Stuck-up bitches. That’s what I want to talk about today.
Back on our trip down to Milledgeville you’ll remember I talked about how formal scientific method could be applied to the process of getting some skank to shine your knob through the study of chains of cause and effect and the application of experimental method to determine these chains. The purpose then was to show what was meant by classic social dynamics.
Now I want to show that that classic pattern of social dynamics can be tremendously improved, expanded and made far more effective through the formal recognition of Eliteness in its operation. Before doing this, however, I should go over some of the negative aspects of picking up bitches to show just where the problems are.
The first is stuck-up-ness, a mental resistance that accompanies the physical prudishness of whatever bitch it is you’re working your game on. The same thing Maurice was suffering from during our last trip to Tampa. A bitch balks, for example, when you tell her to lose her fat friends and duck into the men’s room with you for a few minutes. You check with the bartenders to see if there might be any special cause for this skank to cop such an attitude, but all they do is shrug in that wonderful terse style that tells you that you didn’t tip those cheap bastards enough, even though you and your boys are drinking beers and how fucking hard is it to pull the cap off a bottle of Bud Light anyway?
If you’re experienced you’d probably apply a inhibition reducing liquid along with a possession-oriented alpha call (“SHOTS FOR MY BITCHES!”), wait for it to take effect, inform your bodyguards that you’re looking to run an isolation route, and you’ll be rocking that impact driver in no time. But suppose you’re inexperienced and impatient and you just get frustrated and hit her with a rapid series of put-down audibles, I mean really just neg her into oblivion. It’s a procedure you’ve had success with in the past, when dealing with really insecure Delta types, but which this time backfires and you can’t see any way you’ll end up tearing up the slot of that shrew tonight.
Your mind was already thinking ahead to what you would do when the panties dropped, and so it takes a little time to realize that this irritating minor annoyance isn’t just irritating and minor. You’re stuck. Shut down. Terminated. It’s absolutely stopped you from sealing the deal, and worse, she’s now started poisoning the well for other targets, too.
This isn’t a rare occurrence in the seduction scene. These are the most basic bitches of all. Just plain stuck-up.
The Game is no good to you now. Neither is the Mystery Method. You don’t need any scientific experiments to find out what’s wrong. It’s obvious what’s wrong. What you need is an hypothesis for how you’re going to get that shrike out of there and scientific method doesn’t provide any of these hypotheses. It operates only after they’re around.
This is the zero moment of consciousness. Stuck. No answer. Honked. Kaput. It’s a miserable experience emotionally. It’s getting late. You’re feeling average. Frustrated. Like a chump. You don’t know what you’re doing. You should be ashamed of yourself. You should just call it a night.
It’s normal at this point for the fear-anger syndrome to take over and make you want to release your inner Greg Hardy, or tell security to make a big scene throwing her ass out of the VIP area. You think about it, and the more you think about it the more you’re inclined to drag her by her hair to a high bridge and drop her off. It’s just outrageous that this insufferable nag can defeat you so totally.
We have been looking at that shrew ‘objectively.’ According to the doctrine of ‘objectivity,’ which is integral with traditional scientific method, what we like or don’t like about that shrew has nothing to do with our correct thinking. We should not evaluate what we see. We should keep our mind a blank tablet which nature fills for us, and then reason disinterestedly from the facts we observe.
But when we stop and think about it disinterestedly, in terms of this stuck-up shrew, we begin to see that this whole idea of disinterested observation is silly. Where are those facts? What are we going to observe disinterestedly? The rhinestone tube top? The immovable cockblocking best friend at her side? The color of the hastily applied eyeshadow? The other sissies at this bar?
As Poincaré would have said, there are an infinite number of facts about hot bitches, and the right ones don’t just dance up and introduce themselves. The right bitches, the ones we really need, are not only passive, they are damned elusive, and we’re not going to just sit back and ‘observe’ them. We’re going to have to be in there looking for them or we’re going to be here a long time. Forever. As Poincaré pointed out, there must be a subliminal choice of what facts we observe. And this subliminal choice, this underlying process of identifying not only the finest, but the most easily isolated bitches, is the foundation of Eliteness.