January 2009 Beta Of The Month

When I introduced the Beta Of The Year contest, readers were very enthusiastic. I got more submissions than I expected and sifting through them all to find the most nauseating betas to hold up for public ridicule turned out to be a bigger job than I anticipated. Trust me, this was not pleasant reading.

As you know, I select two BOTM candidates from among the submissions for an end of the month vote when the readers will determine the final BOTM winner. At the end of the year, there is a reader vote to select the Beta Of The Year from among the twelve finalist BOTMs.

There were so many great submissions for January that choosing two for a vote was difficult, so I’ve expanded the number of candidates to three for this month only. I feel like these three best represent what is worst about self-castrating beta behavior.

January 2009 BOTM Candidate #1 was submitted by Book of Dooderonomy. It’s a New York Beta Times article (remember I suggested the biggest betas would be found in the New York Times) about a guy who spends years chasing after a badboy-loving slut, letting her cry on his shoulder, and finally “winning” her over and lavishing her with an extravagant wedding.

Within minutes they were sharing a flirtatious conversation as they strolled across the campus. Then they went their separate ways, and he vowed to find her when school began later that month.

As it turned out, he didn’t have to search very hard. They were living on the same floor of the same dorm. It seemed like destiny. Except she had no memory of him.

“He would look at me in the hallway, and I didn’t know who he was,” recalled Ms. Lichtman, also 28 and now an account director in New York at an entertainment marketing subsidiary of Omnicom.

Classic beta scenario. Beta recalls every last detail of girl he flirted with for a few minutes, while she remembers nothing about him.

They quickly became inseparable. But only as friends.

When it came to dating, her taste ran more to bad boys with nice cars. Yet he was the one she turned to whenever she was upset. “He was always the person who calmed me,” she said. “He was there when other boys broke my heart.”

LJBF. Emotional tampon. Eunuch.

He was also there when she was hospitalized with Crohn’s disease their sophomore year and the medication she took made her overweight and depressed. He tried to convince her that they belonged together, but she resisted. “I didn’t want to give up my best friend,” she said. “I didn’t trust myself not to hurt him.”

I can feel the bile climbing up the back of my throat. So this beta extraordinaire GOES TO THE FUCKING HOSPITAL to comfort a FAT DEPRESSED BITCH who is banging badboys and TELLING HIM ABOUT IT. And then she has the gall (or the fearlessness) to toss out that trite “I can’t have sex with you because I don’t want to ruin our friendship” excuse. Does he find solace sticking his shriveled manhood in a hole through her photograph as tears stream down his face?

One night, while he was making his case for the umpteenth time,

Naturally. Persistence = beta game.

“I felt David was the right person for me, but I didn’t feel ready to be with him,” said Ms. Lichtman, who was not sure what she wanted. As the oldest of six children she was used to sacrificing what she wanted, and she was determined not to do that. Not even for someone she loved. “I wasn’t going to be with him just because I was scared of losing him.”

What a glimpse into the fetid, mucked up mind of a woman. She utterly disrespects this tool if she thinks he’s the sort of fool who would take her feeble rationalizations at face value.

He was devastated, but undeterred. “Though the situation was complicated, my feelings weren’t,” he said. “I knew how much I loved her. If we were just going to be friends, then I’m her friend.”

He’s a fool.
He eventually goes on to “break up” with her for a whole three weeks while he’s experiencing financial problems, but then quickly chastises himself for his rare display of testosterone:

Three weeks later, his panic was over, but so was their relationship. “What I did was the dumbest thing in the world,” he said, but she did not want to forgive.

Finally, he admits he can’t get anyone else:

Then in May 2007, after four years apart, he asked: “How much longer are you going to make me wait for you?”

She relents AKA settles:

Something inside her melted. “I spent all these years trying to figure out who I was and who I wanted to be with, and all of a sudden it was right there in front of me,” she said.

Translation: Something inside her gave up. “I spent all these years fucking guys with tattoos and DJs trying to get one of them to fall in love with me, and all of a sudden I looked in the mirror one day at my fading looks and found the nearest beta chump who would marry my ragged, torn up pussy and treat me like the ex-slut I am,” she said, sadly.

The most telling quote is at the end of the article:

“I had 500 reasons why I loved David, but I needed my heart to be in the same place that my head was,” she said. “For his wedding present there’s 500 Reasons I Said Yes.”

