Category Archives: PUA
So at this point you presumably all know about James Franco’s less-than-successful attempt to text his way into the pants of a 17-year old fan — which, if it wasn’t just a publicity stunt for his latest movie, which happens to be about a creepy teacher preying on a student, was pretty creepy for real.
You might have been struck by the, er, bluntness his approach, which could be summarized as the “I’m James Franco, are you technically of legal age in New York State, can I get you alone in a room with me right now, no I’m really James Franco, really” technique.
But what you haven’t seen yet is an analysis of Mr. Franco’s TEXT GAME by a recognized expert in the field. And by expert I mean our new friend Christian McQueen, the Alpha Playboy with the Obviously Fake Name.
Mr. McQueen asks the timeless question: Was Mr. Franco’s TEXT GAME desperate or just direct?
To some it may seem like he’s being ‘thirsty’, but is he really? Or his text game actually the type of game that high value men use?
After going line for line through Mr. Franco’s conversational gambits with the wary teenager — which, you may recall, not only failed to convince her to come to his room but also created a bit of an embarrassing scandal for him — McQueen concludes that Franco’s game was …. “solid.”
You see, when you’re James Franco, you can just go ahead and behave like some dude straight out of the CreepyPM subreddit, because you have “so many options, that [you] can go Ultra-Direct in [your] text game and many players who are on a great level utilize this.”
Don’t bother with small talk. Don’t bother with charm. All you need to do is state your famous name, determine if she is of legal age in the state you are in (and she was, in New York), and then proceed to work out the logisitics. And BAM, you’re in like Flynn. (Though one imagines that the real Erroll Flynn actually tried to work some personal charm into his approach with women.)
McQueen sums it up for us mere mortals:
[H]is ’game’ was not ‘thirsty’, but simply Direct. While not great, it was solid.
He is a celebrity, so it’s less about him using Game and more about him asking questions as though they are completing a transaction. She gets to fuck a celebrity and he gets her pussy. Simple.
Yeah. Except that none of that happened and now a guy who could have slept with any one of literally millions of enthusiastic volunteers over the age of 18 is now the poster boy for celebrity creepiness.
He could have been smoother and possibly gotten the bang, but he probably does not care.
Yeah. Unless this is all a publicity stunt, I’m thinking that he probably does care just a little bit now.
This is classic I Don’t Give A Fuck Game.
When your value is high and your time is precious, you don’t give a fuck if she rejects you. This is Next Level.
Well, if by “Next Level” you mean “an approach so crude and creepy that it not only squicked out the 17 year old fan that it was directed at but also millions of female fans who’ve now seen the texts online.”
He put out minimal effort to prove it was him, which was understandable considering she doubted it was him, and when she balked, he ejected quickly.
I guess he’s got a point here. It would have been even worse if Franco had stuck around and tried to pressure the fan to see him.
Remember gents, when your Game is tight and you have High Value, you can go Direct. Men of High Value don’t have time to be wasted. You may get rejected immediately, but you also won’t waste time with girls just seeking attention and validation.
You may, on the other hand, be exposed on the internet as a creepy predator. But I guess Men of High Value don’t care about that, which is why Franco didn’t go on Live With Kelly and Michael shortly after this broke to apologize for it all. Oh wait. He did.
Huh. That doesn’t sound High Value at all.
Pickup artist: “If God ever created a better replacement for women, we’d exterminate them overnight.”
The problem — well, one of the many problems — with a lot of so-called pickup artists is that they think with their dicks, and then use their relatively underpowered brains to rationalize their dickular preferences as The Way The World Should Be.
By contrast, the problems with Lance Christopher, a so-called pickup artist who hangs out in the comments section on Roosh V’s Return of Kings blog, really start when he stops thinking with his dick.
Some dudes roll over and fall asleep the moment after they come; Mr. Christopher contemplates genocide because women don’t want to hear him pontificate about Ukrainian history.
In case you’re wondering, no one else in the discussion suggests that Mr. Christopher’s opinion here might be a teensy bit extreme.
No, the commenters happily share terrible opinion after terrible opinion about the inferior creatures known as women.
Oh, it gets worse.
Cleanup in the pompous misogyny aisle!
You’ll notice that all of these comments have upvotes, by the way.
There may be some even more terrible comments in that thread, but I gave up reading them after a few screens full of this sort of garbage.
