Author: Chateau

9pm on a weekday night. I leaned like a pillar of masculine detachment against the edge of the bar, blessing the peasantry with my royal aloofness. I sipped a gin and tonic, surprised with myself for agreeing with a buddy to go out on a slow night for some drinks. I doubly surprised myself for being an hour early. My buddy called. He would meet me later at a different bar. I now had an hour to kill at the chic lounge filled with young women and few men. A weekday night miracle!

I surveyed the room for potential sex partners. To my right were two girls, both mid 20s, both bouncing conversationally off each other with an effortlessness that revealed their BFFness. One of the girls was extremely tall (almost my height), foreign looking, and unattractive in the face, though her body was stimulating. The other girl was shorter, olive skinned, and very attractive. She had big Bette Davis eyes, huge tits, and moist, full lips, but her outstanding feature, the one that caught my gaze and held it, was her long thick mane of raven colored hair, highlighted with iridescent streaks of indigo. She talked animatedly with her tall friend, swinging her head around and lashing nearby patrons with streamers of her midnight hair. I wanted to glide my hand through her thatch and yank hard.

Indigo Girl glanced over in that way that showed she was trying to hide that she was glancing over. I had my opening.

“You guys are making everyone else feel uncomfortable for not having as much fun. Have some consideration.” I knitted my brow in faux disapproval.

“What are *you* doing out tonight, Mr. Cool Guy too cool to have fun?” Indigo Girl smiled to flaunt an impressive rack of pearly white teeth, then stood up on tippy toes and did a ballerina twirl for me. I felt movement in my pants.

“I’m waiting for a friend, but plans changed. Now I’m here to support local business.”

Tall Girl laughed. “That’s very noble of you.” She spoke with an exotic Eastern European accent, and I could tell from her first words that she was smarter than the average chick. It is something in the cadence, the articulation. She took a step toward me, presumably to ask me a question.

Indigo Girl dodged in front of her advancing friend and looked up adorably at my alpha nostrils. “We just got back from a show.”

The more I looked at her the more it dawned on me how sexy she was. “The way you’re dressed I’d guess you saw a show at [X].”

“Good guess! Do you hang out there? I’ve never seen you before. But take that as a good thing. I get bored of that clique-y scene over there.” Though she was a little tipsier than Tall Girl, Indigo Girl also spoke with the electric snap of someone sporting a big brain.

“I’m a clique of one. Very exclusive.”

The girls laughed. Well, technically Indigo Girl laughed, openly and without affect. Tall girl, clearly the level-headed one of the two, grinned demurely and circled the rim of her cocktail glass with a long spidery finger. We talked amongst ourselves for twenty minutes. In that time I was able to piece together the scenario unfolding before me, and to then use my new knowledge to properly game these two chicks.

Best friends. Indigo Girl is the classic Eternal Ingenue. She is accustomed to getting her way with men, and she fumes when she doesn’t. She will shamelessly clamblock her girl friends if she notices them enjoying male attention. She is whip smart and Machiavellian, given to breaking hearts and wallowing like a happy sexy sow in the ups and downs of her own heart. Tall Girl is the Amazonian Alpha (literally as well as figuratively). She is used to surrendering the spotlight to her more attractive friends, but this constant indignity doesn’t stop her from being a fiercely loyal friend. She would be a world class maneater if she were prettier. I think she knows this.

It would be very easy for me to play these two girls off each other into a jealousy triangle of the ages. And I did.

We bounced to a two floor social venue a block down the street. It was crowded. The girls bought me a drink and we chatted for a while. I made sure to divide my chat time equally between the two, addressing one and then the other in turn. Suddenly, like a butterfly with ADD, Indigo Girl rushed to greet one of the bartenders, a handsome hipster she knew from her social circle. The greet became a long-ish conversation. Stepping up to Tall Girl, I moved my body so that she was forced to reposition herself with her back to Indigo Girl and Hipster Bartender. I knew Indigo Girl would look over at us if she saw me talking intimately with her friend, and I wanted her to see my hand on her friend’s back and my mouth whispering in her friend’s ear.

It worked. Indigo girl hopped over after only five minutes of watching me talk with Tall Girl. Shit test passed. But I knew that with a girl like her the shit tests were only beginning. Tall Girl, for her part, suspected that my desire was focused on her friend, but my calculated conversation sharing probably nursed a belief in her that she could rob me from Indigo Girl.

It is a great thrill to have two women vie for your attention, but it is an exquisite pleasure to puppeteer two *smart* girls.

I will spare some of the details of the actual gaming. Suffice to say, it was my usual schtick, except smartened up in deference to the targets. By smartened up, I mean palm reading with an occasional three syllable word thrown in.

Two hours later, we walked to Tall Girl’s apartment. I had called my buddy earlier to tell him I would cut the night short to pursue a worthier goal than drinking with him. He understood and informed me he would call in the morning for details. Bro code, you see. At Tall Girl’s place, we all collapsed on her sofa and flipped through her collection of artsy posters. Indigo Girl got up and flounced to the bathroom. I had to be careful. The two of them had surely been signaling the whole night to decide who would be the one to tame this magnificent beast with a chest full of peach vellus. My worst move would be to accidentally insinuate that Tall Girl was the one I wanted to bang. I looked at Tall Girl sitting next to me on the couch, her eyelids sensuously hoisted at half mast. Uh oh. I sprang up from the couch and pretended to read some books on the mantle.

When I turned around, still musing facetiously about the book I was holding, I saw that Tall Girl was sliding languorously down the couch, her dress hiked up mid-thigh and her legs splayed open. She wasn’t wearing any underwear. My eyes locked in on her shorn cunt, unable to tear away from the sight of labia and mons. It took an exceedingly strong dose of willpower to look away and up toward her homely face to remind myself that she wasn’t the one I wanted to bed. When I did, I saw that she was staring at me with sex in her eyes. Her mouth hung partly open. If she had been hotter, it would have counted as one of the sexiest motherfucking vignettes of my life.

As expected, her homely face jolted me back to reality. I put the prop book down and walked to the bathroom. Indigo Girl was rummaging through a box of ornamental scarves on Tall Girl’s bed. She was barking requests at Tall Girl from the bedroom. “I need a scarf that says professional, yet dangerous. What do you have, [Tall Girl]?”

I peered backward into the living room. Though my line of sight was partially obstructed, it looked to me that Tall Girl was stroking her pussy underneath her dress with her left hand. She arched her neck and gazed up at the ceiling.

I addressed Indigo Girl. “Hey, I’m gonna head out.”

Pause.

I continued. “Let’s go.”

It was a risky move. I had to get out of there before Tall Girl lunged at me and claimed me for herself. But I didn’t want to leave heavy-balled. There is always a point in the seduction when a bold move is required; when intentions must be demonstrated clearly and unambiguously. This time was no different.

Indigo Girl’s eyes glittered for a split second as she processed my words. Then she grabbed my hand and we headed out into the mild night.

We talked the whole time on the half hour walk to her place. Words flowed effortlessly. My boner never relaxed, not even when she did what I’m about to tell you.

“Hey, sexy boy I just met tonight, I’ve got something to show you.”

I thought please show me your incredible tits.

She reached a hand up to her head and pulled off her hair. Her beautiful, thick, lusciously long, raven colored hair, indigo highlights and all. Underneath was a head of matted, thin, mousy brown hair, cut short to just beyond the ears.

What the hell was this? Wig game? Was this her last ditch ultimate shit test to screen men just before she surrenders her body to them?

I managed the most poker-y face I could muster. “Wow, you had me fooled. Good thing you’re still sexy with short hair.”

I wasn’t lying. She was still sexy. Well, maybe not quite as sexy, but the drop in sexiness was only a half point. Nothing the god of gonadal stimulation wouldn’t let us into nirvana for.

“Yeah, I like to roleplay. Tonight was wig night. Wheee wigs!” She spun and jumped into my arms, wrapping her legs around my torso. My crotch bulged angrily. This was a girl going to NYU Stern for her MBA.

We made love… no, scratch that… we fucked four times through the night. Her tits were as stupendously squeezeable as I imagined. Her style of fucking was not out of character; creatively flexible, liberally lubed, risk-taking, and impassioned. Also a little slutty. Like purple saguaro girl, she had toys. Lots of them. And not some dimestore, brown paper over the windows low class shit. Her toys were the highest grade. She was a Type A++ personality and leapt out of bed at 8am for a spin class. I showed myself out the door, briefly greeting her gay roommate on the way out.

We dated… no, scratch that… we fucked for three months. The week before she left town, she called at 1am and invited me to her place. I walked over in the still night air instead of cabbing it. I wanted to enjoy the anticipation. Inside, she was stooped over on the bare concrete floor now stripped of furniture, snorting a line of coke with her gay roommate. She motioned for me to join them. The coke line laid out for me on the cold floor was mixed with dust and debris. I watched her be alive, though I was beset with a heaviness I knew would soon be alleviated.

Afterward, we laid on the floor like flower petals. She took my hand, held it, then let it go.

