my crotch and a tame simulation of bumpngrindage ensued. She liked when I moved her hair aside to kiss her neck. I liked it too. Her feminine aroma — a mix of youth, sweat, and perfume — was intoxicating. Maybe a half hour in we were making out, sometimes right in front of her friends who didn’t seem to mind at all. She must have signalled them earlier that she didn’t want or need a cockblock. But I was always sure to break it off first, and quickly, wary to ever let our lips linger locked for long. This wasn’t so much a game maneuver as a practical consideration. I didn’t want to be recognized making out with her in public.

After a short while dancing with her group, I leaned into her and told her I was going upstairs, while reaching for my coat. She looked surprised and chastened. I leaned in again and said I’d like her number, and that she should come upstairs to give it to me. I walked off.

It was a calculated move. If a girl likes you, she’ll be willing to abandon her posse to meet you at another location for continued enrapture. If this girl was on the fence even a little, she would not likely have met me upstairs like I told her to do. I only needed to wait upstairs for thirty seconds before she showed up. She smiled when she saw that I was still there.

This was a textbook seduction. It reminded me what so often makes or breaks a man’s game. It always seems to come back to this, the core principle of game, of mastery of women’s desire: Aloofness. The concept is simple, although its proper exeuction can belie its simplicity. I didn’t care that night about hooking up, or impressing girls. This cavalier nonchalance must have been exuding from my every pore, in my words and body language. Not giving a shit about the outcome — note that this is different than not giving a shit about the woman, for those of you who are too twisted in pious hate to understand the difference — is like catnip to a woman. They can’t resist it.

I realized early on that I could have pressed and taken this girl home that night. The number exchange was a mere formality. There was no need for me to stop at the number. She was into me enough for a same night close. Logistics were favorable. But I stopped myself short. It was then that I had a revelation and stumbled upon what is the greatest obstacle to a man’s success seducing women….

Guilt.

When Elites Self-Destruct

When I first read this news story, I doubted its authenticity. It reads like something Snopes.com would later discredit. But I looked around and the story is repeated in multiple media outfits.

Transsexual performer vomits on Susan Sarandon

Oscar winning actress Susan Sarandon has had a bad time of it lately. The actress recently separated from her long time partner, actor Tim Robbins. Sarandon attended the third anniversary of The Box in New York’s Lower East Side.

A transsexual cabaret performer named Rose Wood engaged in projectile vomiting on stage and hit Sarandon with it .

Standing nearby were Scarlett Johansson and Liev Schreiber.

According to Wood it was not intended as an affront to the actress and she didn’t take it that way.

“Apparently [Sarandon] got a big kick out of it. She squealed with surprise and loved it when several handsome gentlemen wiped it off of her. She had a ball! I saw her assistant downstairs afterward, and he was moved by it! She was in great spirits,” Wood told the New York Press.

Wood explains that vomiting on people is fitting is this establishment. “[It was a] fitting time for an outrageous act: the third anniversary of The Box. Everybody wants to offer safe and ordinary, not The Box!”

Was the vomit fake? The news outlets reporting on this story didn’t mention anything about the vomit being fake, so it looks as if an actual stream of hot, chunky puke hit Sarandon. If she was sitting down in the first rows, it is likely the projectile vomit splattered her upper body and face. Where does getting vomited on rank compared to other incredibly disgusting affronts to one’s dignity? Leaving aside for purposes of this discussion the creatively exotic ways in which the tortures of the damned might be executed (e.g., feeding severed genitalia to the writhing victim), I have ranked in descending order the top three most disgusting things that could happen to a person.

A tranny crapping on you. (Bonus points if face is the bulls-eye.)
A tranny projectile vomiting on you. (Again, bonus points for face.)
A tranny — assuming he/she still has a dick — jizzing on you. (Despite the terabytes of pornographic evidence to the contrary, I’d imagine that, like Clarice Starling, most women would not appreciate receiving an unwanted hot load to the face by a complete stranger, whether or not that stranger was doing “art” on stage. If we were to restrict our ranking to straight men, I’d place jizz in face above vomit in face, but just slightly below crap in face. If the crap was small, hard, and pellet-like, I think most men would even take that over jizz in the face. I once saw a porno clip of two guys on one girl and one of the dudes accidentally jizzed into the other dude’s face as that dude was kissing the girl. The reaction of the jizzed-upon dude was priceless. He jumped back instantaneously and retched, swinging his arms around blindly for a towel to wipe off on. I bet his nightmares will haunt his sleep for years.)