Oh, dear. Our old friend Roosh – the rapey, racist expat pickup guru – seems to be having some sort of existential crisis. In a new post titled “Men Are Nothing More Than Clowns To The Modern Woman,” – yes, really – he laments the sad fact that women are no longer forced to rely on men.
There is definitely not a single woman alive in the Western world who needs a man. While in the past a woman had to put forth effort to obtain a husband who would help her survive, today she is protected by a welfare state that ensures she will never go hungry or spend one night on the street.
Well, Roosh can rest easy, because, at least in the United States, his nightmare of women not going hungry or being forced to sleep on the streets is just that, a bad dream. Presumably he will be pleased to learn that lots of women (and children) go hungry. Lots of women (and children) are homeless.
Even a child she has out of wedlock from a drunken night out will not have to suffer from her mistake, and that’s in spite of the fact that many nations already provide her with free contraception to compensate for her lack of judgement in selecting worthy mates.
A tad ironic coming from a dude who constantly brags about “raw dogging” it – that is, having sex without a condom – with drunk women he’s just met.
Anything required for a woman’s survival or pleasure can be easily achieved without her having to put forth commitment, sacrifice, or labor. She can shave her head, gain 50 pounds, and disfigure herself with tattoos yet still have many suitors to—at the minimum—have sex on demand.
Such a terrible injustice, that women Roosh finds unattractive are actually able to have sex.
Her food and shelter will be provided by a state which has embarked on an extraordinary effort to compete with men for her devotion and loyalty.
So instead of looking for women who say that they “need a man,” Roosh has begun to focus on women who say that they “want a man.” Unfortunately, when he’s asked women if they want a man, “[o]nly in a few instances did a woman outright say yes, and these usually happened in Ukraine.”
Huh. Not sure that’s a real scientific poll there kiddo, as I imagine that very few women are going to answer “yes” to that question when it’s asked of them by this guy:
Anyhoo, so all this has given poor old Roosh a sad. Because women who don’t need men, who actually have options in their lives, are less interested in jumping into traditional long-term relationships than those with few options in life other than hooking themselves to a male provider.
And so, Roosh has sadly concluded, the typical young women of today
will treat you as a distraction to her more important job, girls’ nights out, and social networking validation happy time. Men have become an utterly replaceable and expendable commodity in a girl’s life. Her interest in a man is not unlike her interest in a new television show or Apple product … .
Huh. Or perhaps this is because you’re dating women at least a decade younger than you, in their early 20s, and this is how people in their early 20s often approach dating?
When I look at myself in the mirror, I don’t see a man who has improved himself over the years to be the best that his genes allow—I see a glittery skirt that a girl encounters in the mall.
You see a what now?
Is the skirt too expensive or is it on sale? Is there only one left of her size or is the rack full of them? Does she already have something similar or is it totally novel? Does her friends think it’s cute or just alright? After trying it on, does it flatter her body or make her look fat?
Dude, this metaphor really isn’t working for you.
We are like glittery pieces of fashion to women—items that she truly doesn’t need. Not only has she already collected so many of them, but she can easily obtain more within walking distance from where she lives. She can even browse online from home while in her pajamas through a nearly unlimited selection.
Oh no! WOMEN HAVE CHOICES!
We are not men in the traditional sense—we are clowns.
Well, some men are.
With our tight game we have to be entertainers who create drama and excitement in a girl’s life, just long enough so that she spreads her legs and makes sexy noises, and even though she did commit such an intimate act with us, she will soon lose interest or simply get bored, and then move on to the next shiny cock that catches her eye.
Gosh, who would imagine that the women you have one-night-stands with after meeting them in a bar would treat you like a one-night-stand?
Also, if your penis is actually shiny, you might want to check with your doctor about that.
The other side of this coin is that we no longer need women. We don’t need them to maintain our home or cook good meals for us. We don’t need them in an age where having children is no longer important or valued.
That is true. Men are not incapable of cooking. I can even manage a grilled cheese sandwich once in a while. And, no, you’re not obligated to have kids. Heck, as a man you can get away with not having kids and not even have to take a lot of shit about it.
Whatever natural connection that once existed between the sexes has now been severed. Neither sex needs each other so we dedicate ourselves to corporations, entertainment, and base pleasures instead, and this is a great tragedy that most people believe is a sign of progress, a cause for celebration.