In the morning, on my way out, I noticed her wig was poking out of the kitchen trashcan. I walked silently over and gave it a quick stroke.

Filed under: Closing the Deal, Game, Girls, The Good Life

Sometimes ignorance really is bliss. Of the last 25 out of 30 girls I’ve slept with, I’ve used the following game tactics on all of them in almost the same order and at the same point in time of the pickup:

• indirect opener, usually situational
• if cockblock was present, one neg to cb asking if her friend is “always this way”
• if cockblock wasn’t present, one neg directly to target about her “hair color being totally in style right now”
• initiated kino sequence by laying my hand on her forearm, then later hand on her shoulder, then later still hand on her thigh
• one dance twirl (her, not me)
• one anchor (“hey could you watch my hat/scarf/pickup prop for me for a sec?”)
• one DHV story about my time hiking a volcanic island
• one to two venue change “bounces”, where i would simulate the experience of being on multiple dates by compressing it into two hours, making her feel she had spent more time with me than she actually did
• two questions qualifying her, usually “cute chicks are a dime a dozen, what else do you have going for you?” or “are you low, medium or high maintenance?”
• two rapport building routines (either the love test or the cube)
• one age guessing game (her: how old are you?” me: “guess” her: [whatever answer] me: “perfect!” or “i don’t think you’re fun enough/mature enough for me”)
• one vulnerability story (involves getting beat up by a bully i was trying to stop from beating up a nerdy schoolmate)
• one major kino escalation (usually hand behind her neck)
• kiss (i just go for it. no prepping) and/or number close
• same night lay if propitious

25 girls. 25 lays, flings, or relationships. All of them gamed in almost the exact same manner to achieve the desired result. Like winding up a watch. Or tapping a knee to prompt a reflex kick. Or shaking a leash by the door so the dog comes running, knowing a walk and a refreshing poop is on the way.

Game enough girls successfully and the predictability becomes numbing. I imagine this is how girls must secretly feel when they slather on makeup and squeeze into sexy clothes and then get the predictable horndog responses from men around them. They enjoy the attention, but at the same time their joy is laced with resentment toward men. They resent that it’s all so deterministic. Women are particularly susceptible to this resentment of the opposite sex because they are more emotionally invested in the pretty lie that romance and love must “happen naturally”. Men, having in general less experience with inciting predictable responses in the opposite sex, don’t get so weepy-eyed for the loss of innocence when they learn a thing or two about how the opposite sex’s sexual attraction mechanism works.

Which is how I felt for a long time. Game used to be a blessing. But then, you get so proficient that the patterns become all that you see. Like the green cascading numbers in the Matrix, individual charming women morph into machines in your mind’s eye, fleshy cyborgs of buttons and levers and algorithmic code, with a power cord that leads straight to their vaj. In your drearier moments, you find it difficult to even hoist them to the level of a machine; you instead picture them as feral animals, all instinct, no heart. Feral animals that give you sustenance — meat, love, or preselection.

The first girl I fell in lust love with said two words to me. “Hi”. Twice. I didn’t game her. I didn’t know what game was, or even that women desired differently than men. But I did know the way she laid down on her stomach on a chaise lounge in her front lawn, reading a book, her pale-skinned thighs glistening in the summer sun as she swung her feet in the air like scissors. To this day, my memory of her retains a spark of mystery and whimsical, effervescent delight. I have slept with and fallen in love with many girls since, but with (almost) each one the spark and the whimsy have progressively dimmed. The dark knowledge of the crimson arts has given me what I want, but at a price. A steep price.

I bought a lover a diamond bracelet. Knowing that excessive complimentary gifts to a woman are inevitably value lowering, I presented the gift with the flourish of a scoundrel. “I was going to surprise you with a beautiful cubic zirconia, but unfortunately this is all I could steal back from my ex-girlfriend on short notice.” Smirk, pause, pause… yes… good reaction from her. I’m pleased with my handiwork. Very pleased. I think I’ll take a step back and admire the moment I just crafted.

I sometimes miss those unpredictable moments when I couldn’t take a step back.

Filed under: Game, Love, Pretty Lies

The wicked knowledge is disseminating to the masses that women are natural born cheaters at heart; perhaps not as indiscriminately promiscuous as men, but neither as angelic as the Victorian and Christian ideal. Husbands all over the world are slowly becoming aware that their wives are compelled by ancient biological forces to cheat during the fertile time of her monthly cycle, and given the right incentives will act upon that urge to infidelity, usually with a higher status man, in order to acquire the beneficial genes in hopes of having a superior child which she can then foist upon her duped husband to help raise.

The princess pedestal has had three of its legs knocked out from under it, and the last leg wobbles precariously. Dark robed shadowy denizens of the Chateau welcome newcomers to its velvet-curtained corridors, where the last semblance of naivete will be stripped from you.

What to do with this knowledge?, some men will ask. Apply it!

First, you will need to know the details of your woman’s monthly cycle. You will need to acquaint yourself with “fertility awareness“.

Find out when your woman has her period. The monthly cycle begins from the first day she bleeds. Women ovulate about midway through their cycle (days 12-14), and sperm can survive inside a woman’s hoo-ha for 2-5 days. So from the middle of the second week to the beginning of the third week (days 10-16) is when your girlfriend or wife will be at her most fertile, i.e. most receptive to getting impregnated by whichever sperm happens to wander in during that time frame.

This fertile window (days 10-16 of her monthly cycle) can accurately be renamed “the cheating window”, because it is then that a woman will feel the strongest horniness for the seed of an alpha male. If she’s going to cheat, she is most likely to do it on these days. If you are a beta provider husband or boyfriend, you are in danger of being cuckolded on days 10-16. If you are an alpha husband or boyfriend the danger of betrayal is still there, because there is incentive for a woman to acquire the seed of multiple competing alpha males. However, alpha males have less to worry about than beta males, as women with alphas tend to be happier, both psychologically and sexually, and thus less prone to satisfy a gina tingle through infidelity. Even when women aren’t happy with their alpha mates, and seek the sexual embrace of Mr. Sensitivo for the emotional connection alpha hubby won’t or can’t give her, she is more likely to cheat with the soft-hearted betaboy fling during the infertile phase of her monthly cycle. Thus, the alpha husband/BF has less to worry about than the beta husband/BF should his woman wander.

Since a woman contemplating cheating during her fertile window subconsciously wants to ensure that any fertilization is done by an alpha male’s seed, and only an alpha male’s seed, she won’t want her vagina polluted with your tepid beta spooge. She will do everything in her power, in fact, to prevent you from penetrating her while she is ovulating.

Armed with this knowledge, we now know the number one dead giveaway that your wife or girlfriend is about to cheat on you:

Is she withdrawing sex during days 10-16 of her monthly cycle? Then you, my friend, are about to be betrayed.

If you hear from your woman “I have a headache” any time during her peak fertility, she has either cheated on you, is thinking about cheating on you, or is getting sufficiently turned off by your burgeoning betaness that cheating will soon become an option in the calculation of her moral universe.

Once fertile window sex withdrawal (FWSW) happens, particularly if you notice a trend of this happening over two or more monthly cycles, then you had better be ready to respond appropriately. By “respond appropriately”, I mean “get the upper hand”. Here are your choices:

1. Preemptively dump her. (Husbands are shit out of luck on this option.)
2. Game her. (As LTRs inevitably soften men, you will have to shake the rust off and return to pre-LTR form.)
3. Take a mysterious leave of absence during her fertile window. (Counterintuitively, a sexually inquisitive wife or girlfriend will be less likely to act on her cheating impulse if her beta mate isn’t around to remind her why she loathes him so.)
4. Preemptively cheat. (If you’re banging ass on the side, you won’t feel the sting of her sex withdrawal and possible betrayal as much.)

There is one caveat. The pill potentially fucks up the FWSW-cheating nexus by screwing with women’s hormones. If it’s true that women on the pill prefer less masculine men at whichever time of the monthly cycle, then it’s less predictable that her cheating with a more alpha lover will occur during ovulation. Betas take note. Your best bet for avoiding a rape-equivalent cuckolding is to date only women on the pill. Of course, this will mean she won’t have any kids with you, either, but childlessness beats unknowingly raising another man’s child any day of the month.

Filed under: Girls, Marriage Is For Chumps, Self-aggrandizement, Ugly Truths

I wander the scorched wastelands of the human psyche, explore the depths of the musty ideologies hidden within, and drag them kicking and screaming to the oasis of cleansing truth so that you may be entertained from the comfort of your Barcalounger. My crusade over the past three years finding and eviscerating the hated enemies of beauty and truth has finally brought me face to face with perhaps the most execrable creature to stalk the consciousness of the Holy Hedonist Empire.

I hesitate to write this post because the horror you will find within is nearly beyond comprehension. I risk credibility if it turns out the entire article was a put-on, an act to stimulate an immunological response from a healthy psyche. I accept that risk, because the greater risk is in allowing a genuine abomination to go unridiculed.

