International Truth Day

– people will only turn against an alpha male when he attacks a weak woman
– it is open season on weak men who do not know their place.  attacking them will raise your status.  defending them will lower it
– total honesty can only be accomplished anonymously
– sexually attractive people can get away with more.  and they will have more willing apologists excusing their actions
– when confronted with uncomfortable truths, most people will resort to the “cultural conditioning” argument. it is fear of the unchangeable that motivates them
– when a woman praises a man it is more often given with the goal of changing his behavior
– when a man praise a woman it is more often given with the goal of earning her sexual favor
– status is everything; nearly everything in life is best understood through the prism of status wars
– there is a sexual market.  it operates under the same basic laws of supply and demand.
– marriage is no escape from the sexual market
– the sexual revolution benefited alpha males the most
– prostitution is dating minus self-serving rationalizations
– prostitutes and sluts undercut the only source of women’s power
– ‘crime causes poverty’ is truer than ‘poverty causes crime’
– young single women will always vote liberal as a rule.  big government is a husband and father substitute
– shame is a powerful motivator.  it is a dying art in the west
– alimony is ransom
– no-fault divorce is the poison in the well of the institution of marriage
– absent total war or economic meltdown, age of marriage will continue to rise, birthrates will continue to fall, and the percentage of the never-married will increase
– success comes to those whose desire is stronger than their fear
– uncontrolled jealousy is your worst enemy.  controlled jealousy your best ally.
– hate is as natural as love. like love, it’s most rewarding to throw yourself into it completely
– love can exist without fidelity
– make love when you can, because it is good
– lenin said it best: who? whom?
– proximity + diversity = war
– good people care more for the death of a pet than they do for 100,000 tsunami victims
– there is no meaning of life except to fuck.  it is utter pointlessness.  you are a machine designed to serve the interests of recombinant dna
– nerd = fat woman
– celibacy is living death
– effeminate men are detestable
– so are aggressive bitchy women
– the exceptions don’t make the rules
– we are animals
– hurting people is fun
– there’s no god
– there’s no soul
– there’s no karma
– we’re all going to die
– and it’s much later than you think

besos

Conjugal Bliss

There are certain products that just seem to belong together, but as far as I know, remain undiscovered pairings.  After I munched some coffee beans to temporarily boost my IQ a few points, I brainstormed the following consumer product marriage:

  plus 

No, I’m not talking about regular horns on bikes.  I want to see big ass bitchin air horns strapped to the handlebar.  I’ve never seen nor heard a bicyclist blow one of these.  Think of the applications.

– Similar to a really small motorcycle helmet that only covers the crown of the head, a gigantic air horn on a bike is a safety feature that doesn’t sacrifice your masculine cool.  Teens will clamor for this life-saving device.

– I once saw a TV show that had kids in a car driving slowly by unsuspecting bicyclists and pedestrians and blowing an obnoxiously loud air horn out the window.  Hilarity ensued as the bikers tumbled to the ground and people standing at their mailboxes threw their handfuls of mail into the air and peed themselves in shock.  Coming from a bicyclist, this would be even funnier.  As if they weren’t clamoring enough, teens will now pine for this life-saving, prankster-enabling device.

– Asshole drivers yapping into cellphones have always annoyed bike messengers.  The bikers must have had a lot of brushes with death because when they get cut off by one of these suitboys on the phone with their broker or some spaced out chick driving and gossiping in a 5-way conference call with her friends they get really angry, cursing like a sailor and giving the finger to the driver, sometimes even banging on the hood with a fingerless gloved hand.  I heard this on U St just the other day:  YOU MOTHERFUCKING FUCK GET THE FUCK OFF THE CELL COCKSUCKER!!!  Most of the time, the driver hardly notices, what with his five senses occupied by navigating DC’s notoriously retarded streets and taking calls.  But now with the air horn-equipped bike the messenger can toot blast the driver and know he’ll get his full attention.  Double thrills if this causes the driver to throw the cell into the air and swerve into a fire hydrant.  No more ineffectual foul-mouthing; with the mighty air horn the bike messenger’s knowing smirk will say it all.  Forget pining, teens everywhere will pre-cum for this accident-causing bike accessory.