Ah ha ha ha ha ha ha.
I think Roosh think’s he’s had some sort of profound insight here. All because the 22-year-old women he spends his life pursuing don’t seem interested in properly genuflecting to him as a real man.
For the next girl I meet, I’m not going to ask her if she needs a man, because I know she doesn’t. Instead I will simply ask her if she wants a man, and if the answer leans yes, I will perform like the good clown I am so that she is entertained enough to have sex with me. Either she or I will eventually get bored and the relationship will end. Then I will simply repeat my performance on a someone new, because I’m a skilled clown, and that’s exactly what women today want.
You do that, Roosh, honey. Just try to make sure she’s actually sober enough to consent to your “performance” first. I know you have a little trouble with that.
Here’s a little video for Roosh to watch the next time he’s feeling down.
Ok, ladies. Go do some lady stuff, like vajazzling or banning bossy or having pillow fights or whatever it is you ladies like to do, because we have some MAN STUFF to talk about today. Oh, gay guys, you can leave too. We STRAIGHT MEN are going to be talking about how to develop MAD GAME with the ladies so we can become Master Pickup Artists.
I’d like to start by sharing some dope new information I found on the game blog of ALPHA PLAYBOY “Christian McQueen,” who despite the obviously fake name is an actual real game guru taken seriously by dudes who apparently spend considerable amounts of money on his ebooks and “coaching” and whatnot.
But sometimes, in little acts of mercy for the financially challenged, he shares some of his wisdom with the thirsty men of the world for free.
And that’s the case with his brilliant STARBUCKS OPENER which, again, I am not making up. It is an example of INDIRECT GAME, in that you don’t just walk up to a woman and ask her if she wants to have sex with you. It’s a DAY GAME opener, which you use in the DAY and not at a night club.
Anyway, this is what you do. (You might want to write this down.) You walk up to a sexy lady on the street and you say:
“Excuse me. Do you know where the closest Starbucks is?”
BAM! And you’re IN LIKE FLYNN!
Ok, ok, I can sense that some of you may not appreciate the genius of the STARBUCKS OPENER. Some of you even think it sounds a little dopey and not really very sexy at all. Did Casanova go around asking ladies for directions?
Well, let’s let Mr. McQueen explain why his idea is so freaking brilliant:
The Starbucks Opener is absolute GOLD because of a few reasons that I’ll break down right now:
EVERY girl in the world, well 99.9% of girls, LOVE Starbucks. The moment they hear the word ‘Starbucks’, they get happy.
I went and looked for some polling data to support this statement of his and discovered a Rassmussen poll from 2011 showing that 34% of American coffee drinkers have an unfavorable opinion of Starbucks; an earlier Rassmussen poll found that 73% of Americans think that Starbucks is overpriced and 76% say they rarely if ever visit the stores.
I guess they forgot to ask the cute girls what they thought, huh? Probably a bunch of BETAS.
There’s Starbucks all over the world. If you live in Japan and you’re reading this, you can use this line. If you live in Texas or Canada you can use this line. It’s a Global Friendly Line.
Well, pretty much. I mean, Starbucks is in 64 different countries out of 196 in the world, which means that technically speaking most of the countries in the world don’t actually have any Starbucks in them. There are no Starbucks at all in sub-Saharan Africa, or most countries in South America, or much of Eastern Europe or Central Asia. But frankly, most of the countries that don’t have Starbucks aren’t countries that ALPHA PLAYBOYS want to be hanging out in anyway. Just make sure to check to check this map before you try using this line!
‘Starbucks’ equals comfort drinks/food for most people who go there. When a girl hears the word ‘Starbucks’ come from your mouth, she subconsciously goes to that place of feeling happy, safe, comfortable and content. By it coming out of YOUR mouth, she will automatically associate you with those feelings, albeit to a lesser degree. ANYTHING that you can say that gives you an edge from your opening line is good, because it builds comfort in her.
Other “comfort” words and phrases you might want to try to work into your openers: “pillows,” “puppies,” “mashed potatoes,” and “some place far, far away from Chrisian McQueen.”
When you mention ‘Starbucks’, you’re mentioning a globally recognized BRAND. By being a fan of Starbucks and seeking it out, you’re a part of the ‘club’, the fan club of Starbucks that it.