From a Washington City Paper interview (hat tip: reader Mike), pay your shilling and enter the tent to feast your eyes upon Jaclyn Friedman, AKA “Fucking While Feminist”:

Jaclyn Friedman is, in short, a feminist rock star. She is the executive director of  WAM!: Women, Action & the Media. She edited the incredible Yes Means Yes!: Visions of Female Sexual Power and a World Without Rape, and continues the work of dismantling rape culture in her weekly pro-sex column. She writes as compellingly about taking off her shirt for fun as she does her college sexual assault. And she has been fucking under these conditions for nearly 20 years.

What is the difference between sex with a pro-sex feminist and sex with a pro-sex normal woman? Earplugs.

Fucking while feminist presents a peculiar set of challenges for the pro-sex single. How do you talk rape culture on a first date while still managing to get laid once in a while? How do you find the feminist guy who won’t self-flagellate to the point of unfuckability? How do you avoid dying alone, basically?

I’ll answer those questions for the City Paper interviewer.

“How do you talk rape culture on a first date while still managing to get laid once in a while?”

You don’t if you want to date men who aren’t afraid of their own penises.

“How do you find the feminist guy who won’t self-flagellate to the point of unfuckability?”

Such a man doesn’t exist. If he does, he is lying to you. Or gay.

“How do you avoid dying alone, basically?”

Cat cryogenics.

J[aclyn] F[riedman]: The way I hope it will work is that they ask these initial questions [about my rape culture books] before we meet in person. So then they can go offline and collect their thoughts and then respond to me. My profile says I’m a feminist. So a lot of people who would be really scared off by me, we don’t get very far. When the whole Polanski thing was going down, I had this big argument with a guy about Polanski. First date. And last one.

No surprise there. Though I can only read her words, I can vicariously hear her grating voice plucking out my ear hairs one by one, slowly to maximize the pain. Could you imagine going on a date with this shrike? She’s already arguing with you before the first round is ordered. If I get into *one* big argument with a chick within the first three months of dating her, I seriously consider dumping her. But a big argument on the first date is a giant red flag that proudly proclaims “Kneel before my mighty shit test, and pass or be emasculated by the swinging of my serrated clit dick!” Some shit tests are not worth passing. Sometimes it’s just an ugly, gnarled soul staring daggers of challenge at you from across the table.

Do you have any feminist litmus tests?

JF: I would like for there to be a set of feminist litmus tests that I could reference and use to find the right guy. Right now, I feel like I’m in an endless cycle of asking myself, “Am I willing to let this slide?” I’m mostly dating guys right now, which is fairly new for me. From my early 20s to my mid-30s I dated exclusively women and trans men.

Ah, so she’s in her late 30s or 40s now. That would explain the sudden biological urge to merge with sperm-manufacturing normal men. Experimentation is all fun and games until your subjects stop finding you a worthwhile lay.

I’m not romanticizing that, like “it’s so much easier with women”—let me tell you, it’s not. But it’s a different set of questions you have to ask. I don’t feel like I can go in to these dates expecting dudes to know as much about feminism or sexuality studies or rape culture [i.e., lies], the stuff that I live my life talking about and thinking about. I feel like I’m going to die alone if I do that.

Will your slavish adherence to your comforting lies have been worth it?

Here is what’s depressing about dating while feminist. Feminism is what I do with my life, it’s how I spend my days, it’s my job, it’s not just an opinion I have among many other opinions.

The most dogmatic ideologues are always running on the righteous fury of their opinions. They have to, because one stop to take a breath could mean the entire edifice of lies crumbles down on them from forward momentum. They secretly suspect, late at night when the terrifying silence leaves them alone with their innermost thoughts, that everything they believe is a lie. And so they shout hate and fear at the heart of the world. Imagine waking up one day to realize your entire life was a farce? And a deadly farce at that; one which withheld from you some of the greatest joys of life.

If I had a hardcore litmus test, the pool of men I could date would be so tiny.

I’ve got news for you, my cougar child. It’s getting tiny regardless of any litmus test you might impose. Which, ironically, will cause you to impose ever stricter litmus tests. The bruised ego drinks deeply from the chalice of the sour grapewine.

And then when you weeded out men who are gay, the men I don’t find attractive, the men already in monogamous, committed relationships—really, I would never get laid again. So I do feel that I have to try to be flexible out of necessity.

Older women either stiffen into celibacy or become Yogic masters of dating flexibility. As “Feminist While Fucking” seems to possess a man’s libido, she has opted to accept the dreary fact that her waning sexual market value places constraints on what she can, and can no longer, demand from the men she dates.

But if I were to end up with someone—and I do want a long-term, stable relationship with someone at some point—they would have to be feminist on some basic level. They would have to be.

Hey, betas, guess what! You now have your shot at tasting the curdled nectar of an aging radical feminist who has spent her prime years servicing a battalion of men, women, and transsexuals. All you need to do is nod in agreement when she discusses the finer points of the imaginary gender wage gap. Sound like a good deal? And turn off that sexbot when I’m talking to you.

Right now my basic litmus test is this: Is he interested in feminist issues when I bring them up?

Sure. I’ve noticed feminists are quicker to jump into bed than non-feminists.

And can he talk about them in ways that express curiosity and engagement and respect, instead of defensiveness or dismissiveness or attachment to stereotypes?

Feminists have hairy armpits and daddy issues.

If we can talk about this stuff in ways that are interesting and productive, I can work with it most of the time.

A good marriage will have a higher status husband and a better looking wife. Discuss.

[T]he only cisgender man I’ve been in a longterm relationship was a feminist when I met him. We would have feminism arguments where I was educated by him, and vice versa. And I thought, well, how lucky I am to have found a feminist guy! And he ended up being an ass . . . in somewhat unrelated ways.

Disturbed hardcore feminists are attracted to assholes, too. Red alert on Drudge.

Is there anything that men can mention in their dating profiles that tips you off to feminist compatibility?

JF: Well, this is my test: When I look at personal ads, I look at their lists of favorite books, movies, and music, and they have to list women in all of those categories.

Ok, here goes.

Favorite books: Anything by Stephenie Meyer

Favorite movies: Anything by Leni Riefenstahl

Favorite music: T.A.T.U.

Heh.

I also don’t respond to any guy who says they’re looking for a woman who “doesn’t have drama,” not because I have a lot of drama, but because I feel like that is code for women who have opinions.

This is super double secret code for “I will blab endlessly about utter bullshit while you sit and listen with the patience of a saint”.

. . I also have a couple things in my profile that are screeners, that I’m hoping will turn off people I don’t want to be bothered by. I mention feminism. I say I’m a size 16. But I do it all in a flirty way, like, ’size 16 can be sexy,” not in a way that says, “I AM ALL THESE THINGS. DEAL WITH IT.”

Proud feminist, aging spinster, fatty. What’s not to love? Rhetorical.

PS: Size sixteen cannot be sexy. Saying so won’t change the fact that the vast majority of men, particularly desirable men who don’t need to lie to get sex, are repulsed by the rolls of blubber you refer to as “curves”.

So when you tell people that you’re a feminist, do they have assumptions about what the sex is going to be like?

JF: A couple of guys were shocked that I like to play various games in bed, because I’m a feminist. That’s always really interesting to me. I’m always like, ‘Are you kidding me? The feminists I know are the craziest women in bed you can find!”

There’s gotta be an iron law of the land that states the less desirable the woman, the kinkier she is in bed. Compensation in da houze!

So do you meet guys who pass the feminist test but then turn out to be disappointments for other reasons?

JF: Oh God. There is a type of feminist guy who is so eager to fall over himself to be deferential to women and to prove his feminist bona fides and flagellate himself in front of you, to the point that it really turns me off. And it makes me sad, because politically, these are the guys that I should be sleeping with! You know what I’m talking about?

Color me unsurprised that a woman’s gina tingle doesn’t oscillate to a man’s political beliefs.

They haven’t internalized their feminism, so it’s always being externalized. And it places a lot of pressure on the women they’re with. There’s this very self-conscious performance of feminism. And it does sometimes feel like they want a cookie. . . .  OK, I know this is such a delicate conversation to have, but I want those guys to wake up because those are the guys I want to want to sleep with!

You want to want to sleep with men but your abrasive, unfeminine personality attracts eunuchs. Clever eunuchs who tell you what you want to hear in hopes of getting in your XL pants, but eunuchs nonetheless.

I sort of feel that I get cast in these dudes’ narratives as the Hellcat Dream Girl, there to prove how bad-ass they are because they’re dating such a bad-ass woman. They think it’s cute or sexy. But when I use that smart, outspoken bad-assery to challenge their own perspectives, it’s suddenly not sexy at all.

No shit it’s not sexy. What man worth his stones wants to spend time with a woman always pitched in heated battle against every perceived slight to her worldview? Especially when her perspective is a mountain of lies. Men get enough of that from other men. The point of women is that they aren’t men. But maybe we are entering an era of manjaws and art fags.