500 Rationalizations I Said “Ah, Fuck It”. I predict their marriage will last less than three years when she’s caught cheating and divorces him for the alimony which she will put toward her New Boyfriend Gifts fund. The courts will agree with this arrangement.

Check out the wedding picture:

***

January 2009 BOTM Candidate #2 was submitted by Henner. It’s a story about a doctor who donated his kidney to his whore wife to save her life and was repaid in kind when she spread her legs for her physical therapist and then slapped him with divorce papers while he was in the middle of performing surgery on a patient. She ran off with the kids whom he hasn’t seen in months.

What put this poor beta bastard over the top for consideration as BOTM was the fact that one of the reasons he gave for donating his kidney to his wife was to save their marriage.

Adding to his anguish, Batista insists his decision to donate his kidney in 2001 was in part a failed effort to rescue their troubled relationship.

“My first priority was to save her life,” the 49-year-old doctor said. “The second bonus was to turn our marriage around.” […]

Her husband – a surgeon at Nassau University Medical Center – injected her three times a week with medication as part of her health care regime.

Your marriage is failing. Deep in your heart you know she must be fucking around on you. She treats you like day-old shit. So what do you do? You give her your kidney in hopes it will make her love you again. If this isn’t the quivering, gnarled, spineless hunchbacked id of the UberBeta pinned to a vivisection tray for the whole world to gawk at, I don’t know what is.

But wait, he still harbors hope (betas cling to hope like barnacles to rotten piers):

Despite the animosity, Batista insisted he would donate the kidney all over again to his hopefully soon-to-be-ex. He fondly recalls a visit to her room on the day after surgery.

“There was no greater feeling on this planet,” he said. “As God is my witness, I felt as if I could put my arm around Jesus Christ. I was walking on a cloud.”

This guy is not living with the mentality of pussy abundance. His mentality is just the opposite — pussy scarcity. And women run from men who think that way.

Behold the face of a beta:

***

January 2009 BOTM Candidate #3 was submitted by Yogi. It’s a news story about a man who blames himself for his wife’s plot to kill him.

Tim Kenealy was in court to support his wife Zoe as she was given seven years behind bars for attempting to take out a contract on his life with thousands of pounds of borrowed money.

He put his head in his hands as he heard Judge Gregory Stone sentence her for the “cynical and cruel” plot which saw her hand £3,000 to a neighbour to pay for the killing.

“Support his wife”. There is no relief for the mass of betas as long as there are milquetoasts like this guy in their ranks. If I was his friend, I would order an intervention. But not the Oprah-fied kind of intervention. Oh no. We’d take this schmuck out into the yard and slap him around open-palmed for a few hours like the little eggplant-up-the-ass bitch he is.

Kenealy, who had been in a violent relationship with her first husband, said she felt smothered by Mr Kenealy, and the pair were facing financial problems.

Women always feel “smothered” by betas. It’s an instinctual reaction evolved to protect their precious eggs from the tepid seed of weak men. Tip for the day: If your GF ever uses the word “smother” to describe your relationship with her, LEAVE IMMEDIATELY and don’t ever look back. You’ll thank me later.

Judge Stone told the 44-year-old care worker and mother of six she would serve at least three and a half years in prison.

44 years old?! Oh, come on. It might be somewhat understandable if not justifiable for a man to stay with a hot, young wife intent on murdering him, but not a washed up old hag. The beta is all-consuming in this guy.

Mr Kenealy said he was determined to stand by her, and said the plot to kill him must have been prompted by some sort of mental illness.

He added that he blamed himself for “taking my eye off the ball” in their relationship and that both of them had suffered from depression in the past.

A true beta ALWAYS blames himself for the wrongdoings of his woman. Wife cheats? His fault for not making her feel special in bed. Wife divorces him and takes the kids? He must have forgotten an anniversary. Wife puts out a contract to kill him? He took his eye off the ball.

“She’s such a lovable person. The Zoe that’s been written about in the papers isn’t the Zoe that everybody knows. She’s been perceived completely wrong.

“Hopefully we will have a bright future together,” he added.

Again with the hope. Hope is the last refuge of the total loser.

“But three and a half years is a long time.”

I have news for you, buddy. A corrections officer will be fucking her up the ass as soon as you see her off, and she won’t be waiting for you when she gets out. Shoot yourself, and finish the job your psycho wife couldn’t.