Chicks LOVE BRANDS! Here’s Forbes’ list of the World’s Most Valuable Brands. See how many you can work into your conversations with the babes! It should be easy to incorporate such well-known names as Microsoft, Oracle, General Electric, Samsung, and Frito-Lay. Extra points if you can manage to mention Siemens without giggling.
When you ask a girl where one is, she’ll automatically put you in the ‘normal human being’ category, because ‘normal’ people drink coffee and usually from Starbucks. Any association with something that is popular and normal helps you build comfort.
Asking where the nearest STARBUCKS is, because you want to drink COFFEE, like a NORMAL PERSON, is good. Asking where the nearest GROCERY STORE DUMPSTER is, because you want to EAT FOOD FROM THE GARBAGE like some DAMN HIPPIE DUMPSTER DIVER is not so good. Unless the babe you’re hitting on is a damn hippie dumpster diver.
You can use STARBUCKS OPENER even if you already know where the nearest Starbucks is, because lying is ok if it helps you to get into a woman’s pants. Just don’t use it if you are literally standing in front of a Starbucks, as field-testing indicates that this approach tends to elicit responses like “right fucking here, you asshole,” and “what the hell is wrong with you?”
Now, Christian McQueen’s advice is good for beginners, but if you’d like to learn how to hit up the ladies Man Boobz style, I suggest that you send me $10,000 for my ebook, MAN BOOBZ GAME which I will start writing the moment someone sends me $10,000 for it.
In it you will learn about 100 different INDIRECT KITTY OPENERS from the basic “I have a kitty,” to more advanced versions like “I have two kitties” to others you’ll have to pay me $10,000 to learn and which I haven’t actually thought up yet, but trust me, they’ll be good.
You’ll learn about DIRECT MAN BOOBZ GAME, achieved by taking indirect openers and adding the phrase “in my pants” to the end of them. Thus “I have kitties” becomes “I have kitties – in my pants.”
You’ll learn the fine art of MAN BOOBZ NEGS and how to respond when the woman you’re talking to gets pissed off that you came up to her out of the blue and insulted her. Take this sample dialogue, using my brilliant “that looks infected” indirect opener which I
just thought up thirty seconds ago have extensively field tested.
You: “That looks infected.”
Her: “What the fuck are you talking about? What looks infected?”
You: Um, your nose.”
Her: “My nose is fine, you fucking creep.”
You: “Well, I’ve JUST STARTED MEDICAL SCHOOL so I’m not too good at this diagnosis thing just yet. But in a few years, when I’m MAKING LOTS OF MONEY AS A DOCTOR I will be much better.”
Her: “I only just now noticed how charming and handsome you are.”
Just think, fellas, five or six pages more of this sort of wisdom can be yours for only $10,0000!
I really hope no ladies were reading this because I was really hoping to use the “that looks infected” opener the next time I actually leave my apartment.
Today, some cutting edge POLITICAL SCIENCE from the fellows over at Roosh Valizadeh’s Return of Kings blog. Specifically, one fellow named Samson Lamont who offers up some warnings about a dire threat to western civilization that most people have probably forgotten about: COMMUNISM.
Yes, it seems that the wily Communists are still trying to take over the United States. Only this time they’re not threatening us with missiles and stealing our atomic secrets and recruiting our young people into Maoist sects. (Well, a few of them are doing the latter.) Nope, they’re trying to sneak it past us in the form of FEMINISM. Let’s let Mr. Lamont explain:
It is a mistake to look at dealing with the effects of feminism as just putting up with spoiled, entitled bitches and learning how to deal with their endless shit tests so you can get in their pants. It is not some phase or fad that will eventually fade away. You must recognize feminism for what it truly is: one of the arms of Communism, with its goals being to break up the nuclear family, effectively weaken the country from within, and to eradicate any form of masculinity or aggression, thereby reducing the number of people who can engage in dissent.
But golly, you may say, I know a bunch of feminists, and I’m pretty sure none of them are – what did you call them? – Communists. But that’s where you’re wrong!
Now some of the younger readers might not be too familiar with the term Communism. That’s because you know it as Socialism, Progressivism, Liberalism, or Social Democracy. Same shit, different bull. I don’t use any of these synonyms because, just as we should engage in fat-shaming and slut-shaming, we should engage in Commie-shaming.
