Steve Jobs died today. I am deeply saddened by this. To me Jobs was the modern-day incarnation of the Howard Roark archetype. Please read a little about him and the history of Apple and you will see a supremely talented, fearless man who had a deep personal vision and had no quarter for anything else. It was inspiring to see a company run mercilessly according to the vision of one genius, rather than a swarm of moochers passing second-hand ideas around (e.g. Microsoft). When you bought an Apple product you know that Jobs himself had had an intimate involvement with every aspect of it.
Now illness has struck Jobs down. Will his successor be another Howard Roark? Probably not. But there are more Howard Roarks out there. If you’re reading this Howard; you are right: stick to your guns.
Contrary to the belief of some fools Apple products are not themselves “Beta”, they just happen to be popular with Betas. The exception is iPads, which definitely are Beta.
On a lighter note..
I was reading Big-Toes blog and saw he was watching a Paul Newman movie. This got me thinking I should land-grab the topic of “Best Game Movies” and start a list.
If you’ve got suggestions, whack them in the comments and I’ll add them to my new exciting page devoted to this list.
I want movies with REAL men in them. Classic masculine figures from the golden age of cinema. Men that the vile filth in Hollywood dare not portray, or even conceive of anymore. Male figures of quiet strength, resiliance, honour, resourcefulness and kindness. Sheesh… can anyone remember what real men are like?
- No bullies. No men concerned with how ‘hard’ they are (like 90% of men in the North East btw). Real men don’t wander round thinking about this all day, building shells of muscle and tattoos around themselves.
- No one-dimensional men. Remember the old cowboy movies you used to watch on a Saturday afternoon at your nans? How there was always a few scenes where the hard-as-granite hero sat by the campfire telling a moving story. Real men are sensitive. Yet can still blow Lightning’s (his faithful horse raised from a foal) brains out with his Peacemaker lest the Commanche get him.
- And we want Game. These men know how to deal with women. They’re not afraid of them. They’re intelligent. They’re smart. They know how to manipulate women.
I remember Roissy I think it was, had a clip of an old black and white movie on with a snapshot of game. It blew me away. The intensity of dialogue. The STRENGTH of the male character. It was like an aura projecting from him. I’ve never seen men like that in modern movies and it’s my loss.
I’ve been thinking for a while now on two conclusions:
a) old movies are loads better than modern ones
b) a steady diet of old game movies will provide nourishment and some kind of brain-programming stimulus for the Alpha within us.
So the clockwork is broken. The system is running backwards. The pigs are running the farm. Heart surgeons are watering weeds with orange juice. Women feed their babies till they die then push geese round in prams all day. The sky is now called the ground and vica versa. Nobody does any work yet Head Pig tells us all is well.
Ayn Rand described all of this decades ago in her omni-prescient masterpiece “Atlas Shrugged”. Let us ask “Who is feeling the pinch?”. Who is getting screwed? The answer is that our current system is more like an inverted pyramid; layer and layer of crawing, screaming, lying, cheating fools and jesters piled ontop of each other and right at the very bottom, the very bottom, is a small number of people pressed down in the filth carrying the whole lot on their backs.
The ordinary families who don’t have the time or money to raise their kids anymore. The mothers who can’t stay at home and raise their children anymore. The middle class families who can’t afford to have children anymore. And men. Lots and lots of white, middle class men who are the very backbone of a modern civilized society. They toil away with zero respect and the system takes the fruits of their labour from them.
At what point does it all start to go wrong?
Let’s take a look at Norway! The other day some guy capped 68 people in a joint bombing and shooting “outrage”. Why did he do this? Well I’ve downloaded his 1,500 page manifesto and look forward to reading it but I suspect his views are very similar to my own and a vast amount of the Manosphere.
He lives in a country in the advanced stages of socialism and feminism. Cultural Marxism has long ago eroded the ties that bind people together and rampant immigration is destroying ages-old cultures. Men, despite doing virtually all of the work which generates a civilized society are stripped of their pride and role by rampant feminism. The lazy liberal leftist press allows no discourse other than within the bounds they set. Opinions outside of this are shamed and disallowed. At some point he feels he has no other option to make his case heard than by violence.
On an individual level I feel horror at what Anders Behring Breivik did to all of those families by killing their children. On a collective level I see it as collateral damage. If a hundred thousand people worldwide read his manifesto and at least a few hundred see the truth and WAKE UP then this a step towards rescuing society and the deaths will be repaid tenfold. How many people have already died through the ages in Norway to make it what it is now? How many Norwegian females pass their reproductive peak childless, their never-conceived children murdered by feminist lies? The only good feminist-socialist is a dead one.