The voting begins:

Vulnerability Game

There are some concepts of Game that still take me aback when I use them in the field and their awesome power is demonstrated. Asshole game is one. Negs are another. And to this day I’m surprised how admitting a vulnerability about myself (true or not), in the right context, can instantly strengthen an emotional connection with a girl.

Her: I was hiking in the Amazon and this parrot flew right up to me and tried to eat an apple I was holding in my hand!

Me: Wow, that’s cool. I think I would have ducked for cover.

Her: Why?

Me: Ahh, this is embarrassing to admit [pause… look down… look up… half-smile], but I have a weird fear of parrots ever since one tried to bite my ear off at the zoo when I was six years old.

Her: Awww! Really? That’s so cute!

A few points regarding Soft Underbelly Game:

• Don’t reveal more than one vulnerability about yourself. You may be tempted to do this when you see the positive reaction you get as your date’s eyes light up, but the persuasive confessional power of Soft Underbelly Game is quickly lost with repeated use. “Oh, yeah, I forgot to mention I’m afraid of toy dogs and old ladies, too!” “Um, OK, that’s… strange. Listen, I’ve gotta go. [whispering to herself] beta.”
• Don’t ham it up. Act like you’re ashamed to admit your weakness, don’t wallow in it like it’s a badge of honor. If she starts asking you questions about it, gently dismiss her probing. “You know, I’m not keen on reminding myself how parrots make me their bitch.”
• Don’t run vulnerability game when you first meet a girl. Trying to capture a girl’s interest by sheepishly owning up to a secret fear is known as forced rapport. Emotional connection is effective only after sexy dominance has been established. This is one reason why rock stars can get away with crooning love songs like emo betas without suffering a hit to their sexual market value.
• If you don’t have a vulnerability, make one up. As a perfect specimen of Sith Lord masculinity (pre-prequel version), this is what I have to do. My favorite is to “confess” a fear of small, harmless furry animals, like gerbils or floppy-eared rabbits, because “one attacked me when I was a little boy”. The odder and more off-beat the fear, the better. “I still wake up sometimes. I wake up in the dark and see the flopping of the ears.” What she’s thinking: Only an alpha male would feel comfortable admitting to such a quirky, ridiculous fear.
• Wait for a pretext before confessing your vulnerability. Like so much of social dynamics and face-to-face communication, the influence we have over people is proportional to the natural-soundingness of our delivery. Budding pickup artists often stumble badly in this regard, because tactics, tricks and routines blurted out irrespective of the flow of conversation sound incongruent (i.e. creepy) to the listener’s ears. In the example above, my date talked about hiking in the jungle, which gave me the plausible opening I needed.
• Have a VMD (Vulnerability of Mass Destruction) in your arsenal. For some girls, particularly creative field types who get high on their own emotions, going hardcore by admitting to a really intense fear or sadness will leave such a strong impression on them they’ll masturbate to thoughts of you. Be careful deploying a VMD. Vibe matters. If your rapport is intense, and her demeanor serious, you can talk about how you couldn’t walk down a certain street for months because you once saw a man get killed by a mugger there.
• Contrast is king. The goal of rapport is to take a girl on an emotional adventure, through highs and lows. You want to whisk her to those zeniths and nadirs, not follow her there. (If you let a girl lead the conversation, the highs and lows will disappear in favor of a monotonic conversational plateau. Kiss that vagina goodbye.) Don’t play “Battle of the Vulnerabilities” with her and try to one-up any secrets she reveals about herself. Instead, mirror her when she’s upbeat, but force the downbeat when the groove is right. Learn the art of the segue.

So there you have it. Let your weak flag fly (in brief, measured unfurlings).

Who’s The Alpha?

Let’s assume for the purposes of this post that this exchange between Mickey Rourke and Jericho on Larry King wasn’t staged. (I don’t know one way or the other.)

Which man is the bigger alpha?

“Have a good night, son.”

Feigning Beta Provider

If you run solid attraction game but your rapport is weak (usually due to time constraints or a loud environment not conducive to sitting down and getting more conversational with a girl), there is a higher chance she will flake not because she’s uninterested, but because she suspects you may be a player who will love her and leave her. The positive but superficial emotions that an exciting player instills in her quickly dissolve once she’s back home and decompressing. Emotions generated from rapport are longer lasting if for no other reason than that they are unique to her — most men will not have the skill or knowledge to successfully engage a girl in deep conversation on the first meet. This is why nearly all masters of seduction stress that the comfort stage (or “day 2 stage”) is 90% of getting a woman into bed.

