Why Game Will Never Suffer From Overexposure

Blue line = “fleshlight”. Red line = “dating tips”.

(Hat tip: many readers.)

The Biggest Beta In The World

The American media.

Got grovel?

The Most Exciting Sex

I’ve written before that the path to sexual nirvana is through hot women. The hotter the girl, the steamier the sex. Simple formula. So put away your Zen and the Art of Existential Orgasm books and your handcuffs and mood lighting and liquor and rohypnol and owl masks and instead focus on landing yourself a hot babe. No need to overcomplicate things. Your penis cannot be fooled.

Once you’ve satisfied that basic requirement for nutblasting sex, there are ways to turbocharge the sex into the stratosphere of awesomeness. When you mix together certain ingredients you can achieve paralytic sexual bliss; the kind of orgasm that will stiffen your entire body as if it were a mere appendage to the centrality of your dick, and seize your brain in a white light-pricked near life experience.

Public sex is a necessary precondition. There needs to be a real threat of getting caught. You must also be outdoors in the woods, communing with Mother Vulva. The crackle of twigs underfoot, the sun streaming through a canopy of oak leaves, the chittering of small and not so small woodland creatures, and the invigorating organic aroma of pristine air and decomposing brush will throw in stark relief the animalistic nature of your love. There must be people in the vicinity. The thrill of seeing people while fucking and not being seen by them is incomparable. It’s like a one-way mirror where the observed subjects going about their daily mundane routine act to heighten the depravity on the other side. If some of those people are children under the protective wing of their parents, even better. The wicked ascends on the backs of the innocent. The risk of despoiling in a most evil fashion the purest among us will inflame your lust.

There must also be clothes in the way. You will feel your boner harden like steel-forged nipples when you have to push up a skirt or pull aside running shorts and panties to gain access. Clothes — and the clumsy grappling to move them out of the way — will pump your blood with the urgency of fast and furious sex.

Your woman must be either an angel on earth, or a dirty whore. A middle of the road typical chick with gangbang experience under her belt or a commitment to the three date rule isn’t going to cut it. If you want to lift yourself to the heights of ecstacy you must feel like you are piercing the womanhood of a truly uncorrupted vagina, or, on the opposite end, spiraling downward into the pits of sin with a filthy slut.

One of the most exciting sexual experiences I ever had happened in the woods, mid-day, springtime. We had just finished a hike and I pulled her off the designated path deeper into the wood. She was wearing loose-fitting running shorts. She was married, and I knew this. I was fucking a cheating whore. I pressed her chest against a boulder that fully concealed us from view and yanked aside her shorts for rear entry. We heard voices approach. She balked, unconvincingly. No no no I don’t think this is a good idea. Ignoring her, I drove it in hard hoping to make her yelp in pain and was surprised by the wetness of her pussy. She had lubed up in mere seconds. The voices neared us. Some were the high-pitched squeals of children. I looked around the boulder and saw through the low branches of the trees a troop of girl scouts clambering down the hiking path, a few parents strolling lazily beside them. Forty feet separated the girl scouts from the penetrance of my manhood into my married whore’s cunt. They stopped; I held steady, cock buried to the hilt. A squirrel rummaged through dead leaves on the ground. My lover twitched. I had my hand her throat and felt her pulse with my fingertips. My grip tightened. One of the girl scouts wanted to go in the woods for a pine cone. We heard her pleading with her father. She took a few steps toward our boulder of love, then turned back around when someone shouted “doggie!” and they all went racing toward a labrador that had jumped in a large pond. The voices receded. I resumed my pumping action, inflicting scrapes on my lover’s cheeks and arms from pushing her against the stone. Her knees went wobbly with orgasm and she slipped down the rock a few inches, stifling the moan that wanted to rip out of her lungs. I halted her stumble and with a mighty final thrust unloaded inside her, a river of molten balljuice flooding her hole, my bulk mashing her face into the boulder. White spots danced in my mind as my peripheral vision temporarily faded. I had timed my blast perfectly to the happy squeal of a distant girl scout.