My prediction is that the UK is on an express train to hell. The increasing idiocy of the way our society is run is exponential as more ways to tamper with systems are put in place to try and correct faults caused by previous tamperings. As our ability to produce genuine wealth rapidly dries up the few wealth producers are bled harder and harder. A lot of them start to simply give up and withdraw their labour. A lot of them leave and emigrate. In further folly the government throws the doors wide open to allow free for all immigration, desperate to keep receiving tax revenue. Finally our level of wealth equalizes with the countries that immigrants come from, the difference being in those countries you are allowed to become rich. Immigrants return home. Britain suffers a quiet revolution.
Or something like that. I see this happening in front of my eyes but does it bother me? It used to. Now I just laugh. I think the British deserve it. I have zero intention of blowing anyone up to “make a case”. No way siree. I intend to live a rich, fruitful, productive and enjoyable life. I’ll simply leave. However I’ll be sure to visit regularly in twenty years time to gloatingly observe the chaos that I predicted.
Or maybe it won’t happen. Maybe men will finally wake up before that point. What will be the signs of the sleeping dragon awakening? Look out in the papers for signs of “unusual” increases in violence towards women or immigrants. Increases in rapes. Increases in prosecutions for “causing racial hatred”. Men dropping out of the mating game and self-bonding with male only activities. Women finding doors slamming in their faces. Random white middle class loners snapping and committing atrocities. Respectable, middle class office workers snapping during lunch one day in spitting in the face of their female colleagues.
It’ll be sweet. Oh so sweet. Let me lick your tears.
I met a female Chinese student the other day for “language practice”. I do want to keep up my Mandarin but admittedly if the girl that turned up happened to be hot I would have nothing against attempting to bang her.
She wasn’t. They mainly aren’t: Asian students in the UK are generally geeky. But what was interesting to see the apocalyptic effect of a noticeable value gap. It was expected. It often happens in these situations.
Clear English: +Value!
Bbetter looking than her: +Value!
We talked and walked for twenty or so minutes. Everything she asked led to drive-by DHVs:
Do you work?
>I care for my sick dad but am starting an IT company with friends
How come you speak Chinese?
>My company sent me to China to work
Did you get the Metro here?
>No I drove
It’s grotesque. After half an hour this girl thinks I’m Godlike.
You are so…. So strong. You are… a “bi niu” … a super cool person… a leader person… everyone love you… You are so intelligent… your brain is so clever… your Chinese is like a native person…
And on and on with this sycophantic blather. I don’t see eye-spazzing, drooling sexual attraction like a Western girl would feel with so much value pumping in her veins. Young, inexperienced Chinese girls are resevoirs of untapped sexual fury but it’s all behind concrete and they don’t know what to do with it. She stared at me a lot, gabbled to talk over me and endlessly tried to qualify.
It was nice for a little while but as I ultimately am not turned on by the girl I found it all a bit pointless and uncomfortable. If I meet her again I’ll try and knock it on the head and get on with some grammar. The interesting thing is seeing the effect of value on a girl. It’s dramatic. I’m toying with a theory now that value is to women what looks are to men. It’s the first bridge. Looks aren’t everything with women but for a man with options the raw sexual attraction/quality of looks has to be there. Once it’s there it’s banked and the rest is down to personality. Is value the first bridge for women? Are they genetically programmed to hunt for the biggest value gap between themselves and a man possible?
Here’s another pop-sociology explanation for one of the many fucked up things going on in the modern dating (or lack of) game:
- Women need a value gap.
- Give women money and jobs and status (even artificially) and there’s no value gap between them and men.
- Cue miserable, single women all chasing Alphas because Joe Bloggs doesn’t get them past Bridge #1 like their dad (the schoolteacher) did for their mum (the shop assistant).
- You can’t change this because people’s behaviour is in their genes.
- Until these women (and high value men) all die out of course!
I’ve been having a think why this little Chinese girl found me so high value and I now agree. I AM high value. If I list my acheivements and capabilities it’s awesome; I think I can do great things. It’s easy to forget this. I kind of think that society makes you forget this. I feel that we live in a society where people are constantly, subtly encouraged to view their own value as lower. I think the British are steeped in it. Part jealousy. Part socialism. Part humility. Part anti-male social engineering. There’s a constant pressure to feel like you are less, not more.
Recognizing this and fighting against it is one thing, actually getting the respect you deserve is another. Forget it. It ain’t gonna happen. It’s going to take me many, many blog posts over a long period of time to fully illustrate The Grand Design, the great Conspiracy of Doom in which we’re living, but for now I’ll just randomly blurt out sentences and be too lazy to join them up:
- Tinker with systems and they go wrong. Loosen a spring here, tighten a spring there, and soon you have a piece of clockwork in an exponential downwards curve of things going wrong. Knock on effects you don’t even imagine start to happen. Software developers see this every day.