– Skirt chasing was never so much fun.  Re-live those days when you used to stick your head out the car window and yell I LOVE YOU! as you drove by cute chicks standing on the sidewalk, except now do it in style with the air horn.  Blast away and watch as the fright sends fire coursing through her loins.  Chicks dig unpredictability, and the air horn has that base covered.  Don’t even bother with formalities — just toss her the engagement ring.  She’s already yours for life.  Bonus:  The ride on your handlbars back to your pad gets her juiced up for lovemaking.  Teens will be apoplectic.

I’d patent this, but the patent process costs $20K.  Instead, I’ll kindly ask people not to steal my incredibly brilliant idea until I have a chance to build a business empire around it.  Most people are good, so this should work.

Yuppie Child Substitute Part 2

I was walking down the street when I crossed paths with a woman in her mid-30s pushing a stroller with tinted mesh over the top to protect her child from the sun and bugs.  Here’s something you don’t see everyday in the city, I thought.  A smiling mother and her baby. As she passed, I looked in the stroller… to see a toy dog staring back at me, oblivious to its elevated status as a newly minted member of homo sapiens.

I didn’t have my camera with me to record this beautiful metaphor of barren yuppie womb, though it looked like this:

“tell mommy you love her!”


I believe this is one of the signs of the apocalypse.

High-Fiving the Ex-Boyfriend

I rarely meet the ex-boyfriends of girls I date.  Considering how many ex-girlfriends or friends of ex-girlfriends I bump into in this deceptively large city, it’s a bit of good fortune that I don’t have to deal with the potential drama or awkwardness of making small talk with a man who has repeatedly penetrated the same pussy that I am penetrating.  I like to tell myself this is because I date only good girls who don’t leave a trail of used condoms and stalkers behind them, but I’m sure it has more to do with pure luck and, when we are out together, her fastidious avoidance of venues frequented by her exes.

No good can come of meeting the ex of your woman.  While you may think he’d be a wealth of inside info on the girl you have stolen from him, in reality his opinions will be so badly jaundiced by the emotional undertow of the breakup, no matter how “mutual”, that anything he says would have to be taken with a flat of salt.  This goes for positive as well as negative reviews.  If she was that great a catch why’d he leave her?  Or if she dumped him, why is he shilling for her?  Don’t expect objective analysis in these situations.

Maybe you’re the kind of guy who heard through his girlfriend that the ex-BF is really cool and so why not throw back a beer with him next time everyone’s out together?  Most guys would agree with me that while this sounds great in principle, in practice it is a recipe for clumsy conversation and weird vibes.  Women, the so-called empathetic sex, demonstrate yet again their inability to put themselves in men’s shoes when they wax poetic about how awesome it would be if the guys currently jackhammering them were friends with the guys who used to jackhammer them.  Two facts about the wiring of the male brain make it difficult for us to act normally around exes of our current girlfriends — the harem mentality and the instinct to mentally visualize every sex act as if it were an object rotation question on an IQ test.


Irrespective of who dumped whom, a man has a module buried deep in his hindbrain that compels him to treat women as property.  This urge is usually beaten out of him at an early age by civilized upbringing and by the reality that even if he were to acquire genghis-like powers to amass a gigantic lay-a-day harem of hot babes guarded by loyal eunuchs, the surrounding culture would never let him fulfill his desires.  He would have to content himself with discreet affairs and serial monogamy.  So the loss of a girlfriend, whether amicable or hostile, is always perceived as a subtraction from his harem.  Men are browbeaten to conceal this fact, but we like the idea of our past girls lingering in our orbit, forswearing all other men, and ready at the drop of a hat to service us sexually when we are in the mood for a sequel.  We especially like this when we can selfishly give nothing in return.

(Exceptions are when the ex-GF gets fat or old.  Harem University asks that you at least pass those basic admissions requirements.)