One of the Left’s favorite tricks is rebranding. Communism is still a bad word here in America, especially with the Baby Boomers that grew up during McCarthyism and the Red Scare in the 50’s and 60’s. So the Left refers to them only as “socialists” or “progressives” now, to disguise their true intentions.
Ah! Just like some guys refer to themselves as “pickup artists” rather than “date rapists.”
Anyhoo, so all this Communo-Feminism has pretty much destroyed everything good about the good old U.S. Of A.
[I]n a span of less than 50 years, creeping Communism has eroded all the hard work and sacrifice of our ancestors. … Our populace is lazy, spoiled, arrogant, and fat, while we build nothing of value here anymore.
We all know what happened to our women. Thanks to feminism, the nuclear family is gone and homosexual perversion is not only deemed normal, but is now openly promoted, accepted, and forced on us. Honor and integrity are now quaint remnants of a bygone era, existing only in small pockets of civilization. Workers are basically drones or expendable cannon fodder, known more by their number designations than by their names. If you are a man, the validity of your rights is determined by man-hating feminists and homosexuals and you are now guilty until proven innocent. Long story short, we are inexorably headed towards … hell … .
The only solution? Stop talking about equality and accept that attractive rich people are simply better than you.
This may be hard to swallow for some, but there is no such thing as equality. Life isn’t fair. Deal with it. Strong/weak, beautiful/ugly, tall/short, smart/dumb, rich/poor—some people are just simply better than others. …
Equality must be earned, and cannot be given.
Wait, what? I think I’m going to stick with the Communo-Feminists and the Homosexual perverts, thank you very much.
NOTE: I don’t like giving Return of Kings traffic, but I feel obligated to link to my sources, so I’ve hidden the link somewhere in the text above, if you feel the need to investigate further.
So our dear friend Heartiste, the white-supremacist woman-botherer, has assembled a little “Chateau Heartiste Crib Sheet of Game,” a compilation of some of his best pickup advice, boiled down to a few handy tips and clever one-liners that wannabe alpha males can use on the ladies during conversation in order to get their ginas tingling. (Sorry, that’s the way these guys talk.)
Looking at Heartiste’s list of “lines” I was struck by how generic and, well, frankly unoriginal most of them were, from standard issue negs like “nice shoes. Those are really popular now” and “is she always like this?” to old-school PUA cliches like “I don’t buy girls drinks but you can buy me one” and “what else do you have going for you besides your looks?” both of which come straight from peacocking PUA pioneer Mystery, the guy with the fuzzy hat and the long-ago-cancelled VH1 show.
Indeed, a lot of Heartiste’s “lines” are as old and stale as he is:
Don’t get clingy
Miss me already?
Hey, hands off the merchandise
If i didn’t know any better i’d say you were trying to pick me up
So I thought I’d do Heartiste a little favor and write up some new lines for him and his fans that are both more original and a bit more honest. Next time you’re in “da club,” Heartiste, why don’t you try some of these out? Some of these I made up myself; some are taken, or adapted, from things you yourself wrote.
Hi, I spend most of my life on the internet trying to figure out how to manipulate drunk women half my age into bed.
People on the internet know me as Heartiste. No, not Fartiste. With an H. No, it’s not a joke. I thought it up myself.
I like to call black people “darkies.” No, not to their face. Anonymously, on the internet.
I’m an alluringly savvy man self-assuredly parrying the clit-hardened jousts of intrigued women.
Too much outbreeding decreases charitable kin-feeling and incentivizes a decadent ennui that severs the citizen’s sense of obligation to his nation and co-ethnics.
A gentlemanly selectiveness honed by years of experience and psychological nimbleness has proved adequate at filtering out women likely to lay like dead fish in my roiling sea of sperm.
If anyone can usurp the lawyercunt in cuntishness, it’s the Twittercunt.
The walls are closing in on the lords of lies and their feels army of emotabots.
Whether our ruling class knows it or they bumble along like drug addicts seeking the next pleasurable injection of power at any cost, their sex-swapping project will turn the West into matricentric, female forager Africa.
Every time we had sex over the following weeks, it ended with her tucking her knees under her chin naked on the bed to quietly cry into the wrapped bubble of her body.
The only bond that matters in a woman’s heart is the one you caulk in her cock vault.