- Things which you tinker with less work better. They are natural. They are fair. They self-regulate.
- Self-regulate. That’s important.
- Society. People. Men and women living together. Getting along.
- Fiddle a little with gender politics. Pass some laws.
- Fail to control that which must be controlled. (someone let the chimps out)
- Things start to go wrong. Fiddle some more. More things go wrong.
- Marketing. Advertising. Television. Shaping people’s thoughts and ideas.
- Wind forward a few decades.
A system which is a mish mash of glue, string and chewing gum. A clockwork mechanism with extra cogs, flywheels, springs and levers welded onto it, spilling out from the inside. Parts of it broken. Parts moving too fast. The hands on the clockface spinning round faster than the eye can see.
Gender relations, economics, money and society are all broken. I think a lot more than economics can be explained by the study of economics.
Let’s go back to value. The value system is broken. Utterly broken. If you have value (by my standards) your chances of having the average woman perceive and appreciate this value as she would naturally (in a non-broken system) are very small indeed.
- Become a nihilist Alpha (e.g. Roissy) and just fuck while Rome burns.
- Anestheize yourself with TV, food and work and reproduce with a bossy woman (i.e. Herb).
There’s many places in the world which have had their dalliance with socialism long ago and are more patriarchal and free market.
They’re all in Asia. See you soon DrunkenBaker.
I posted a while back wondering what had happened to Assanova. His blog had disappeared. I thought Assanova was a good writer and liked to read his stuff, but it seemed with time he with increasing regularity would return to his favourite meme: that looks are all important in game and oh, if he hasn’t happened to mention it already he is lucky as he is SUPER SUPER good looking and that’s the reason he’s a success with women. In fact, most men should just focus all their energies on their looks and fashion and not their corny openers. And make sure they’re the most attractive guy in the bar. By magic.
Krauser wondered if perhaps he just simply got too good looking for the internet, and his blog kind of evaporated off the servers. Perhaps God took him to heaven to make him an angel?
Obviously not as he’s back! And this time with a special domain name for SUPER hot men:
Men who have been “made right”. In fact the byline tells us this is:
Game For Attractive Men
Fuck! I’d better not read it then. Will this not work for me? Exactly how attractive do I have to be to qualify?
I’m conflicted with Assanova. Sarcasm aside on one hand I do think he writes extremely well and has a lot of no-nonsense advice. His ebooks were good and I’d recommend them to anyone. He doesn’t sell them anymore though, which is a bit odd. Not the typical Game advice by any measure, just lots of sensible advice on topics most guys miss as they’re obsessing about routines and openers. A lot of it is ‘logistics’ and common sense. On the other hand Assanova seems to have lost the plot like a black-Zoolander and more and more just obsesses with his favourite message: game doesn’t work, looks matter most.
And here I think he is utterly wrong. Utterly. He’s maybe super, super good looking and had women chat him up and not had to work for it. Super-good looking guys don’t. And they think Game doesn’t work? This is utter, utter horse-shit of the highest level. He is absolutely and totally wrong here and I think his super-good looks have blinded him.
Let me clarify. Ugly spods with Game Workshop t-shirts on do not walk into bars and pull 9′s with the power of game. That’s what people think after reading “The Game” and it’s not realistic.
However Game can radically change how a man potrays himself to others. Game can give him a set of basic social skills so that he ceases to fall at the first hurdle like he’s been doing his whole life. Game can give him a community from which he can find a wingman and provide a framework for systematically approaching women. It provides an algorithm to solve the problem. I have seen guys on a bootcamp literally after a few hours of lectures and some one-to-one EXPONENTIALLY improve their chances with women. Before my own eyes I’ve seen the radical changes in how women perceive them. I’ve done it myself.
Behaviour is to women as looks is to men. Within reason. And with some exceptions.
I was at Salsa on Friday and noticed an unusual increase in the number of attendees and the number of young, hot, fuckable women. One look around them told me they weren’t British:
- No awful clothes. Not much flesh on display.
- No pads of fat hanging down over the elbows from the triceps.
- No orange legs with those fuck-awful Roman legionnaire style sandals. No muffin tops.
- Not drunk.
- At something character building and social (Salsa) on a Friday night rather than in bar whoring themselves for validation.
- Can smile, look you in the eye and hold a conversation.
One or two had dusky meditteranean men with them who had a distinct air of panic and jealous protectivity about them. Could their brains be doing a quick mental sum:
“I am in The Land of the Fat. My girlfriend is hot and thin…… Shit! She mine!”