Was Sarandon auditioning for “two old leftie hags, one cup”? And what the hell was Scarlett Johansson doing there? Did she partake of the pukage? I’ve gotta say, nothing can desexify a hot babe faster than a little dribble of puke falling down her cheek, like a sad, gross tear.

This story has so much win it’s hard to know where to begin. First of all, it happened to Susan Sarandon. This is better than if it happened to Bono, although not as good as if it happened to Katie Couric. Secondly, the melding of elitist status posturing with the fraud that is modern “art” is perfectly symbolized in the caulking of the latter’s vomitus to the former’s face. This is meta-art that illuminates far more than the actual art.

Idiocracy isn’t confined to the plebes and riff raff. A counterpart idiocracy is simultaneously at work degrading the elite. A sure sign of a culture’s death rattle is its elite abandoning all pretense of taste and class in a vain effort to prop a barrier between themselves and the hoi polloi. The fraud that is modern art has served this function well for the past 50 or 60 years, but it is finally reaching its inevitable resolution, as it always would, devolving into a repulsive farce that says more about professed elite admiration for it than about the art itself. At one time, there was piss christ, which the elites could happily use as a club to bludgeon the unsophisticated into submissive apologia. But pretty (and not so pretty) lies are like ravenous beasts that must continually feed until ultimately they turn on their advocates. (See: Any multicultural society’s paeans to diversity.) And so we have the scorching parody of an elitist like Susan Sarandon suffering a stream of projectile vomit from the beast she helped breathe to life, and then being forced by a combination of circumstance and cognitive dissonance to betray her own disgust reflex at the altar of lifestyle liberalism.

Susan Sarandon’s defiled face and subsequent feint of enjoyment and poseurism is a symbol of the late Caesarean implosion of our putative overclass. Tim Robbins’ dumping her must have hit her hard. (Another high status man dumps aging wife! News at 11.) The “several handsome gentlemen wiped it off of her” line is telling. Rose Wood knows what a wrinkled, sexually worthless woman wants to hear. On the other end of the social spectrum, People of Walmart race to the bottom free of any need or desire to ape the habits of their betters. And who could blame them when their betters are the likes of Sarandon, vomiting trannies, and enabling art critics and media mavens? All the while, the rapidly shrinking sane middle is beaten like a pinata by an unholy alliance of the hermetically warped elites and the wretched bottom dwellers, of which such end-gameplaying is sure to have deadly serious consequences.

Here is the truth of the incident. You, Susan Sarandon, got puked on by a freak degenerate performing nothing remotely resembling art except in the fevered imaginations of bathhouse Baudelaires and serial killers. It wasn’t cutely “outrageous” and it wasn’t conceptually deep that only you and your inner circle of pretend snobs could recognize its artistic merit. And those “handsome gentlemen” in attendance took pity on you, the kind of unwelcome, soul withering pity reserved for the losers and the lost. Of which you are now one.

HIIIIII!!

I was sitting at one of my favorite social venues when a disturbance behind me erupted. A woman had just arrived and greeted her mixed group of friends with an exaggeratedly pronounced “Hiiii!!!” All the women already sitting at the table, and the couple of men who were with them, replied nearly in unison with an even louder and prolonged “Hiiiiii!!!”. The “Hiiii!!” was annoying beyond belief; a sing-song-y, off-key yenta battle cry. It’s hard to describe the sound of a spoken word, but imagine a musical “Hi” divided into two notes with the accent (upbeat) on the first note (Hii-) followed languorously by a longer downbeat on the second whole note (-iiiiiiii), spoken in adagio and fortissimo. Would a girl saying “Hi” like this sound phony? Yes!

It’s pretty common knowledge that DC stands at the top in per capita phoniness. There is a higher density of phoniness per square mile here than even in vaunted phony cities like New York. The whole reason of DC’s existence is to persuade other people to throw money, perks, or props your way, so a finely developed skill in the art of phoniness is a requirement before stepping in the ring. But this latest incarnation of phoniness is breathtaking even to a jaded cynic like myself. And these were not teen girls. They were grown-ass women with non-profit jobs and rich daddies to pay their exhorbitant rents.

