Real World Evidence American Women Are Mercenary/Prefer Alpha Jerks [Exposé]

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The other evening, I was driving to the east side of Cleveland to shop at the only Whole Foods in the area and my sister tags along. On the way, her cellphone rings, and as always, she places the call on ‘speaker’, which she has the bad habit of doing; on more than one occasion I’ve called her to tell her something of a personal/private nature to find out halfway through the conversation that her skank friends, or my parents are hearing the whole thing.

So she answers her phone, and its her friend ‘Angela’ [name changed to protect the identity of this short, fat party skank], who I know well. She works a dead end job within the city municipal government, has no kids, was married for two years to a beta nice guy who she cheated on before divorcing him, is a notorious sloppy drunk, loves weed [her only redeeming quality] and is always broke and looking to borrow money from her friends. After exchanging greetings, they quickly fall into a stream-of-consciousness dialogue, punctuated by “oh my god” and “for real?”. I smirk as I listen to the hen house chatter, as I can hear the entire conversation thanks to my sister’s habit of placing calls on speaker.

After some idle chit chat between the two, Angela starts to huff and puff about her ‘on again…off again’ fuck buddy who has once again stood her up, and how angry she is, especially since she went through the trouble of putting on “this hot new dress that really shows off my tits”. My sister piles on her own two cents, her eyes glazed over, vicariously enraptured with her friends drama; drama is crack for women.

So this goes on for a few minutes until Angela says “but its all good…Bob is going to take me out to dinner tonight”. My sister and Angela break out in hysterical, synchronized giggling, which caused this weird stereo effect as the cackling simultaneously emanated from my sister and her phone. My sister congratulates her and gives her the affirmation “you go girl” before saying goodbye and hanging up.

Curious, I asked my sister about the guy who stood her friend up, and she tells me he’s been in and out of jail for petty shit, is a wigger, is downright mean to Angela, and has a spotty employment record at best [which I suspect means he uses Angela for money]. Then I asked about ‘Bob’, the backup guy who was going to take her out for dinner in the Wigger’s stead; my sister lights up and in a condescending tone says “Oh Bob is an old friend of her’s…they’ve known each other for five years…he’s a really nice guy…”. Already understanding the situation, but wanting to hear it from my sister I ask her “Does Bob know she’s fucking this other guy? Is she also fucking Bob?” My sister becomes dead serious and says “No and No, but Bob doesn’t mind…he’s been in love with Angela for years and he’ll do anything for her!” A chill went down my spine…its not everyday one comes face to face with evil…

So what can we learn from this my comrades, my brothers-in-arms? If you want girls to have the Screaming Thigh Sweats for you, be a fucking asshole; they will literally be calling their girlfriends to bitch about you, and at the same time their and their girlfriends vay-jay-jays will be dripping wet. Don’t be ‘Bob’, the beta chump who invests time and money for years in the hopes she will tire of the Alphas and finally give them a mercy fuck, or worse, marry him, have a few kids with him, then divorce him, take his house and kids away from him, to finally end up on Plenty of [Fat] Fish with a profile stating how much she loves walks on the beach and how much of an old fashioned gal she is….

This is no new news for us Red Pill guys, but to be privy to an actual conversation [like a fly-on-the-wall] between two broads regarding men and how they manipulate us, use us, is exciting in the scientific sense; it transforms theory into fact. Its like finding the Higgs-Boson or some other theoretical fundamental particle you have always suspected but only had circumstantial evidence for.

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My Bromance With Hank Moody

A few months ago, I watched the Showtime series Californication for the first time, even though it first aired a few years ago (2007?), about a fictional novelist named Hank Moody and his trials and tribulations, his quest to win back his Baby Mama and their teenage daughter. I first heard about the show on a Youtube video regarding Alpha behavior as depicted in TV and the movies, so I was intrigued. I was hooked immediately. There, on TV, was a fantastical depiction of my life and relationship with the Mamacita, minus the Porche, accidental sex with a minor, and the warm balmy weather of Southern California, but including a lot of drinking, pot smoking, threesomes and my fair share of self loathing.

You see, I have my own Karen (Hank’s Ex and Baby Mama) and my own Becca (daughter), and like Hank, I had my family “stolen” by a Beta Chump with more money than me, who made promises of marriage and a large brand new house, things I scoffed at. And like Hank, I won her back and rescued my Baby Mama from a boring and disenchanted life on Wisteria Lane, to have our relationship fall apart once again, followed by several temporary reconciliations. My Karen even looks like the fictional Karen, and my relationship with my daughter closely mirrors the closeness between Hank and Becca.  I watched every episode of the first three seasons several times, reveling in every lay Hanks achieves, and bumming out over every misunderstanding, mishap and scapegoating our hero has to endure. I was addicted in the same way a crackhead enjoys the euphoria of the hit and the pain of withdrawal as the euphoria morphs into disillusionment and despair. I was in awe with the fact the show depicted just about every argument, interaction and discussion I ever had with my Karen. I turned my ex onto the show, and she became hooked too, having closely identified with her TV counterpart.

It dawned on me that I was reliving my last ten years over and over again, which is something I had vowed to no longer do because if your obssessed with the past, you can’t enjoy the present or plan for the future. I also realized, for all of Hank Moody’s alpha-tude with getting hot skanks in the sack, he was also a chump who placed his ex on a pedestal and absolved her of all accountability, permitting himself to be blamed and scapegoated for every mishap. Hank, I love you man. Thank you for reminding me how to be cool and pick up chicks, but your White Knighting is lame and we can no longer be friends…