I feel like the same thing happened with the guy I dated for two years. He liked the idea of being a guy who would be with someone like me, but ultimately it turned out that he wanted someone who wouldn’t challenge him as much, a person who was easier and quicker to sweep away. I got evidence of that when, within three months of breaking up with me, he was dating a 23 year old who lists her political views on Facebook as “moderate.”

I hope this field guide to Americanus afeminoxious was as unpleasant for you as it was for me. But really, there was nothing new here. Guests of the Chateau have all seen these creatures before, in special holding cells, their cries of torment under the lashings of my bulldykewhip striking a dulcet note on weary ears.

The more interesting question is what kind of man would so debase himself to willingly spend time in such a woman’s company? To suffer the tortures of the damned, his ears ringing with the demonic cacophony of femicunt war shrieks? To betray the last, good measure of his manly essence for a pittance of overripe pussy? What kind of man, indeed?

Filed under: Hitting The Wall, Misandry, Sluts, The Id Monster

“You’re very brave to come over to talk with me.”

“Your flirting is charming.”

“As we’re sitting here talking I can tell you seem really happy.”

“Wow! Don’t get too excited.” [Note: Not to be used sarcastically. That would be signaling lower value.]

“Hmm. Your hands are shaking.” [Doesn’t matter if they’re not shaking. Use as part of palm reading routine.]

“Hope I didn’t make you wait too long.” [Say after returning much later from talking with friends.]

“Your answers tell me that you are drawn to men who break your heart.” [Use as part of love test routine.]

“You have a… different… sense of humor/sense of style/way of looking at the world.”

“You have a quirky personality. I have a friend — he’s been single a while; I guess he’s picky — who would totally get you.”

“You’re not like most women. You seem like you want to know about me more than you want to talk about yourself.”

“Your eyes are dancing.”

“I have a confession to make. I forgot your name.” [You should say this to every girl at some point during the initial meet, regardless whether you remember her name. I have yet to experience a bad reaction from a girl when I said this.]

“A lot of girls in this city come on too strong with men. I’m glad you can talk with me without getting weird.”

“This is a pleasant surprise. You’re winning me over.”

Saying any of these things to a girl during the course of a pickup will artfully communicate your higher status relative to hers, which will in turn prepare her body for copulation.

PS: Try to use the word “girls” for women, and “men” for men, in your daily conversation.

Filed under: Game

In various hot spots around the city you will see units of public housing. Usually you can identify these complexes by the disrepair of the property and the empty liquor bottles littering the sidewalk in front. It’s easy enough to avoid renting or buying a place next to a dump, but what if the public housing is newly constructed? You could be fooled into thinking the neighborhood is a charming outpost of SWPLness.

There is another way to tell which properties are Section 8 hell matrices. Read the names. Almost all the low income properties (where there is a ceiling imposed on the income level of candidates for residency) have bright, sunshiney names like “The Horizon House”, “Hope Plaza”, The Dream on 17″, or “New Beginnings”. It’s a dead giveaway when you take the most noxious neighbors possible, and slap on their crack shacks the most innocuous, hopenchange-y names possible. Is this fooling anyone?

I think the same should be done for exorbitantly priced condo complexes in edge communities that are breeding grounds for non-breeding SWPLs. It would be great to immediately identify SWPL housing by its hypocritically earnest name. For example: “Sustainable Living Luxury Condos”, “Whole Foods In Basement So You Never Have To Venture Into The Neighborhood You Brag About To Your Suburban Friends Condo”, “The Super Artsy Lofts On Lobbyist Ave”, “$300,000 Premium To Pay For Hip Bar That You Can Walk To Condos”, and “No Impact Man Used To Live Here Apartments — Free Wifi!”.

I mean, if our sick culture is going to steep itself in lies, may as well go all out and lie like a rug. We can make a game of it.

Filed under: Pretty Lies, Ridiculousness, The Big City Life

What are the implications of imbalanced sex ratios? What happens when there are more men than women, or vice versa? In the matter of a surplus of men (i.e. a sexual market favoring women), we in the US may already be experiencing that on an enormous (heh) scale. I wrote about this misunderstood catastrophe in my groundbreaking post “Obesity to blame for game” (with illustrations!):

Game has been refined, taught and embraced by men in direct proportion to the shrinking pool of attractive thin girls. As the reduced supply of skinny chicks have seen their sexual market value skyrocket, they have adjusted by pricing their pussies out of reach for the average guy. In return, men have sought solutions to this new challenge in the rapidly advancing science of seduction. Where simple courtship worked in the past, it is no longer effective against the deep bunker defenses of the in-demand slender woman.

There are other reasons for the rise of game, but obesity plays a whale (heh) of a role. A fattening female population means we have a de facto male surplus. Some men will settle for fatties, (some men screw sheep), but most will prefer to stick it out competing for years in the dating market and avoiding marriage until they either drop out or get what they want — a thinner chick.

I also speculated what a female surplus would do to courtship dynamics. On many major college campuses, women outnumber men 3 to 2. I called this a poon nirvana for the typical college male and predicted how the excess chicks would alter the hothouse campus atmosphere:

Women acting sluttier.

Fat women ostracized more than ever.

Betas taunted by a flesh machine churning out display product they cannot buy.

Alphas living like harem kings.

Alphas in general acting more caddish. More drinking, fighting, fornicating, and video gaming.

Betas in general withdrawing more from social life to seek the sympathetic embrace of their computers or like-minded losers in love.

Dating replaced by fucking (“hooking up” in the current nomenclature).

Blowjobs and anal sex increasingly accepted as virginity-sparing sex substitutes.

Later marriages.

And finally, a tired rationalization hamster punching in overtime. The female mind has never been so besotted with challenges to her anti-slut barricade!

Since there are, generally, fewer fat chicks at college age than later ages, the national obesity calamity would not significantly counterbalance the absolute skewed sex ratio favoring college attending men.

There was an excellent discussion of sex ratio over at the “Evo and Proud” blog. Especially read the comments, where Peter Frost and Jason Malloy argued opposite sides, Malloy taking the position that, somewhat counterintuitively, a population of excess males means more well-behaved males, since women in control of the dating market are better able to fulfill their goal of finding a productive and reliable Dad to help raise children. Men under such constraints are therefore likely to rein in their latent caddishness and emphasize their daddishness to appeal to the limited number of available, choosy women. Malloy presents some evidence for his case.

I wasn’t convinced, though, because I thought Malloy’s premise was faulty. Do women instinctively prefer the Dad to the Cad, and if so, do alpha males and beta males pursue the same sexual strategy in a dating market with a dearth of women? What happens in societies that are structured to the benefit of women? That is, what do women actually choose when they can have their cake and eat it too? Peter Frost articulated my doubts in a comment at Dennis Mangan’s blog:

Jason [Malloy] ignored, however, the authors’ warning that female scarcity is socially beneficial only if there are limits on women’s sexual freedom:

“Remember that the background conditions under which imbalanced sex ratios have had their effect have been relatively constant from the time of classical Greece until the advent of the twentieth century. Earlier we called attention to the importance of the fact that structural power—economic, political, and legal—has invariably been in male hands. This condition has prevailed in every high and low sex ratio society that we have examined in detail. What this means is that sex ratio imbalances might well have radically different effects in a society where women had appreciable structural power.” (Guttentag & Secord, 1983, p. 233)

“… Young single women are not confined to the home and have much experience with the opposite sex. They make their own decisions about male friends or the choice of a husband. Either party to a marriage can now get a divorce if they want one. These changes that free young single people to choose their own mates and loosen the marriage bond favor the gender that is in short supply. In a word, structural constraints that have in the past neutralized dyadic power, particularly that of women, have disappeared.” (Guttentag & Secord, 1983, p. 239)

Does the current USA strike you as a society imposing limits on women’s sexual freedom? It is to laugh. Just the opposite is happening in Western cultures. If any gender’s sexual and marital prerogative is being straitjacketed, it is American men’s, specifically American betas.

What about China, where the male surplus has ballooned, prompting a slew of opinion articles warning of Chinese territorial ambitions and saber rattling to release the building pressure of millions of unsexed and unloved men? China is more patriarchal than the US, but in the big cities it looks to be changing, the urban culture quickly beginning to reflect the worst (best?) of the West.

A sex ratio favoring women might have very different effects in Afghanistan than in the US. In cultures where women have little incentive to slut it up, delay marriage, or pop out bastard spawn confident that the government will act as uber beta provider, they may well become more chaste, and pickier about choosing reliable Dad types. But in cultures of free-wheeling sexuality, easy availability of contraceptives and abortion, female economic empowerment, anti-male divorce laws, and disappearance of anti-slut social shaming mechanisms, women may very well respond to a favorable sex ratio by opening their legs for every alpha male to shower five minutes of attention on them, prefering to share the choicest cock with other women rather than monopolizing the ground beef cock of the squabbling male masses.

I’d like to get away from the macrocosm abstractions for a minute and ground the argument over sex ratio in something we have all experienced in real life. I have been in bars where there were way more men than women. There’s nothing more dispiriting to the inveterate player than walking into a roomful of Bob Evans. I can tell you exactly what happens in those situations.