To all the girls reading this post who greet each other and their gay best boyfriends this way, I ask: Are you *really* that happy to see your friends whom you just saw last week? Or is phoniness the new black? Maybe you think the phony Hi and the accompanying fake phony smile are supposed to be feminine, but I assure you, it is not. Fingernails on a chalkboard? Yes. Feminine? No. I’ll go out on a limb here and hypothesize that girls who are fakers when greeting people are also fakers in bed.

Here’s what I think is going on. The thuper duper edge community gay culture and the girly follower female culture have fused and become as one — a vortex of caricatured, trannyfied pseudofemininity spewing nebulae of jutting manjaws, wildly faggy gesticulations, and conversations that sound downright operatic. It is a vortex of suckage that any straight man would find baffling, which come to think of it, may be the point. But I can definitely tell you what it is *not*. It’s not attractive. This illustrates another great dividing line between the sexes — our respective reactions to phoniness. In general, men loathe phonies. Women cherish the company of phonies, and embrace the phony scene with gusto. Without phonies in their lives, women would have nothing to be catty about behind closed doors.

There is a powerful feeback loop in effect when girls and gays join forces. Where does this great culture meld between city girls and city gays end?

Half the moves in men’s figure skating look like reach arounds.

Reader Mailbag

For whatever reason, I’ve been getting more emails than ever from men thanking me for the blog and the improvements my writing has made to their love lives. I need an assistant to handle the boatloads of reader emails I’ve been getting lately. Any cute girls who like to wear schoolgirl skirts without underwear up for the, uh… position? Pupu? You seem the naughty type.

Email #1:

Most benevolent schlongmeister:

I have a quandary. I have shared my cliffs notes (consisting of links to your essays, or me getting them drunk and hollering at them) on the crimson arts with some of my nerdly friends, in hopes of making them more studly. These guys have had a lot of success; one guy went from “depressed middle aged schlub who got dumped by his fishwife, and who pines for his nerdy looking lady friends,” to “skewering 20 year old hotties by the half dozen” in a matter of a few weeks. Another was a long single fella; good looking dude, talented, keeps fit, went from “passive guy who never gets a date” to “boinks all the girls he desires.” There are other examples; I feel a benevolent fatherly glow, watching these good fellows grow from boy to man in this important area of their life.

My quandary: many of them seem unable to keep a woman. I think the seduction boards talk about this, they talk about accomplished seducers who have “something missing,” and never seem to have a girlfriend. They say stuff like the guys are so focused on the seduction process they can’t actually relate to the ladies, and so they can’t keep their girlfriends. I think that’s total girlie horse shit; “relating to women” is something fags do when they go shoe shopping with them. No, my extensive research (I asked the chicks who dumped them) indicates these dudes didn’t fuck their lady friends properly. That’s what is missing. Probably, they were taught some feminist bullshit about focusing on the clitoris like some kind of guppy fish,  or else they just lack the animal drive to fuck ’em like an enraged gorilla. Whatever it is, I’m kind of at a loss on explaining this. I figure if I say, “learn to squat 400lbs, then fuck them like a rapist,”  they’ll just give up; either that or they’ll do something lame and serial killer-like.

You’re much better at breaking crap like this down, so maybe you can do an article on the subject some time. I figure 90% of “relationship game” consists of fucking them so hard, their stupid hamster wheel never has a chance to spin up on you. The other 10% consists of acting like you can fuck them hard enough to make their hips crack the rest of the time; aka “being da man.” Personally, I make it a policy to not hang around with women I’m schtupping unless I’m actually screwing them: I got too much crap to do to rot in front of a TV or go on “hikes” or whatever most people do to kill time, because they have nothing better to do. This is probably part of it too; lame sex + TV = getting dumped. Hot rutting + elusive man of mystery who makes the time fun = stalkers.

sincerely,

-[reader requested anonymity]