One thing you’ll notice if you occasionally date women in their late 20s is an uptick in flaking brought on by a volatile psychodramatic mixture of getting burned in the past by badboys and their biological clocks pushing them to find stable, paternally inclined men. None of these things are conscious decisions; her actions are the manifestation of subconscious forces.

Beta provider has a bad connotation, but in fact women, especially those past a certain age and feeling the forlorn pangs of their empty wombs, have a part of them that is attracted to such men. Your mission, should you choose to accept it, is to identify which of the women you date are genuinely interested in signs from you that you would make a good husband and father, and to feign the signals that would peg you as a beta provider. This means attenuating your cad game and emphasizing your dad game.

I had a day 2 with a sexy late 20s woman I approached in a bar. We had kissed within 20 minutes. She wanted me to call her and demonstrated this when she held up her hand to her ear in the shape of a phone as I was walking out of the bar. I called two days later and got her voicemail. She never replied. Flake. A week later, I was able to reverse her flake with a virtually foolproof text I discovered in the course of my social experimentation. More on that another time. We met a few days afterward. The first words out of her mouth as we were sitting across each other on our first “formal” date were “I don’t usually make out with guys in bars. I had too many free drinks that night.”

Nevermind the veracity of her statement. It’s irrelevant. Her words carried more weight than she could have imagined. She flaked because she felt slutty for kissing me in a bar. Later in the date, she mentioned that she had a history of choosing the “wrong guys”. Coupled with her body language, fashion sense (conservative) and her documented anti-slut flake, this was all the information I needed to adjust my game for maximum id penetration. I quickly assessed her psychological dimensions:

• likely pump and dump victim
• likely dumped by a long term BF she thought was “the one”
• is running from her slutty past
• has attracted players in the past and now fears getting attached to them
• is keenly aware of any signs that a man may be a player
• distrusts her own sexual impetus
• will test me for provider attributes

What I did:

• talked about my nieces and nephews and how much they loved it when I visited
• pared back my cocky funny game
• skipped the negs
• wore a business suit (minus tie)
• discussed future oriented subjects like “goals in life” and “where do you see yourself in five years?”
• remembered a few critical details about her from our first meeting in the bar which I sprinkled into our conversation
• told her I’m “happy with my career“
• slowed down my kino progression
• made sure our seats were in a corner of the bar where people wouldn’t see us kissing

Naturally, for most guys, acting like a beta provider isn’t much of a stretch. But if you’re good at attracting random girls you’ll find that in time you lose touch with the “softer” side of yourself. Newly graduated players often nurse an incoherent fear of seeming too beta, so they compensate too far in the other direction. This is why when men fail to get a woman into bed the cause is more often the result of a bad day 2, and not the initial meet.

One more thing. The snare of beta provider game only works after your alpha cred has been firmly cemented in her mind. So don’t go thinking you can put on the halo before the horns have lured her in.

A Cat Lady Bares Her Soul

Craigslist is coughing up some gems lately.

Reasons I Like My Cats More Than Any Man I Have Dated in the DC Area – 23 (For Anti-Cat Man)

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Reply to: XXX
Date: 2009-01-27, 10:00AM EST

Dedicated to the old, cat-hating man…I’ve provided a list of reasons that my two kitties are better than any of the men I’ve gotten involved with in the DC area.

• My cats have never taken me on a date to the 7/11.
• My cats have never pretended to be the love of my life, then disappeared into thin air without even the courtesy of a post-it note explanation.
• My cats have never lied about being Navy SEALs. Not once. Actually, my cats don’t lie AT ALL.
• My cats are ALWAYS in the mood to cuddle.
• Cleaning up after them is much easier than cleaning up after a man.
• My cats have never drunk half a bottle of Jack Daniel’s then tried to break my arms.
• My cats have never lied to me about being married to try to get me into bed.
• They’re not afraid to show their love and affection, which is unconditional.
• My cats are VERY intelligent.
• They aren’t obsessed with Asian women.
• They would NEVER intentionally hurt me.
• They clean themselves daily.
• They aren’t insecure.
• They’re very low-maintenance.
• They have never betrayed me.
• They like ALL different kinds of people…blonds, brunettes, redheads. Because they’re not fixated on narrow, exclusive sets of physical attributes.