The ruling elites despise whites, despise the concept of whiteness, and despise especially the idea that the territory and nation and culture from which they parasitically suck the lifeblood was created and sustained primarily by white men.
The id of the Like Me Generation is a furry suit wrapping a toddler.
Women should avoid trying to be funny altogether and stick to maximizing the return on their authentically valuable assets. That would be your tits, ass, face and pussy, in case you were wondering.
That last bit was pure Heartiste. (As were the previous ten.) Like the women of the world, I can’t hope to attain such pinnacles of wit.
Roosh Valizadeh has made a career, such as it is, of teaching guys how to talk to women the Rooshy way. And not just how to talk to drunk women in clubs, where you’re lucky if they can even hear your clever negs over all the noise.
In his book Day Bang he sets forth his brilliant strategy for speaking to women in the daytime: start babbling to them about random crap like those slightly dotty elderly people who come up to you sometimes babbling about random crap.
No, really. You’re supposed to “open” with an “Elderly Opener” and segue seamlessly into “Elderly Chat,” taking your cues from the people who are the best at talking forever about nothing at all. “This is something old people excel at,” he writes.
They can have a one-hour chat stemming from an ice cream flavor because their life experience is so deep that they can seamlessly and casually connect it to a dozen other topics.
During the day I want you to think of yourself as a wandering, slightly confused old man who needs to gain information or knowledge. In my sock example, I played up that I was a style retard, incapable of buying a five-dollar pair of socks, when in reality I’m totally capable of making that decision.
And then – shazam! – you’re in like Flynn! Apparently women just melt for men who can’t figure out how to buy socks.
But it turns out that when there’s no possibility that the conversation will end with a bang, Roosh is far less interested in talking to women. Or at least in them talking back.
So much so that he’s not only banned women from commenting on his Return of Kings blog but, as of earlier this week, he’s also banning men who merely reply to women who happen to sneak past his anti-woman defenses and get in a comment or two before they’re banned. (He’s also banned “homos.” His term, not mine.)
Roosh’s announcement generated a good deal of discussion on RoK, mostly from supportive dudes glad that girls and talkers-to-girls are being thrown out of Roosh’s manly clubhouse.
Well, heck, that just means more women for me to talk to.
Excuse me, ladies, but I’m having trouble figuring out how these socks work. Do I put the delicious Pistachio ice cream in them before I put them on, or after?
Note: I really don’t want to give Roosh any traffc, but if you must, the link to his post is hidden somewhere in my post above. Thanks to MARK MINTER for alerting me to Roosh’s new policy.
So the other day some of the fellas over on Chateau Heartiste — one of the internet’s top destinations for racist, misogynist pickup artist wannabes — ran across a little graphic celebrating some of the lesser-known “[w]omen in science that you should know … and probably don’t.”
Apparently offended by the reminder that, yes, women have actually had some influence over history, one of Heartiste’s readers decided to make a graphic similarly celebrating the men of science. But while the original graphic contained pictures of only 12 women, this new graphic featured a vast sea of male faces, as if to rub in just how male dominated the world of science has been, and still is.
Looking at the graphic, Heartiste also thought he spotted another demographic anomaly: a preponderance of white faces. “That’s one pale looking pastiche,” he wrote.
“The Men in Science poster. A Snowvalanche of Whiteness,” agreed one of his commenters,”Bwahahaha.”
Huh. That’s weird. because when I look at the poster I don’t see a lot of white. I mean, if you blow it up a little you can see that the spaces between the various squares are white, but the squares themselves are all sorts of colors. Red. Pink. Black. Brown. Blue. Green.
Are a significant portion of the Men of Science from Mars?
And there’s another odd thing about this not-so-pale pastiche: it’s full of repeating patterns. If you look closely, you’ll discover that this isn’t one vast sea of male faces. It’s a small pond, endlessly repeated.
Specifically, it’s this bit (from the upper left-hand corner) pasted over and over.
Also, when you look closely at these alleged “scientists” they turn out to be real blockheads. Yep, if you zoom in a little further you don’t find an assortment of tiny Einsteins and fig-sized Newtons. You get this:
All hail the founding pixels of science!
Heartiste, you may want to get your eyes checked for bigotry.
Thanks to dashapants for bringing this wondrous graphic and its repeating patterns to my attention.