• Women’s egos explode. 5s think they’re 7s, 2s think they’re 5s, fat chicks think you desire them. You want to see an American girl’s entitlement complex break the sound barrier? Put her in a bar in a typical big city with other overeducated, chubby girls and surround with twice as many horny men. Add liquor and mix vigorously. Mystery likely had the inspiration for the neg when he was navigating a similar sad scene.
• Men become irritable. Is a sausage fest a breeding ground for well-behaved Dads? Good lord, no. What usually happens is this: A small number of very smart men quickly assess the futility of the situation and bail for greener pastures. The rest drink to excess, gathering the courage to approach the one or two hot chicks in the room, only to discover that bitch shields are set at maximum deflection. Then the men become agitated, and oftentimes there is pushing and shoving, leading to fights. That’s when the women bail, because the atmosphere has gotten toxic. A few men remain behind for garbage hour, hoping to scrounge a scrap of snatch.

I’m agnostic on the issue of sex ratio and its impact on the overall mating market. I think there are other variables that are more important in determining how men and women behave in the most crucial market of all. Nonetheless, with a rising male-skewed China and a declining feminist USA, sex ratio may have profound effects on who next will grab the mantle of hyperpower.

Filed under: Culture, Self-aggrandizement, Ugly Truths

This picture made me laugh:

Well, that’s one way to keep an ascendant China in check — export our fast food culture. It’s irresistibly scrumptious!

Filed under: Funny/Lolblogs, Globalization

Do you think you have what it takes to bend the world to your whim? Are you…

alpha enough?

Reader RF raps the wrought iron lion knocker on the heavy oak door seeking admittance to the Chateau:

Night of the meeting, running game Riossy likely would approve of (though there’s always room for improvement), I hand her my phone and she puts her number in. I end with a kiss close.

Me: test.

Her: Hey bahbay!

Her: Yesy 1 2 3 [jesus, how drunk was she?]

Me: Got it. Let’s make plans soon.

The next day, i already had plans to go out with friends. I thought I’d try to stack the deck in my favor and texted her.

Me: going out tonight?

Her: I’m spending the night hanging out with my boyfriend.

Me: lol

Her: Yea sorry if I led you on, I am in a relationship and very happy so I don’t think we can be friends.

I didn’t respond after that – should I have negged harder after the last statement? I think the “lol” was sufficient – her behavior confirmed everything written on this blog – and anything beyond that seemed forced and petty. She was just a six, too, and not worth additional effort imo.

Ah yes, the drunk chick hookup. Expect a flake. With inebriated girls you are best attempting a same night lay, as the liquor loosens her inhibitory reflex. That is the upside of drunkenness. The downside happens when the inhibitions come storming back the next morning, and her anti-slut barrier stands taller and mightier than usual.

Leaving that aside, your game was fine up until the next day. I’m not a big fan of texting questions that require answers from girls. If you want to meet up with a girl, call her, and *tell her* what your schedule is like, and when you can see her. Asking if she’s free, or available, or if she’d like to join you is playing into the frame of female scarcity. Instead, you should be saying “Hey, we had a great time last night, let’s meet for cocktails and hookah smoking. I’m free Thursday.”

If you believe, like I do sometimes, that talking on the phone is becoming a lost art irrevocably replaced by texting and facebook emailing, then you may want to pursue the “trial text” strategy, of which I am an advocate.

Now, when she said she was hanging out with her boyfriend, you regrettably and utterly betatized yourself with that ego-pinpricked “lol” response. The LOL, when delivered in reply to an affront, signals to a girl that she got under your skin. LOL is the spontaneous bleat of the lamb after the wolf has sunk its teeth into the lamb’s shank. El Oh Eeeeeellll! El Oh Eeeeeeelllll! To a woman’s ears it sounds like this: “Ha, ha, you have shat upon my soul!”

Whether she actually has a boyfriend is irrelevant to how you should have responded after she told you she had a boyfriend. LOL was the worst response. Let’s examine the other three major types of responses you had at your disposal.

1. Ignore her. Instead of LOL’ing, you don’t reply. Some people will say this is the alpha way to handle a cunt, but it’s also the easy way. Does an alpha always have to take the easy way? Where’s the fun in that?
2. Give her the gift of pain. “He’s a lucky man. I wonder if he knows what a prize he has?” Sure, this won’t get you laid, but it will put a smile on your face.
3. Tease her. “Perfect. I’m busy Thursday night with your boyfriend’s girlfriend. You’re buying first ten rounds.” This final option gives you an outside chance at hooking up should the winds of fickle tingle blow in your direction.

Unfortunately, once she sent that last ridiculously cloying and pointless explanation, you were left with few options other than ignoring it. Which isn’t so bad. Use the bad taste left in your mouth to fortify your strength of purpose for future pickup attempts.

***

Reader Effect whispers the password to the Chateau consigliere:

I was just wondering on the Alphaness of this move, in a standing situation.

You’ve been chatting with this girl. Mystery Style, you put out your hand. When she takes hold you lead her in closer. Put the opposite around her once she close enough and draw her in even closer so that your bodies are touching and release her hand while doing this. Use the hand she was holding to brush aside her hair bangs moving it behind her ear then following the jaw to lead her into the kiss. (assuming she has long, not tied up hair) End the kiss first, no leaning in, feet stayed planted during the whole thing. Take a small step away.

Kino escalation is often overlooked by men as a vital component to pickup, but physically pulling a girl closer into your body can backfire if there isn’t a solid base of attraction already established. A lukewarm girl is likely to read a handhold and a pull-in as an attempt by the man to cop a cheap feel. Better bet: Hold out your hand, wait for her to take it, and then let her hand rest in yours. See how long she keeps her hand in yours before she pulls away. That will give you a good indication of her feelings for you.

***

Reader valmont dons the black robes of a Chateau guest:

A very important question. I do online dating as a side dish with good results… however, I am often asked on dates

“what are you looking for?”

There was a girl who told me that she was tired of guys who promised her “the moon” and then did not commit to her. I told her that at the present moment I m not looking to get into something serious. I felt that her energy changed however we later made out and I walked her to the metro station. after a couple of days she sends me an email that “she appreciates my honesty but that we do not have the same expectations.”

I mean, she said that she did not want a guy who pretended to want something serious, however let’s be frank, should a guy tell a women on the first or second date that he is looking for something serious too (presuming he does)?

so again, how should a guy respond to questions such as “what are you looking for?” when they come up early in the dating phase?

“What are you looking for?”

Girls are asking you this before you’ve sexed them? Strange. Either you date aging, neurotic headcases or your vibe is telegraphing B E T A P R O V I D E R. There is only one way to answer an early game, pre-sex “what are you looking for?” stinky-ass beta bait:

“A delicious ham sandwich.”

Do try and say it with a straight face for maximum amusement.

Answering any other way will only make the bang more difficult to achieve. Why construct unnecessary obstacles to yourself? If she presses the matter, then you will have to get serious with her. But there is a right way and a wrong way to patronize a woman’s shit testing.

Wrong way: Play into her frame.

• “I’m not looking for anything serious right now.”

Why give her an excuse to stop seeing you?

• “I haven’t thought about it. Why do you ask?”

Why give her an excuse to continue harping on the subject?

• “I’m looking for something serious.”

Lying is unnecessary in this situation, as I will demonstrate below. Also, saying this risks turning her off if you miscalculate and she’s *not* looking for something serious.

Right way: Control the conversation.

• “I’m dating around until I find that one woman I really click with. I think anything serious should develop naturally, and not be forced. Don’t you?”

If she’s got trouble with that answer, you are officially dating an ovulating cougar who works 80 hour weeks at the law firm and has more cats than pints of Haagen Dazs.

The Chateau doors have now creaked shut. Escort yourselves to the property gate.

Filed under: Alpha, Game

20% of my lays were through social circle entrustments. That is, a significant minority of women I’ve banged were introduced to me, or I to them, through mutual friends, usually at house parties or mixed group gatherings at bars. Social circle game is a powerful force, most in evident during the college years, but always playing a role throughout life. It’s easy to see why this is so. Women’s eggs are a pricey commodity and they aren’t predisposed to hand over those eggs to just any random sperm wandering by. Women need to know the semen vehicle soliciting them is carrying quality seed. Sometimes they acquire the relevant information by talking with and observing the suitor; other times they rely on trusted friends to do their dirty work for them. Any man can get a huge leg up with a woman simply by being positively introduced to her through a friend of her’s, preferably a female friend, though a trusted beta orbiter male friend will also work in his favor.

Men don’t need social circle game to get laid. Our visual scanner is all the proof we need that we want to meet, seduce, and bang a girl. But many men do rely on social circle game because that’s what women emphasize. And men, if nothing else, are all about the path of least resistance to sex. In the final analysis, all men are ultimately playing by women’s rules of attraction. (Similarly, all women are playing by the slimmer volume of men’s rules of attraction. See: Any fat chick or aging single mom who must settle for less than what she could get if she were slender, younger, and childless.)