Later we passed them and the wet doggie who had jumped in the pond. I petted it on the head and exchanged pleasantries with the parents.

February And March 2009 Beta Of The Month Winners

The crack team at Chez Pussyhound fell asleep on the job and neglected to do followup posts announcing the BIG BETA WIENERS for the February and March 2009 BOTM contests.

What best exemplifies the Beta of the Month?

• An unerring devotion to the betrayal of his masculine essence.
• A complete lack of shame.
• A willingness to debase himself for the skankiest of pussies.
• White Knight Syndrome.
• Sensitive Man Syndrome.
• A lack of self-awareness.
• Desperation and obsession.
• Self-abnegation for little in return.
• Inability to view women as anything other than flawless paragons of virtue and righteousness.
• Unremitting chivalry.
• Anhedonic.
• Considers himself a feminist.
• Sits cross-legged.
• Afraid of own erection.

February’s race was a runaway. The February 2009 BOTM Winner (submitted by reader 11minutes) and now one of the finalists for the Grande Finale 2009 Beta of the Year contest was the man who read about his wife’s cheating in her diary and responded in the only way a flouncy mangirl would respond — by consoling his wife while she laid flowers on her ex-lover’s grave. This repulsive specimen of supreme betaness beat out the guy who pays for his wife’s sex vacations. What a surfeit of beta! The world is full of these guys, and I shall feast on their misery.

It shouldn’t have to be said, but if you have anything left swishing around in your nutsack the only appropriate response to catching your wife cheating is throwing her and her shit out the window, in that order. Then moving out of the country to evade divorce theft and hiding your assets in overseas accounts. Finish the day up with a trip to the Amsterdam clubs with your buddies.

******

March’s BOTM head-to-head featured a cast of infamous characters and also had a clear winner. The March 2009 BOTM Winner (submitted by reader stacy) and now a finalist for the 2009 BOTY is the ex-husband who invited his slobby ex-wife and her new day laborer husband to live in his home, where he was treated nightly to their rutting noises and humiliated in front of his children.

Recap:
He married a hog.
Hog divorced him because he’s too beta even for a fat cow like her.
Hog marries Mexican day laborer with green card issues.
He invites hog and hogfucker to live under his roof.
Hog FEELS PITY for him because he’s single.
His children bear witness to his daily humilation.
He’s OK with all this.

This is the stuff of nightmares. In visual form, his psychological torture would look like this:

The March 2009 winner defeated the milquetoast fiancee of Jessica Valenti, editor of the “Chicks with Dick Clits” website devoted to the pursuit and exultation of pretty lies. Now that the March 2009 BOTM has been announced and Jessica’s progressive feminist boyfriend escaped the ignominious honor of Beta of the Month, she can breathe a sigh of relief. Congratulations, Jessica, your fiancee is not quite as beta as a guy who has to listen to his ex-wife get pounded by one of the landscaping crew in his own home.

Jessica wrote an article for the Guardian which linked to my blog and which was obviously inspired by the sadistic glee of my BOTM post where I unleashed the soulripping hooked chains of the Cenobite hordes upon the stupidity of her beliefs and the squalor of her fiancee’s mincing betatude. I believe I have hurt her, though she will never admit it, of course. She wrote: “… a “ball-cutting cybersuccubus”, as I was, in fact, described [by moi]. Think I can get that on a business card?”

Yes, my cat toy, you can get that on a business card. And since I am a monster id of generous cruelty, here is a suggestion for Andrew’s business card:

“Cuckold In Training”.

Best.

PS: Keep your BOTY contest submissions rolling in, folks.

Pulling Solid Number Closes

When it comes to number closing, the biggest obstacle is not getting the number; it’s getting the number in such a way that minimizes the odds she will flake. I read an interesting post on the blog written by one of Roosh’s day game students, Tyler, who has a novel method for bypassing weak number closes: Don’t push for them.

