Santa Claus isn’t real, but Game is

Finding out the truth isn’t fun. When you find out Santa isn’t real, you can never go back to the happily ignorant naive time of your youth, no matter how much you would like to. Even if you tried to delude yourself back to those times, you would still recognize the writing on the wall. All of the clues you once conveniently ignored now stand out like a neon glow.

Imagine a girl who naively happens upon Rooshv or Heartiste. Caught off guard, I imagine that she experiences the same exact feelings of discovering that Santa isn’t real.

Here are men who come together in a predominantly male venue to discuss the various attractors that convey high male value. They have figured out the rules and have learned how to bend (and break) them. The girl feels anxiety in her subconscious that she might have fallen for a guy who seemed so sexy and smooth, but in reality spent years honing his skill and discussing after-action reports with other men.

This kind of accidental exposure to the truth is shocking because it changes the entire of spectrum of perception from past to future. She will now involuntarily conflate natural alpha behavior with the machination of a well practiced student of game. Her subconscious is distraught and angst because she knows that she can never be happily naive again. At least, without increasing dosage of alcohol and without good acting skill.

The bizarre reality, though, is that from then on, the experience of alpha behavior has that much more of an effect.

If you saw sooty tracks going to your Christmas tree, if you saw a fat man in a red suit walking on your roof, or if you saw a sleigh attached to reindeer flying across the sky, you might still consciously know that Santa isn’t real, but your subconscious would be so confused, God-damn, maybe it is real. Atheists in the foxholes become the most devout Christians when bullets start flying.

So when an experienced woman runs across well practiced alpha behavior, she becomes that much more turned on. The reality of the past is irrelevant; all she craves is the intense yearning that she is experiencing an alpha, has found an alpha, and all her experiences with reality in the past were not true to this moment. Even her perception of the future is bent. Santa Claus is real and she will never be the same again. She loves it.

I wish all my readers a Merry Christmas and Happy New Year. I am hopeful and enthusiastic for the future of Game, because with Game all perception past and future gets changed, usually in the favor of the guy running Game.

I am saddened for the future of our society which was built on trust and reality. A society of contracts, spoken word agreement, and hand shakes has become infected with cries of racism and feminism. We cannot trust each other any more. The last step is for the creators of society to admit that reality is useless and perception rules. The towel is thrown in.

From here on, a man achieves nothing by admitting that Game exists. As much as men love the feeling of figuring it all out, women resent that knowledge. A guy who knows Game but never admits it is much more attractive that a guy who rubs it in her face. “Haha, fooled ya!”

If you recognize that, you know that socializing across gender is here-out zero sum. Either men will unite as one and reform society under a shared acknowledgement of women’s nature, or men will never again be able to publicly speak the truth about women’s true nature. Take one truth away, the biggest one that reveals that we are sentient humans, and we are left as women would would luurrrv: animals who fight and claw each other for a piece.

“Freedom?!?! If I had to die for one fucking word, it wouldn’t be freedom. It would be….poontang.”
-Animal Mother, Full Metal Jacket

Merry Christmas.

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