Recognizing this reality of the mating market, the smart man asks himself how he can capitalize on a woman’s instinct for social circle game without having any actual, you know, corresponding social circle with her. Luckily, there are ways to outmaneuver a woman’s hindbrain with subtle psychological ploys.

What you need: One socially savvy wingman (or, even better, wingwoman). One target. A trickster’s heart.

Stand with your wingman ten paces from your target. Have your wing approach the target alone. Don’t acknowledge your target in any way. Your wingman will have a script ready to recite upon introducing himself to your target.

SUPERFLY WINGMAN: Hey, I remember you. I met you at Bridget’s party a few months back. My girlfriend Ellen was with me. You know her?

ASSTITSFACE: No, I don’t think I was at that party.

SUPERFLY WINGMAN: Well, it was a while ago. No biggie. I think you mentioned you liked surfing, or maybe it was running. Are you a surfer? You kind of look like the California type surfer chick.

ASSTITSFACE: No, I’ve never surfed.

SUPERFLY WINGMAN: [Here he digresses about what she likes to do, and draws out something that she does enjoy, like badminton. The wingman will need a good ten minutes to get a solid conversation rolling] Badminton?! That’s bad ass. Hey, my buddy over there plays badminton with his nephew. I’ll introduce you guys. [Wingman waves you over. You look over, point at yourself questioningly, then join them.]

SUPERFLY WINGMAN: Hey, SUPER ALPHA DUDE, this is ASSTITSFACE. Me and Ellen met her at some party a while ago, and she likes badminton. And I thought you were the only weirdo I knew who played badminton. But don’t worry, she seems pretty cool otherwise.

SUPER ALPHA DUDE (YOU): Hey, ASSTITSFACE, I’m surprised my buddy here knows another badminton lover. [GAME ON]

***

So what was accomplished here? First, note how your wingman immediately disqualifies himself as a potential suitor when he tells the target he has a girlfriend. This is to ensure that the follow-up “fake social circle” game is not corrupted by her distrust of his intentions.

Second, when she (naturally) objects that she wasn’t at the party, your wing brushes it off, and continues on as if she *was* at the party. Now she’s starting to wonder if maybe she was there, but she sadly doesn’t remember. Your wing then quickly redirects the conversation to a related subject — surfing — one that is presumed was broached initially at the long ago party. He makes this part up, but it doesn’t matter. It’s just a springboard to get her talking about herself so that your wing can find a phony commonality between her and you. Once the commonality has been established, your wing calls you over, acting the whole time as if the target is someone your wing knows from a mutual friend.

Once you’re in, you are no longer any old schmoe she just met. Now you’re the friend of a cool guy who she may or may not have met at a mutual friend’s party. Fake social circle game is subtle in its imprint upon the female psyche, but don’t let its subtlety distract you from its power to ply pussy. Most of the women you will want to bang will not be part of your social circle. Fake social circle game can help bridge that gap.

Filed under: Game, Psy Ops

A reader emails:

Dear R.,

I am a 32 year old quasi-alpha who is looking to make up for lost time. Due to my history and upbringing, I have had few successful relationships with women. I am returning to college to finish my degree. Could you make some suggestions so my time in college is more fruitful this time? Could you recommend some resources to read (besides your blog, which totally rocks btw)? Do you do phone counseling?

I get emails from readers requesting game resources at least once a week. I think I’ve written about resources before, but in case not, here is a reference post that lists what I believe is very good pickup material. The following is what I consider top tier game resources.

• The Mystery Method

Still the bible of pickup. Read this one first because it will introduce you in layman’s terms to the evolutionary wisdom that underlies the seduction of women, and very quickly moves on to real, practical techniques that you can immediately apply in field. Mystery Method isn’t the final word on pickup, and it has some flaws in its focus on opening large groups in nightclubs that might put off more introverted men, but it continues to be one of the best reference manuals out there. There is a new and improved edition that dispenses with some of the off-putting acronyms.

• David Deangelo’s Cocky Comedy and Interviews with Dating Gurus Series

A good game resource should do one thing well — it should give you tools that you can easily envision using in the field and will result in immediate positive feedback from women. Deangelo’s cocky/funny banter does just that. (PS: You can find a lot of this stuff for, ahem, considerably less than retail price.)

• Savoy’s Magic Bullets

Savoy used to be in business with Mystery before he broke out on his own and wrote “Magic Bullets”. (Mystery reformulated his company from “Mystery Method” to “Venusian Arts” because of a legal issue surrounding the breaking up of the original pickup companies.) I’ve only glanced through this book, but from what I saw it looks good. Right on point and fluff-free. Lots of solid routines and ready-to-use examples.

• Pickup 101’s Fearless First Impressions, Attraction Secrets, and Art of Rapport DVDs

Lance Mason may not be a game innovator like Mystery, but he puts it together in a very polished product. His “Dress to Impress” style guide and his “Physical Confidence” DVDs are also noteworthy.

• Roosh’s “Bang”

“Bang” gets a prominent place in this list because, quite frankly, I find myself referencing Roosh’s pickup guide more often than the more expensive selections above. It’s a slim volume that you can turn to in a pinch, like just before heading out for the night. The best thing about “Bang” is its accessibility; there are “cool, down to earth” lines in here that you can actually picture yourself saying, even if you are a shy guy.

• Neil Strauss’ “The Game”

This is not so much a reference manual of game tactics as it is a biography of the pickup lifestyle. Important in its own right, but not required reading if all you want are practical tools to begin seducing women. Nevertheless, you should read it if for no other reason than that it brings you into a world of possibility and shows you the lives of a bunch of non-famous dudes successfully bedding hot women using nothing but game technique. Also gives you a glimpse at the unbalanced genius that is Mystery. Inspiring.

• Tony’s Layguide

The progenitor of Mystery and Style? A landmark lay guide. Read it.

• Real Social Dynamics “The Blueprint”

I haven’t read much of Tyler Durden’s stuff (he runs RSD), but I keep hearing from people that his Blueprint series is excellent. So I include it on the top tier list caveat emptor.

My second tier list of game resources:

After reading the above, you may find some value in the following products.

• Stephane Hemon’s Girlfriend Training Program

I’m on his mailing list. Sure, he’s a loopy new-ager, but he’s got some valuable things to say about inner game and the nature of women. Don’t let the chakra stuff put you off. Hemon used to have a Squirting Orgasm video guide, but I think he stopped selling it because of the breakup with the girl featured in the video. Learning to give your girl a squirting orgasm is an underappreciated art. Or you can get lucky and bang blogger chicks who squirt naturally.

• The Real Social Dynamics and Stylelife internet forums

The internet forums are some of the best places to get the latest in game techniques. I’d participate in these forums if I could remember my damned user ID and passwords.

• Badboy ebook and DVDs

Probably the closest PUA to a true natural. Guy walks with a limp from a war injury acquired during the Serbian conflict and bangs hot East Euro babes. One of the few pickup dudes I’d actually like to meet in real life.

• Carlos Xuma and Zan DVDs

Smooth operators. The older gentleman’s pickup resource.

• Robert Cialdini’s book “Influence: The Psychology of Persuasion”

What do sales, politics, business, love, and pickup have in common? Everything.

• Robert Wright’s evospych book “The Moral Animal”

My very first introduction to evolutionary psychology. Eye-opening. Goes to show that a liberal can occasionally put out a worthwhile book.

• Matt Ridley’s evo book “The Red Queen”

The red pill.

***

This isn’t an inclusive list by any means. I tend to weight material that has been out in circulation for a while because, to be honest, I haven’t read much game stuff in the past year. So if anyone has a resource they’d recommend, or a suggestion for material of a recent vintage that might contain improvements on old ways of doing things, feel free to mention it in the comments. We should never stop learning.

Filed under: Game

One time, like a stink bomb dropped in the middle of a spring meadow, your girlfriend called you a rude name, and not in jest. The insult itself was nothing that would scandalize polite company. On the scale from “dummy” to “motherfucker” it was closer to the former. It was a rambunctious conversation between just the two of you and the insult popped out of her reflexively. You know she’s a spark plug, so you’re not surprised when she snaps agitatedly on occasion. Usually, though, she directs her insults to invisible third parties. This time, she spit it at you.

As an alpha male, you let it slide. You know that a highly self-possessed man won’t sweat the small stuff. Reacting indignantly to every petty affront is the domain of the less secure greater beta trying to prove the weight of his cohones. You’ve earned enough love cred to give her a pass without risking diminishment of your authority. But, you do take a mental note of her insult.

As you suspected would happen, (and the reason for your prior mental note-taking), a month later she disrespected you again with the same insult. Except this time she did it to you in front of a group of her friends while out at a social venue. The Rubicunt from minor slight to major infraction had been crossed.