Girls that flake. Everyone has probably had this happen to them. Anyone who approaches girls and gets phone numbers finds that some girls don’t answer their phone or are “too busy” to ever do anything. This happens because they are flat out not that interested. This isn’t because you are not interesting, you just didn’t do enough to make them want it bad enough. Girls will rearrange their schedules for you if they want to see you bad enough. Once you get better at approaching girls, your next step is to eliminate flakiness. […]

I was putting too much emphasis on getting the phone number and not enough on the method. Numbers equal nothing if you can’t act on them. […]

Flat out, don’t even ask or insinuate you want their number. After this one particular night I implemented this experiment right away. So what happened?

The next weekend I met a group of girls. I liked the long haired, darker skinned girl from new york. She was the most attractive by far. I steal her friend’s chair. We exchanged stories and she is semi interesting. We find a few subjects that are common interests. At this point she has found a smart, unique, really good looking guy and she can’t believe she found him at a bar! But….I have to get going now….it was really nice talking to you….

That’s how I leave conversations. I leave a window there for them to give me their number, or inquire how we will talk again. I will leave nearly any girl hanging. An often response is…

“umm, do you want my number?” with almost a desperate look on their face. It is probably unbelievable to them that I just built this little relationship and I am willing to just leave without an attempt…

“well I don’t usually take girls’ numbers, I have been pretty busy lately….” Then I “decide” to let them have my number.

As they put my number in their phone, they text or call me right away. They do this so that I have their number and jokingly to see if I am lying. As I look down at my incoming call, I am standing right next to them. As I look up I quickly give them a kiss. They don’t see this coming and it catches them off guard. Then I leave and let it register in their minds what just happened. […]

Since I have done this, the flakiness percentage has drastically gone down. A girl won’t flake on me if she is asking for my number. […]

In the scenario where a girl isn’t asking how to get a hold of you, you can do things such as make tentative plans to prompt her even more. You don’t want to loose focus though. The idea is that she should be chasing you. Forcing numbers is a waste of time.

I have run similar number closing game on girls, and I can inform you this reverse psychology method is highly effective. It’s a wonder I don’t number close like this all the time, but sometimes you have to remind yourself of what works and what doesn’t, or you fall back on old familiar habits. When she isn’t immediately biting, Tyler’s advice to prompt a girl to initiate some kind of exchange of numbers is crucial. The best way to do this is to talk about some great event or activity you plan to do in the near future.

Here’s a real life example of my “reverse number close” game (post-attraction phase):

ME: There’s this amazing animal sex exhibit at the Corcoran this weekend that I’m going to.

HER: Animal sex!?! OMG that sounds ridiculous!

ME: Well, it’s not for everyone. You have to be open-minded to fully appreciate the beauty of it.

HER: Are you saying I’m not open-minded?

ME: Well, you are from the midwest. Nah, you’re pretty cool. It’s been fun talking with you. [I’m making a rocking motion with my body suggesting that I’m leaving.]

HER: You too. [She’s looking at me expectantly.]

ME: Oh, right. I should tell you… and don’t take this personally, because it’s not about you… I don’t accept girls’ numbers.

HER: Really? That’s weird. Why?

ME: It’s my personal philosophy. I want a girl to show she is different from all the other girls. If she calls my number, she has stood out from the rest. Plus, a lot of times I forget to call the girl’s number.

HER: Well, yeah, that’s different.

ME: I’ll tell you what. I’m feeling generous. Let’s exchange numbers.

[Segue to unlubed anal sex phase.]

A couple points. My number close above incorporates some very powerful mindfucking elements of game. Sexual Vibe and Future Pacing (“amazing animal sex exhibit…”). Qualification (“you have to be open-minded…”). Takeaway (“It’s been fun…”). Challenge (“I want a girl to show she is different…”). Preselection and Alpha Male Options (“I forget to call the girl’s number”). These are potent psychological techniques that stab right at the heart of a woman’s soft brainmush, and should be used sparingly. Overuse will ping her skepticism defense mechanism and trigger fresh rounds of shit tests.