First, a general observation regarding this reader’s email. A sneering accusation often heard from the arid, anti-seduction crowd is that the self-professed pickup gurus are never seen with a girlfriend, or otherwise have trouble keeping a girl for longer than a few weeks. Pay it no heed. It is the feeble bleat of the envious and the insecure. While I don’t have a data sheet of rock hard, throbbing numbers to arouse the nerd brigade in attendance, from casual impressions I don’t see the smattering of men who are public game advocates having any more or less success than the average beta bear finding and maintaining relationships. Neil Strauss has had long term girlfriends. I think he’s in an LTR now. Lance Mason, the founder of Pickup 101 is, or was, last I heard, in an LTR. Stephane Hemon, possibly the wackiest of the game teachers who profits from his knowledge, is married (to one woman). Some of the local men I know who follow and use game principles in their lives are informally hitched. Even Mystery, narcissist extraordinaire and player supreme, has had long term commitments, though undoubtedly of the more dramatic sort that would give hives to men who weary quickly of women’s mental masturbatory games.

That aside, let’s assume for the moment that the impression that pickup artists have trouble keeping girlfriends is accurate. Two reasons would account for this. One, many men who come into the game have had a lifelong history of trouble with the ladies. When they are finally handed the skeleton key to the gated secret garden, their enthusiasm for “skewering 20 year old hotties” will often trip up their good sense in the area of managing long term relationships. It is a tightrope, balancing the skills that get the girl with the skills that keep the girl, and most men will favor the former at the expense of the latter owing to the established scientific fact that for men, variety is its own reward.

Two, when someone gives you the power to attract and seduce multitudes of women, would you immediately put your newfound power to use seducing just one woman, and then calling it a day? Let’s just say that all those girlfriend-less pickup artists are crying all the way to their well-used, rumpled bedsheets. Or, to put it another way, if the choice is between an endless string of unstable, short term flings and no women at all, which do you think most men would choose?

Ok, now to the reader’s email. There is some truth to the observation that freshly minted players have trouble connecting with women on the level that would be required to sustain an LTR. Part (not all) of the mindset that is needed for pickup is antagonistic to the mindset needed for successfully navigating an LTR. When a man is hopped up on the thrill of meeting new women, he often loses sight of the little things that a girlfriend would want from him to strengthen their emotional bond. And so we see weird things happening to PUAs, such as Mystery losing his cool and his Russian girlfriend to a slaphappy roommate, and students of pickup workshops complaining a month later that the girls they banged aren’t interested in LTRs. What is happening to these men is a blunting of the psychological acumen needed to fulfill a girlfriend’s desires by heavy use of those alternate psychological ploys that serve masterfully as seduction tools. Listening with love to a woman is one of those key skills that seems to take a backseat to the wicked art of seduction.

But like the emailer, I too, find that an overwrought emphasis on “relating to women” is counterproductive for men, and also a little faggy. A lot of forlorn betas and sackless wonders will read “relating to women” as a ewe-like war cry to show more emotion, be more sensitive, and find more commonality with women on women’s terms. Let’s be clear: Couples shoe shopping is not going to fix your LTR. Men and women will never find commonality, and nor should they, because men and women by the hand of the double helical godking are designed from the origin point to exist in two separate spheres of perception. From a man’s correct point of view, women are not meant to be “related to”; they are meant to be seduced, fucked, cared for, laughed with, and loved a little or a lot. Don’t go looking for self actualization in a relationship.

The emailer says that the women he spoke to suggested it was a lack of proper rogering that turned them off from consdering their lovers as long term potential. I find this plausible, barring the usual caveats to take whatever women say with a silo of salt. A good bit of advice I could give to men who might suspect this is the problem is to focus less on tender lovemaking and more on raw, Discovery Channel savannah-style humping. Don’t worry about giving her an orgasm. If you bang with abandon, sweaty and unprepossessed, like a majestic lion king who just fatally bit the necks of twelve lion cubs and assumed by force the position of alpha male of the pride, with all the perks therein, it won’t much matter if she has an orgasm. For women, just as much stimulation is gotten from the feeling of being pumped like the submissive animal creature she is as from the actual crest and resolution of a physiological orgasm. If the thought of dominating your woman in bed shrivels your scrote, may I suggest a long and sexless marriage to a hag shrike who writes a feminist blog?

Email #2:

Chicks don’t dig jerks. They dig men who _can_ be jerks.