It is a truism of the nature of women that once they have tasted even a droplet of beta blood in a prized lover, they thirst for more. In fact, they will not be satisfied until they have either drained all the manhood out of you, or you have figuratively driven a stake through their vampiric soul. Strangely to men who don’t know better, women don’t relish draining a lover’s soul of his manhood. No, they are compelled by ancient feminine forces beyond their influence to do so. Women would much rather you stay their attacks. She yearns for you to put her in her proper submissive place. She will arch her back, rip her bodice, and present her bitch heart for you to pierce. A man who won’t take up the stake and do as she wishes is in for a world of anguish. (It’s easy to picture a betaboy limply dangling the stake in his flaccid arm, wondering what next to do while mewling for his woman to button up her blouse.)

So there you are, in a mixed group of seven or eight people, most of whom are girl friends of your woman, and in the midst of a chaotic conversation she has just called you that naughty word again. You can discern by her yapping mouth and her animated face that she has hardly recognized the extent of her insolence. No matter. You know what has to be done. You retrieve the mental note you made one month ago, turn to face her directly, firmly wrap your hand around her forearm, and with the steely gaze of a lion targeting a distracted gazelle you inform her in no uncertain terms of your displeasure with her behavior.

“Hey! Don’t use that word on me again, do you understand?”

She looks shocked, and squirms a bit in her seat. The conversation among the group sitting at the table lulls. A wind blows from the West. Sensing escalating danger, or perhaps simply confused, she mutters an inaudible, and notably unapologetic, OK and continues yapping to her friends without missing a beat. You squeeze your grip on her forearm tighter and address her louder than before.

“Hey! I said… don’t use that fucking word with me again…… Got it?”

Now the table has fallen silent. A grim specter has alighted upon the land. Your woman, pressed into a corner by your imposing strength of will, finally succumbs and silences herself.

“Ok, sorry, sorry.”

The next twenty minutes, she is withdrawn, her demeanor chastened and her arms modestly crossed in her lap. You swivel to face the group and smile warmly. Instead of forcing the conversation to return to an artificial crescendo, you remain calm and allow the prior energy level to reformulate on its own. Which it does, almost. Eventually, even your girl has managed to reconstitute herself, although you note with great pride the look of hatred her ugly BFF shoots you.

What do you think happened next?

Let us turn to the lyrics of Alter Ego Neil Diamond for our answer.

Turn on your snatch spigot
let it flow wherever you go
let it make a happy hole
for all the world to see

Turn on your snatch spigot
in the middle of a young boy’s dream
don’t wake me up too soon
gonna take a ride across your poon… you and me

Many men are afraid of confronting their girlfriends or wives for perceived insults. They think, not illogically, that standing up to a lover angrily and putting her in her place means she will despise him more, and her pussy will close up shop. They especially believe this will be the case if they confront and humiliate their women in front of her friends. These men, 80% of the American male population by my estimation, think it’s better to go along to get along. But they are thinking like men, and that is why they fail. Think like a woman and you will quickly apprehend that just the opposite is likely to result — she will respect you more, and her temporary, but much-needed, humiliation that burns her face will soon burn a line of lust straight to her furrow.

This story of course impresses upon the reader whether it is worth dating a woman who periodically requires strong disciplinary action to keep her in love. It’s a fair question, which answer will depend on what kind of man you are. If you are the type of man who enjoys administering punishment and thrills at the prospect of psychologically outwitting your lover, then you may find this kind of woman preferable. If you’re a man who wishes only the company of women so sweetly feminine in their enthrallment to you that they would never even consider challenging your dominance, then you should find a different woman to love. In the final analysis, though, the only relevant point is the wetness of her pussy. Is she tingling for you? Carry on, Christian soldier.

Filed under: Game, Relationships

As I write the House is on the verge of passing a bill that will socialize 1/5th of the US economy. The red swollen teat engorged with milk, the populace, its current protestations to the contrary notwithstanding, will eventually acclimate to the suckling and prove to be impossible to dislodge in the future. The Democrats know this, which is why they are willing to sacrifice near term power in next November’s midterms for long range power over the functioning of greater and greater swaths of American private enterprise.

Count today as the final nail in the coffin of American exceptionalism.

If an alien race ill-disposed to America were to devise a plan to bring the US to her knees as quickly, efficiently, and bloodlessly as possible (so as not to arouse a mighty backlash of patriotic fervor, i.e. survival instinct) they could do no better than what we have done to ourselves over the past 50 years. A plan to drain the nation’s coffers and psyche — not to mention the good will of her allies — with half-cocked schemes to export democracy to shitholes around the world that are constitutionally incapable or unwilling to embrace democracy, coupled with a zeal for importing vast numbers of ethnically (and genetically) antagonistic and listless peasant stock who will vote 2 to 1, generation after generation regardless of the desperate political pandering to staunch it, for socialist politicians and the concomitant racial grievance spoils machine whose gears never stop thirsting for the slick blood of the hated enemy, would break the back of the nation’s people insidiously, cracking each vertebrae in the middle of the night with hairline fractures designed to avoid sudden jolts of pain. Numb any immunological reaction with the soul poison of feminism, enervating porn pills, mollifying technogadget distractions, and a PC shaming mechanism psyche-out that would make Orwell blush, and you have a perfect recipe for destroying a world-bestriding superpower in less than half a century without firing a single shot.

I don’t believe the Americans In Name Only who bought into this plan are stupid. No. It’s much worse than that. They are venal.

I am wishing for the day to come when the traitors swing from the lamp posts. Swing high sweet Benedicts.

Friedman, liberdroids, NYBTimes, RINOs, SWPLs, and the rest of you goddamned filthy fucks… never forget:

Proximity + diversity = war.

So it is written in the blood of humanity, then, now and forevermore.

Amen.

Afterthought. Since I’m in a magnanimous mood today, I will impart my tremendous wisdom to those who still harbor dark thoughts of saving their country from the clutches of obsolescence or, worse, civil war II. Here it is:

Take a page from the pickup artist’s manual. Stop playing by the enemy’s rules. Reframe, reframe, reframe.

Examples upon request.

Filed under: Current Events, Goodbye America

Funny. A commenter included a link to my blog in the first or second comment to this Slate article about omega males, and Slate deleted it.

“In the end, the truth always wins out – one way or the other.”
– Me

Filed under: Tool Time

Pretty much what I expected from a guy like Woods. Standard issue porn jive, uncreative squirts of stilted teenboy wordpimping, over the top dominance displays suggesting his swedie wife was a harridan at home, sucking him soulless with the strong arm of the law on her side. Tiger is a good example of how a man distills into an absolute cock-centered essence once he has achieved stratospheric levels of fame and power. A man of such station is free to treat women exactly as most men would treat them given the same endless opportunity — as disembodied holes packaged in fleshwrap to slap, smack, and summon until the desired vigor of tumescence was reached. The only shock allowed here should be how much women love it.

Tiger is a case study of what happens to a myopic, socially undiscerning man who acquires too much alpha too quickly. Soaking in their power, they forget that discretion, and long term planning, are the order of the day. Woods failed the famous person’s Jumbotron test, the harem management test, and, most critically, the marriage test.

Besides the cautionary tale, men can learn a thing or two from Tiger’s texts. One, note that, although lewdly banal, Tiger’s texts do occasionally veer into beta territory. A glimpse here and there of sucking up to his whores’ needs for a sign of long term commitment, and then lashing out wildly when things didn’t go his way or when one of his hos misbehaved, should tell you that Tiger had no idea how to properly control his stable of regulars. He was always perched on the precipice. Perhaps this is why they betrayed him with opportunistic zeal, whereas a guy like George Clooney, who presumably knows more about the nature of women, fucks around with impunity, confident that his women would keep their secret.

Two, men can improve their texting success with women by aping a lot of what Tiger did with his women. It’s easy for TMZ commenters to make fun of Tiger’s crass descriptions of buttsecks and his penchant for playing International Autistic Spy when he leaves detailed rendezvous instructions to his mistresses, but the fact is that sort of blatantly sex-drenched text talk and role playing is exactly what turns women on. You don’t need Woods’ fame or money to take advantage of this attraction trigger in women. Just remember not to break out the dirty talk until after you’ve said hello.

Filed under: Alpha, Current Events

If people are going to accuse you of misogyny, may as well enjoy the egotistic benefits of being a truth-telling misogynist.

***

Men move the discussion forward. Women swap recipes and beauty tips.

Men debate. Women wheedle.

Men confront. Women slander.

Men act. Women plot.

Men invent. Women benefit.

Men are passionate. Women are passion parasites.

Men cheat. Women betray.

Men withdraw. Women shit test.

Men kill. Women play let’s you and him fight.

Men are emotionally distant. Women are emotionally manipulative.

Men’s Achilles’ heel is pride. Women’s Achilles’ heel is vanity.

Men die younger. Women live slower.

Men think loftily. Women think grubbily.

Men are expendable. Women are perishable.

Men humiliate. Women shame.

Men bluster. Women preen.

Men break barriers. Women co-opt broken barriers.

Men design. Women utilize.

Men self-serve. Women self-delude.

Men fuck. Women barter.

Men are funny. Women are melodramatic.

Men look at the sun. Women look in the mirror.

Men sexualize. Women characterize.