Sobering Thought Of The Day

If a potential flu pandemic won’t convince America’s elites to act to close the southern border, then nothing will.

Any bets on how many Americans would have to be stricken with a superstrain of H1N1 before our representatives (and I use the term loosely) decide to stop the inflow of illegals? 1,000? 10,000? 1 million? Or ten well-situated pundits working for the Wall Street Journal and New York Beta Times?

I do believe it is time for a handy dandy chart.

# of American deaths caused         Action taken by American
by Mexican machismoflu                  government                            
10                                                   Nothing to see here, move along.
100                                                 It’s fully contained to a few small pockets.
                                                       The habanero spice must flow.
1,000                                              No point in closing the border now.
                                                       Flu’s already here!
10,000                                            We’re all gonna die anyway.
                                                       Better to die in a diverse country.
100,000                                          We’ll put up a cheapo ineffective fence just to
                                                       show you rubes how ineffective fences are.
1,000,000                                      *** bzzt… end transmission… bzzt… beep ***
                                                       Revolution.

Update: The Women Who Love Feminized Western White Males

My source deep in the dainty underbelly of the flourishing dandy/fop subculture sent me pics of the kinds of girls that swoon for feminized Western white males. She wanted to inform me — sarcastically — of the caliber of pussy these guys are scoring.

 

 

From my vantage point (my crotch), these girls are cute. Totally do-able, maybe even date-able. Which just proves that as long as a chick has an attractive facial bone structure and a slender figure and isn’t too old, it won’t matter how badly she tries to hide her assets under hideous clothes, hair styles and nose-picking — guys will still want to bang her. The blonde’s ponytail is the perfect length for using as reins during rough doggy style lovemaking. Whoa whore-sy!

That my female undercover agent thought these girls were low value is telling of the psychosocial differences between men and women. Men discern beauty with the keen eye of an electron microscope. A millimeter here, a geometric disturbance there, can mean the difference between beautiful and so-so. After all, men have been honed by millions of years of evolution to avoid getting duped by women who don’t possess the genuine goods. Bad consignment shop hats and dark eyeliner are minor obstacles in the way of our ability to suss out a genetically hot face worthy of our jizzbombs. (Cue: Kick a Bitch).

Women discern female beauty in context with everything else and through the lens of their own sexual market value. They see horrendous fashion sense and they downgrade the girl’s hotness rank. They see a chick picking her nose and she loses beauty points. Because for a woman, beauty is the sum total of a person. That is why men not blessed with good looks can boost their attractiveness to women by other means. It’s not the distance between his eyes or the shape of his cheekbones but the nebulous interaction between his face, clothes, body language and the words coming out of his mouth.

It is a persistent human failing to project our own psychological profile onto the other sex (and other race). Who among us can truly put themselves in another person’s shoes? Women may be the more empathetic sex, but their blindspots with regard to male attractiveness standards are as glaring as men’s blindspots to the things that turn on women.

UPDATE:

My undercover female source who brought me these pics informed me that she was *not* being sarcastic in pointing up the caliber of pussy that hipster dandies score. In her words:

just reading now…i think they are highly attractive and i envy them (and their careers as artists ie private school girl roots) disgustingly! […] i found the girl picking her nose whilst in pearls…cute, in a subversive kind of way. i dream of such clean dark eyeliner application skills, and the gall to don raccoon ear flaps like you’re tina turner in mad max when it’s actually the annex, toronto. of course i think they’re self-indulgent idiots, but i would be too, given the chance.

So to clear the air, she is not deducting points for nose-picking or hideous fashion. Which makes her quite unique among women as a judge of female beauty. But then, the kind of people in my orbit are unique. That’s how I roll.