So when faced with the decision of whiny man versus loyal cats, I’ll go with the cats any day…

******

She sounds like one of my exes. Always bitching. Her standards are way too high. What’s wrong with 7-11? With the right attitude and cocky smirk a guy can turn a microwaved burrito into a cherished romantic memory for the girl.

How much you want to bet she completely forgave him and had a squirting orgasm that night after he tried to break her arms in a drunken stupor? Women… their tales of woe fall on deaf alpha ears.

Sex And Socks

Why are women offended by the wearing of socks during sex?

30 And Still Flaky

The number of women in DC who are in their late 20s to early 30s and still flaking as if they were hot college coeds has reached critical mass. When I call a 29 year old woman’s number to set up a date, the last thing I expect to encounter is flaking or playing hard-to-get. It’s such a massive turn-off that I demote a deluded woman like that immediately. If I get her into bed, I fuck her a few times, hard and angry, just enough to get her addicted to my manloaf, and never call again. Ladies past their peak, here’s some helpful advice from a representative of the Ministry of Stone Cold Truth: If you are a woman over the age of 27, do not fool yourself that you possess the market leverage to:

1. not answer the phone by the third ring or deliberately let a man’s call go to voicemail.
2. not return a phone call within an hour.
3. cancel a date later than five hours before the scheduled meeting time.
4. flake in any manner whatsoever.

Because you don’t have that power anymore over men who matter. Guys like me are less forgiving of gameplaying from women who no longer have the grade A goods to get away with it, so your best bet is sincerity, straightforwardness and good faith. Annoyingly capricious female behavior is the prerogative of girls in their prime. You, over-27 woman, must adjust accordingly. That means either putting aside the notion that you can flake without consequence, or dropping your standards and dating needy betas who will gladly lap up your shit and beg for more.

In my life, I’ve noticed a change for the worse. More women, and older women, are acting flaky. Such a cultural deterioration can only happen for one reason — massive, all-encompassing betatization. The sack-shriveling epoch is at its watershed. So-called “men” have abdicated their duty to punish women for their flaky behavior. The verdict is in: The entitlement complex of American women is out of control. It is time to put an end to it. Because I am a humble humanitarian of stupendously magnanimous good will, I present my five point battleplan for bringing the egos of American women back into line:

1. Be a cad. When a hot girl passes by, casually mention out loud in the company of your date/GF that the girl is beautiful. Do this a couple times and she will wonder “Does he think I’m as cute as her? Will he leave me for someone like her?” Then, step it up a notch. Add unpredictability to your ego-taming strategy. For every hot chick whose beauty you announce, wait for an ugly girl to walk by and mention how hot she is. This will fuck with your girl’s head like nothing else. Now she’ll wonder “Wow, if he thinks that toad is hot, what does that say about me? What *does* he like??”
2. Cancel dates. This is an amazingly effective technique for shifting the balance of power in the man’s favor for the simple reason that so few men do it. What could squash cancerous female ego growth faster, and imbue you with the alluring underworld glow of alpha devilry, than bugging out on a first date? Don’t give a reason. Just say something came up, and you’ll call her later. Leave a heavy air of mystery hanging between you two. Relish the thought of her tossing and turning in bed at night wondering if you found a woman with bigger boobs. After all, what is seduction in essence but the co-opting of a woman’s tools of the trade to use against her? Bonus: Cancelling dates is a huge power rush.
3. Extol the virtues of European women. Be subtle, of course, but be sure your message, true or not, is taken to heart. When talking about your travels, mention how the Europeans “just do things differently over there. Dating is not the chore it so often seems it is here. It’s so refreshing the way European men and women naturally gravitate to one another. No head games at all. To European women, romance is playful and fun.” Then mention how your business takes you to Europe frequently.
4. Assume the flake. When you meet an American Coastal City girl for the first time, and you are about to number close or otherwise set up a date, prevent any future flakiness by shaming her to behave the way you want. Say: “If you’re gonna be one of those flaky girls, tell me now so I can delete your number. Nobody likes those types.” Naturally, your challenge will have done its job and she will defend her honor. You’ve established boundaries of acceptable behavior that she’ll be less inclined to violate.
5. Don’t answer her calls. When you see her number light up on your caller ID, let it go to voicemail. Wait five minutes, then call back. Act nonchalant. She will wonder why you didn’t pick up right away. It’s a small detail that helps reframe the interaction to one where she is chasing you.

Godspeed, you nascent alphas, you smashers of overblown American women egos. The pendulum swings back now.