What’s jerkiness except taking without reciprocating, doing and saying what you want, and generally enjoying yourself without concern for the cost to others? We all want to be jerks. In fact, the easiest thing in the world is to be a jerk. But only some people can get away with being jerks, and most have to work hard to avoid jerkery. That is, only some people can take what they want without fearing the anger of other men. Perhaps fewer still can take what they want without fearing the anger of women.

The upshot for your readership is that women don’t have some special attraction to jerky actions per se. Instead, they are attracted to powerful men who have no reason to temper their preferred state of jackassery. Maybe fake it until you make it applies here, but I’m guessing most men can only push the limits of their asshole potential rather than break out of them entirely.

All the best,

C

The above was written by a woman going by the handle “Candy Fox”. If that’s her real name, I salute the gumption she’ll need to handle the challenges that lie ahead of her in the quest to marry up in social class.

The first line stuck out: “Chicks don’t dig jerks. They dig men who _can_ be jerks.” This is semantics. The men who *can* be jerks are often the men who *are* jerks. Why? Because they can be. It’s similar to an assertion I recall longtime commenter and sprightly feminine ingenue Alias Clio made, which went something along the lines of “Women don’t fall for the asshole behavior. We fall in love *despite* the asshole behavior.”

From most men’s perspectives, it’s inconsequential whether women fall for the jerk despite his assholery, or because of his assholery. The bottom line is that here, there, and everywhere, women (and particularly women of the highest sexual market value) are falling in love with, and having raunchy sex with, a rogues gallery of assholes, dicks, jerks, cads, boors, and even serial killers. So you’ll excuse the less fortunate in love men for not much caring about the rationalizations that women employ to assuage their guilt over falling for men Mom would not approve of, (but would secretly cream for).

The contention itself is false, anyhow. A simple thought experiment should suffice to show why this is so. If women were truly falling for jerks *despite* their jerkiness, then it stands to reason that the men women fall for would be randomly distributed from amongst the male population, as the positive traits that are presumably attracting these women would be found equally in jerks and non-jerks. But this is not what we see. (Note that marriage rates and marital choices are not indicative of what women truly desire in a sexual partner, especially when those women are forced into a corner by delayed singledom and aging cougarification to settle into a lame marriage with a peabody puffboy out of expedience.) Instead what we see is a notable sexual preference by women for men who aren’t particularly nice.

If women wanted nice, the beta store is fully stocked with saintly men. Candy Fox contends that women want nice, but they want it in a package that is capable of threatening jerk-like actions. But how is a woman to know a man is capable of jerkiness if he doesn’t demonstrate it? Answer: she can’t know without demonstration. And when is that demonstration of jerkiness most pertinent to a woman’s subconscious need to gather mate value information about a man? Answer: right at the beginning when she is deciding whether to have sex with him.

So we can easily conclude from my little thought experiment that women indeed do fall for jerks *because* of their jerkiness. Alias Clio would say that jerks have concomitant desireable traits that are actually responsible for her feelings of sexual arousal. She might say that a jerk’s jerkiness is not desireable, but his charm and cockiness are. Leaving aside for purposes of argument the telling observation that charm and cockiness are more often found in jerks than in niceguys (hello… ladieeees ;)), it is the height of hamster rationalization to presume there is no connection between a jerk’s charming attractiveness and his jerkiness. It is as if women wish to argue that loveable, sexy jerks are really two separate men in the same body, a Dr. Jerkyl Mr. Sly bipolarity that has infected the known human universe like a vampiric plague.

It’s a cop-out. An ego escape clause. A semantical nimbleness of tongue. The jerk makes his jerky presence known almost from the instant you meet him. It’s exhibited not just in his actions, but in his irresistible aloofness. No, one of the things women love about a jerk is… his jerkiness. And that is why, ladies, you will get more of what you love.