Thus, for the ex-BF, drinking beers with the man who “robbed” him of one of his concubines is an exercise in social artifice camouflaging his primal urge to steal her back.

Betas who have lost touch with their maleness wonder what all the fuss is about.  This is the kind of guy who thinks it’s male bonding if you share stories with him about how his ex-GF has to bite down on a stick when she gets her ass rogered by your herculean member.

The harem mentality explains why an ex-BF would feel uncomfortable around the new guy.  But the predisposition to visualize every single sex act in all its technicolor glory makes the ex and the usurper uncomfortable.  You can’t help but imagine his cock thrusting and churning inside the girl who is now giving herself to you.  All the positions he put her in, all the jizzbombs he unloaded in her face.  You think to yourself not even the commando 2000 shower head could wash off every one of his man molecules from your little angel.  You wonder if his dick left an imprint on her vaginal canal.

Often, this is why, after meeting an ex-BF, you will go home and fuck your girl so hard her ovaries bounce, because this is your biology’s way of ensuring that whatever DNA he might’ve left behind is thoroughly scoured out of her.  Studies have shown that husbands returning from long business trips will deposit bigger loads of sperm in their wives, subconsciously anticipating that if another man’s sperm is in there they will surrender immediately to the larger army.

If the ex-boyfriend is not someone you like, then strutting like a rooster in his company that you are the rightful heir to his lay is worth enduring the bad mental images of him and her fucking like you and her fuck now. 

Yuppie Child Substitute

World’s smallest dog.

 

If it’s possible to be 300% gay, this accessory will do it.

(the zoo is now closed.)

Game as told by the lolcats

Checking out the scene

The approach

The opener

Disarming the cockblock

Winning over the male friend

Getting attraction

Building rapport

Dealing with shit tests

Isolation

Comfort

Makeout

Fuck close

OR

Number close

Mistake

Don’t be that girl

Women have a mental laundry list of traits they want in a man.  Unlike men, it is not so simple for them to see an attractive guy from across the room for a sum total of 1.5 seconds and immediately want to have sex with him, no questions asked.  They throw out hoops to jump through and head games to separate the worthy from the pretenders.  As sexual gatekeepers, women rely on this complex social interplay to assess a man’s rank and deny or grant him admission to her body.

A crucial part of seduction is role reversal.  You want to turn the tables on women and use their psyops against them.  A man can magnify his desirability simply by having standards beyond face, boobs, and bum.  It is intoxicating to a woman to be pursued by a man who will judge her for more than her looks.  That means sticking to a mental list of qualifications women must meet if they want to enjoy the pleasure of your company.  The trick is to pay it more than lip service; having standards means nothing if you don’t actually believe in them.

I know from experience and scientifically-valid astrological textbooks that certain character traits and behaviors are like signal flares of a drama-prone incompatible relationship.  If a girl jumps on top of a bar to dance for an appreciative audience on our first date I know she will be a poor choice for a girlfriend but a great ride for a torrid fling.

To any girl I meet:  when I strike up a conversation with you this is what is going through the back of my head:

Don’t be that girl…

… who thinks diamonds are a better best friend than a dog

… who lost touch with her femininity

… who has given up on love

… who pretends she can play like a boy

… who flakes

… who knows what she wants a little too surely

… who is an attention whore

… who is practiced in the art of aloofness and indifference (that’s my job)

… who cannot handle teasing

… who has sexual hangups

… who cannot take a sincere compliment

… who has lost her joie de vivre

… who doesn’t understand that men and women complement, not compete with, each other

… who re-applies her make-up every 10 minutes

… with daddy issues

… who doesn’t at least reach for the check

… who likes being a trophy a little too much

… who reads between every line

… who curses and flips the bird a lot

… who uses too much trendy slang

… who will accept flirting from other men while we are out on a date

… who mugs for invisible cameras

… who is externally validated

This may seem like an exhaustive, impossibly unrealistic list, and for  most girls maybe it is, but compared to the list of demands I occasionally read on craigslist from the sorts of women who’d be happier in love if they paid for it, I don’t think I’m asking for much.