I did some inquiring. It’s Summer School! Turns out the local universities have all started their “pre-sessional” English courses which last 3 months over the summer. Walking in town the next day I notice a drastic increase in the number of totty, even spotting some sweetly rapable Japanese girls carrying stacks of clothes taller than themselves in Primark.
YES!!! YES YES YES!!
Foreign totty has been imported! Hallelujah! Are we going to see “Daygame Newcastle”? Is it possible? I’m damn well going to try. And obviously 100% foreign. Young, fun, fit, friendly foreign girls… come over here to study the Engrish. Wouldn’t it be nice to have a rittle summer fling with a true English gentlemen? We can but try.
I was in Newcastle shopping yesterday. The sun was shining. I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror while going up the elevator in Primark and I thought my tricep looked quite defined and my gynaecomastia was nice and rounded, almost masquerading as pec. I was in a good mood. I was ambling through the shop and while browsing the three pound T-shirts (thank goodness for poverty stricken Bangladeshi children) I saw/heard a girl blabbering on her mobile phone in what sounded to me as Russian.
Here’s where I slipped up. Instead of getting my game face on, psyching myself up and getting in state I simply asked her “Excuse me… (charming smile, she smiles back)… what language was that you were speaking?”. This has to be the worst daygame approach ever. For a start I wasn’t taking the thing seriously. I hadn’t wandered the street on my own for at least half an hour before, getting into that crucial mindset of making the activity a chore and one which my forebrain was going to brutally force my hindbrain into doing. I didn’t have a little Moleskine notebook with me to note down the time and details of the set. Hell…. I didn’t even have a PUA man-bag!
Her: No, no…. it’s Lithuanian
Me: Oh I’m so sorry…. I can’t tell the difference.
Her: No, no it’s ok.. my English… it’s not so good… either [spot the instant qualification... mmm what could trigger such low value? answers below]
I chat to this girl for five minutes. Lazily. Leaning on the clothes rail. I feel entitled. Primark is my kingdom.
It’s only a good five minutes in that I finally realize… I’M IN SET!! THIS COUNTS AS DAYGAME!
By then of course it’s too late. No chance to run my Panda-Stack routine, or to slip some retrospective negs in (“I forgot to tell you… you look a bit shit…no… I mean your clothes look shit… no I mean weird. Hang on… weird but cool… That’s it, I remember, you’re clothes are cool but weird).
I’ve accidentally DHV’ed myself many times by now. It’s not hard. Turns out this poor girl has come from Lithuania in search of employment and lives in a small coastal town in the North East and works in a seafood factory. Sounds awful. She mentions that she wants to do this to earn a better future for her son.
At this point I scream and slam both feet down on the brake pedal. Not only have I realized I’m accidentally in set but with a single mother. The EASIEST, LEAST ENTITLED AND MOST MAN-HUNGRY of all women. All I need to do here to close this girl is literally do anything which gives her the crumb of esteem that I don’t think she’s desperate.
I frantically carry out an emergency Fuckability rating on this girl to see if she can at least get into the Sea-Cow/Mud-Turtle category. This could end my dry spell!
The sad truth dawns on me. This girl is not even hot enough for a pump and dump. I ask myself honestly and genuinely “would you rather fuck this girl or have a night in”. I don’t want to fuck her.
Curse my ridiculous standards. She wasn’t fat. She wasn’t… hideous… She just wasn’t…above a 6.5. Honestly… I’d just rather not. Unlike a lot of other men I just don’t seem to have the ability to fuck mud-turtles. I just DON”T WANT TO. I’ve thought a bit more about my standards and the gap between “too gross to fuck” and “would marry assuming personality is rocket-fuel” is incredible small. 0.5 points on the scale! Yes! 0.5 points. Let’s quickly go over the Jambone scale:
5: ugly. friends openly ask you “why?”
6: you’re quietly embarassed by her lack of looks. friends would never mention it but it would hang uncomfortably in the air.
7: acceptable. no shame. no pride. most men date and marry 7′s.
8: her beauty preceeds you. it’s mentionable in conversation e.g. “have you seen Bhodi’s girlfriend? wow”.
I believe that I would rather fuck no-one than fuck anything beneath a 6.5. I just don’t think I’m capable. I’m not sure my hindbrain could even give me enough juice to get a proper boner. I’d marry a 7. So total gap equals 0.5 points. This seems odd.
I bid the girl farewell. Sorry I mean “eject”. It’s only later when I accidentally slip out my game focus again that I realise she was actually quite nice, and I felt sorry for her with her shitty job and boring life, and I could have at least Facebooked her and been platonic friends and showed her and her son round Newcastle a bit one day (and if you really must see the gain in it then of course she may have hot friends). I take a quick look to see if I can spot her but she’s gone.