Giving Up On A Relationship

“Issues”. That’s a twinkletoes word, isn’t it? “We have issues, dear.” “I think we need to discuss some issues.” Almost as bad as “closure”. What makes “issues” ambiguously slippery is the fact that the issues that matter to men diverge so wildly from the issues that matter to women. Women normally leave relationships because of issues having to do with nebulous smoke and mirrors concepts like “compatibility” and “fulfilling her needs”. As all of you must know (since you read my blog) these excuses by women are merely handwaving bromides to conceal the crass tingle generator under the skirt that is actually responsible for her decision-making. Nonetheless, the relationship “issues” that matter to women are indeed a bit more complicated than those that motivate men to either stay with or leave a lover. A woman’s 463 bullet point checklist is a real phenomenon and dwarfs most men’s checklists for acceptable partners. If you don’t like tofu AND you fart in bed AND you voted for Ron Paul, she just might spend sleepless nights agonizing over whether you are The One. (My advice: Ignore 99% of a woman’s “needs”. Attempting to fulfill more than 1% of a woman’s needs will brand you with a big fat “B” for beta.)

Men are fairly clear and even simple in their (usually) unstated reasons for feeling the need to flee a relationship. Essentially, two uber variables are responsible for how men feel about their lovers. One, how hot is she? And two, how novel is her pussy? That’s pretty much all there is. Sure, minor details like compatibility and shared values will have some influence over how warmly men feel about their partners, but these factors pale in comparison to the hotness and freshness of the pussy in question. For example, a man who just met a babe ranked 9 is going to want to fuck her nonstop and dream of slaving away to give her the world. On the other hand, a man who has been with the same 5 ranked woman for years will be able to go weeks, if not months, free of any desire to fuck her as his thoughts are preoccupied with visions of skirt-hiking the bounty of babes he sees on his morning commute every day.

These two important variables influencing men’s feeling of commitment to a lover can be represented in the following handy graphs.

As we can see from the above, most men couldn’t be bothered to bang 5s and below more than once per day. But anything over a 6 and a man’s sexual urge shoots through the roof. 8s, 9s, and 10s are really nature’s natural viagra. A 90 year old who hasn’t sported wood in twenty years will suddenly spring to life if Zooey Deschanel sits naked on his lap.

In this graph we see that the novelty of the pussy has a big impact on how often the man wants to do the woman. Pussy that he’s woken up next to for ten years is unlikely to stir his loins at all, while brand new pussy will remind him why it’s great to be alive. An ugly truth of life is that men, unlike women, simply get off on sexual variety for its own sake. Don’t take it personally, ladies. We’re not cads. We’re just formed that way.

This post should serve as a valuable guide for women wanting to figure out just how deeply loyal their boyfriends or husbands actually feel towards them. A man’s strength of commitment can be measured surprisingly accurately by these two variables.

(Note that I’m referring to a man’s “strength” of commitment, not his “lack of options preventing disloyalty”. These are two different concepts. A man with lots of options on the dating market — i.e. an alpha — will only feel strongly loyal — and hence, unlikely to cheat or withhold resources — to a girlfriend who is hot and piping fresh. This strong emotion-directed loyalty is a separate beast from social- and peer-influenced loyalty, and is the type of loyalty that burns brightest but is also quickest to fade. Betas also lose their sense of strong emotional loyalty, but unlike the alphas their lack of options means they are pretty much stuck with the same old same old, mouthing platitudes on anniversaries and birthdays to keep the mutli-horned ball-smashing divorce demon from breaching a portal to his world.)

So, ladies, if you want to know how commited he is to you, a simple test (and one that requires being bracingly honest with yourself) is to tally how many times per day on average he desires you intimately. Is he constantly groping you? Good news! He hardly notices other women. Has it been a week since he last fucked you? Better start combing through his cellphone texts.

When I start feeling like I could go a day without fucking my girlfriend, that’s when I seriously mull the option to reenter the dating market with purpose. I start flirting with other women and running game again like I was single and horny. And I notice more clearly when other women are flirting with me. This may seem like I’m placing some hard-to-please demands on my women, but the woman who can keep me sexually entertained for years will know she is a worthy lover indeed.

What Is A Beta Male?

I catch flak from some readers complaining that there is no way to draw a valid distinction between alpha and beta males. I don’t know what planet these readers live on (planet Delusional Tard?), but instead of pointing them to my dating market value test for men, I’ll just let a video speak for me. If this doesn’t help clear their muddled thinking, nothing will. Behold: Baba Beta!

“My teeth are a 10!” Howard Stern in his prime was comedy gold.