Men eat. Women indulge.

Men aspire. Women inspire.

Men love freely. Women love desperately.

***

This post is bitch bait. It’s been booby-trapped. We’ll see who trips it.

Filed under: Ugly Truths

A very effective game technique that works on all kinds of girls, from lawyers to strippers, is the beta switch. This involves pretending to act like a romantic, sappy beta, then when she’s on the verge of confusion, disappointment and disgust, switching quickly back into alpha mode. The beta switch technique is best when used on girls you’ve just started dating, as a means to solidify attraction, but it can also be used as part of relationship game to keep the embers warm.

I’ll give you a couple of examples of beta switch game that I have used successfully on girls. In one, usually on the second date, I pretend I’m about to give a girl a romantic gift of great value.

SINISTER R: You know, GIRL 155, I’m having an amazing time with you.

GIRL 155: Aw, me too.

SINISTER R: I’ve been thinking about how great this is, and well, I really feel we are good together.

GIRL 155: Um…

SINISTER R: And I wanted to show how much you mean to me… [reaching slowly and dramatically into front pocket]… So I got you this. [Pulling hand slowly out of pocket] I hope you like it. It comes from the heart.

GIRL 155: [Beads of sweat now forming on her brow] Um, yeah, you know, that’s really not necessary…

SINISTER R: [Pulling out a small leaf I broke off from a bush] Here you go. Don’t worry, it isn’t as expensive as it looks. [smirk]

GIRL 155: Oh, WOW, phew! haha, ok, funny. [Kiss kiss kiss penetrate penetrate penetrate]

***

Here is another example of beta switch game. This one I use just before things start to heat up and deal closing is around the corner.

SEXUAL HEALING R: [Very serious face] Girl 156…

GIRL 156: Yes?

SEXUAL HEALING R: [Tenderly taking her hands in mine, looking at her intensely, then glancing down, and looking back up at her] I think about you a lot…

GIRL 156: [Smiling nervously] Uuumm… ok. Don’t think too much! [Nervous laughter]

SEXUAL HEALING R: …about what you’d be like in bed.

GIRL 156: [Open eyed surprise] Wow, that’s kind of hot.

***

Beta switch game technique works like clambusters because it arouses so many contradictory emotions in a girl. You are dragging her across an emotional landscape of curiosity, impending doom, relief, and lust. This rapid drama-inducing whirlwind will pry apart the iciest pussies. The secret ingredient to beta switch game is the mix of unspoken disappointment that accompanies her sexual arousal after she discovers your romantic beta ruse was just a goofy ploy. Although girls get turned off by excessive displays of sappy betatude, a part of them relishes the idea of a man falling under their spell and surrendering his composure in a fit of romantic gushing. By stealing that satisfaction from a girl at the last second, you redirect her intensifying feelings back where you want them — to her crotch. Beta switch game also has a long term benefit; in the future, when you do drop a little genuine romance on her, she will appreciate it a lot more. Which brings me to…

CR Maxim #66: Half the battle of game is stripping a woman of her inborn self-entitlement complex.

If any of you watch “The Office”, you’ll know that Jim ran beta switch game on Pam when he pretended to drop to one knee to propose to her, only to tie his shoelace. Beta switch game is an absolute pussy luber.

Filed under: Game

I recently received an email from an early 20s girl who just moved to a big city and wanted advice on how to avoid becoming a bitter, cock hopping lawyer chick in pursuit of the elusive commitment-oriented alpha boyfriend. Like most women, she is interested in marriage and kids with a man who also tingles her tangle, and has decided that waiting until her 30s after years climbing the corporate and grad school ladder would be a grave mistake. Smart girl. She requested I don’t post the email, so I will only post my reply to her.

Roissy,

I just recently discovered your blog, and while your theory of women is hardly flattering, my own experience has proved it to be 99.9% true. However, after browsing through your archives I found that you occasionally give advice to wayward womanly souls. I understand the mailbag is very full these days, but I hope you’ll take a moment to read this and offer your complete and unvarnished opinion.

[REDACTED]

“What can I do to make myself a more attractive candidate for a wife?”

My answer:

[Note: The girl attached photos of herself. She’s a 6, maybe 6.5. There is raw material to work with. Since 99% of girl game is looks + youth, the advice you read me giving her here is for that last thin reed of 1% of attractiveness measures that are within a woman’s control to change. An improvement in that 1% won’t allow a woman to move up from a beta to an alpha, but it could mean dating up from a 5.5 to a 5.6, or between getting unceremoniously pumped and dumped and squeezing out four months of relationship bliss. In the zero-sum soul crucible of the sexual market, a tiny upgrade from a 5.5 man to a 5.6 man might mean the difference between divorce and a white picket fence.]

Ok, this is a question that just can’t be answered succinctly in the quippy way I like to answer reader emails.  But based on what you wrote in your email I can give you a few pointers.

First, you sound like a pleasant girl, but then most girls who move to the big city start off pleasant only to be ground up by years running the dating circuit. This isn’t the suburbs. A lot of men here will pump and dump you, and from what you told me it sounds like you would be easy prey for pump and dumpers. I’m not going to tell you to suck it up and date men who don’t turn you on. That would be like me telling a man to get past a fat chick’s face and do her in the folds for the good of society. But you do need to have a solid perspective on what you can reasonably snag for the long term. So let’s start with the positives.

• You’re young. This is by far the biggest asset you have now. Leverage it to the hilt. A 21 year old 6 can compete with a 32 year old 7.5.
• You’re aware of reality. Don’t underestimate this. When you witness the wreckage of lawyer chicks’ lives piling up around you, your firm grasp of reality will help you avoid endless pain and hallucinations that your cat is a human baby.

Now the negatives.

• You moved to a big city. Yes, the city is exciting, and the opportunities are great. But you will be continually tempted by alpha swagger and charm to drop your panties, only to feel the burn of disengagement after a few months, weeks, nights. Now you may get lucky and a true alpha will fall in love with you and want marriage and babies, but the odds are not in your favor.
• You dress frumpy. Spice it up a little. You don’t have to ho out, but you should dress sexier. This is the big leagues now.

As for advice, here’s a quickie checklist:

Coy is good, but don’t be a cocktease. A greater beta, (if all things go in your favor, the best I believe you can shoot for), will quickly tire of you if your goodies aren’t parceled out on a fairly brisk timetable. So pace your makeouts. Aim for closing the deal around date #5 or 6. Any earlier than that and your dreamboat may decide you were under his maximum potential since you gave it up without much work on his part. Any later than that and he may decide you are too much work for the deal you are giving him.

Be shy. Men, especially alphas, love shy women. (Betas, because of low self confidence, tend to misinterpret female shyness as disinterest.) There is probably an evolutionary reason for this. Perhaps a shy woman subcommunicates that she will be less likely to cheat in a relationship. Smile and look down at your feet when he approaches you. Learn to blush on demand. Or apply makeup so it always looks like you’re blushing. Since you have very pale skin, this shouldn’t be too hard to do.

Play a little hard to get. Did you eye flirt with him and sweep a lock of hair behind your ear when he entered the office? Good. Now, when he approaches to say hi you smile warmly, issue a couple of pleasantries, and BE THE FIRST to walk away from the conversation, telling him you need to get back to work. You’ve gotta give the man some running room to chase down his prey. It’s in our blood.

Shy != retiring. In your high-powered career field filled with ambitious douchebags greater beta males you are likely to meet men who enjoy a bit of snappy badinage with a smart chick. If you discuss weighty topics, and feel a need to express disagreement, do so in a way that displays your sharpness but also strokes his ego. Always preface your disagreement by saying “I can see your point…”. Let him win 90% of the time, even when you are right. On those disagreements where you allow yourself to win, be sure they are inconsequential points that will not offend his pride of phallus.

DON’T come onto high value men. Yeah, you might get fucked, but you won’t get loved. Notice I said “high value” men. If you are attracted to a lower value man you may find it advantageous to drop a hint or two. Betas have a hard time screwing up the courage to approach a woman giving no signals at all.

DON’T give blowjobs before you have had sex with him. An early, pre-sex blowjob says one thing to a man — slut. And sluts don’t impress men as marriage prospects.

DON’T try to meet men while hanging out with a bachelorette party. Instead, hang your head in shame and tell any man who asks that you were bribed to go along. He will then be curious about you.

DON’T talk about sex, unless you want him to fuck you that night.

DON’T date a man better looking than what you can reasonably expect to get if you want to have any chance of impressing him in bed.

Date older men. Since you are not a heart-bursting hottie (don’t be depressed, most women aren’t), younger men are more likely to use you as a dry spell ender or entertaining diversion instead of a long term girlfriend with wifey potential. Older men are psychologically primed to settle down and commit. This generational male dynamic is especially pronounced in the big city.

Lacy lingerie. Wear it, live it, love it.

And finally, the three most important girl game tips I can give:

1. Don’t get fat.
2. Don’t be a single mom.
3. Learn to settle.

Best,

R.

Filed under: Game, Girls, Reader Mailbag