Saturday, October 31, 2009

Strange Taste (by Master Dogen)

Speaking of hookers...

What's up with some guys? Everyone has different tastes, and that's cool. Regular readers of my war stories on this blog may have noticed that not a lot of them feature white girls. Mostly this is because
most white American women have automatically disqualified themselves in my book by being the most unfeminine, horrid, self-centered and unsexy women in the world. But it's also because I have a certain hankering for a nice head of long silk black hair, and a certain almond shape in the eyes. I like Asian girls, and Spanish girls, and East African girls, and hell, I like white girls too when they are
sexy and sweet (it does happen from time to time). My point is, we all have our preferences. I can respect that other guys might not have the same personal preferences as me. And bully for you, my friends! Jupiter loves wondrous variety.

But, man, some preferences are pretty strange. I met a guy here in Africa, a westerner, who keeps pointing out girls he thinks are hot and when I look all I can think is, "Dude. Are you GAY?" There was a fat older woman working with us for a day, with huge breasts formed into missile-shape in an obvious case of a reinforced steel brassiere. This woman must have needed about three meters of coiled rebar to hold those things up like that. But on every break, my friend kept coming over to me and whispering, "Oh my god, those are the most amazing tits. I can't stop staring at them." Did I mention this woman was about 42 at the least?

Ok, so that's one individual woman. But over beers I discovered that he, too, was an appreciator of the uber-sexual nature of a truly pretty Filipino girl. Or so I thought. After I told him about the hottest filipino girl I've been with (not Daisy the callgirl; she's in second place), he told a story about a one night stand at a hotel with a "short, buxom filipino woman." I nodded my approval and understanding until he came to the end, at which point he sighed wistfully and looked off in the distance and added, "Yeah, she was 49."

I nearly spit out my beer. The girl I had been talking about was 19 when I met her.

In a nice bit of coincidence, the very same evening after I posted my last little story about hookers, I was getting some much needed sleep in preparation for long day of bumpy, dusty 4x4 driving out into the boonies. I was awakened by a knock on my door. When I finally got up with a grumble to go see what the problem was, I opened the door and immediately this fat, gross prostitute started pushing her way into my room. I held the door fast and shook my finger no, no. Aydelem, aydelem! She just said "Ok, ok," and kept pushing. This went on, comically, for at least 15 seconds, before I lost my temper and spat hid! at her, which is what you say to child beggars who pester you on the street. She finally gave up and moved on down the hall.

The next day, at breakfast, my companion leaned back and smiled sheepishly and said, "Yeah, I had sex with one of those hookers last night."

I laughed. "Yeah, she went to your door next, huh?" As soon as I said that, I felt a little bad. I was basically rubbing his face in the fact that she had come to me first and I had turned her away in disgust. I had seen this girl around the hotel the night before and had gotten a good look at just how unattractive she was. It was an easy decision to say hid! to her. But not for this guy, I guess.

The really depressing part, though, was that not even my strange friend had enjoyed her. He had a horrible time. He said she was fat and gross and truly terrible in bed in a hurried, fake-moaning, hooker way. I mean, if you are going to stoop to paying girls for sex, at least dignify the act by choosing an attractive one and enjoying yourself. You're probably gonna feel a little empty and dirty
afterward no matter what you do. How awful to come to this feeling after not even having felt the exhileration of a sexy, tight-bodied, pretty young thing pressed against you.

And it's not just fat girls with this guy. He stares at the most odd-looking skinny girls too. Oh well. Only humor will do in life sometimes. I told him his judgment on women was permanently suspect
for the rest of the trip. We both had a good laugh. But of course, I wasn't really joking.

Friday, October 30, 2009

Double Standards

z.g. always inspires me to post. He's absolutely right in insisting that certain double standards are de facto standards since they are held up by everyone around us. Famous examples of this dilemma include current social norms such as:
- men being expected to pay for dates (it's not an issue for readers of this bog, I am sure, but Joe Average learns in his teens that any woman will take note if you don't, even is she says it is okay)
- men being expected to buy (expensive) rings for the mere occasion of asking a woman to sign a contract that gives her access to at least half of a man' future income and wealth - and that is assuming he has a good pre-nup in place.
- female sexual predators getting less or no punishment in court
and so forth and so on.

But what about the Stud/Slut discrimination that women whine about?

Let's make it clear. Promiscuous men having a bias against committing to promiscuous women are not committing an ethical crime. In fact, I will argue that, anything but the accepted way of seeing things is wrong. Or, in other words, eliminating the Stud/Slut standard leads to a double standard in moral terms.
[If this seems contradictory to you, keep on reading. By the end of this post you might be surprised about how brain washed you were by society and mainstream feminism]

First let's talk about morals (BTW, have you ever noted how "morals" is always about sex while "ethics" is always about money?):

Double standards are a nasty thing. Imagine two groups of people, one just like the other. It turns out that, as long as there is any way to discern two groups, human beings are prone to treat individuals unequally.
And that is a bad thing, of course (especially if you are part of the group that gets discriminated against). History is full of examples, where one group of people discriminated against another based on arbitrary criteria, and it never had a good outcome.

The idea of political correctness is to rid ourselves of these cognitive biases. And that idea in itself is commendable. When people actually are equal, we should treat them that way.
But trouble starts (and political correctness fails) if they are not.

And women and men are anything but the same (Thank God!). Attempts at pretending that we are have lead to fatal outcomes.
So, based on that, our first premise is that:

1) Humans come in two kinds - and we should cherish that.

And there is another distinction we need to make that digs a little bit deeper into what is morally acceptable behavior and what is not:


2) When investigating a moral standard, it is not the action itself that counts, but its consequences
A common illustrative example is that telling a lie in an empty room is not (as) morally questionable than telling a lie in front of others. Even more drastically, imagine telling a lie to save someone's life, and contrast that to a lie that will lead to the death of an innocent (wo)man.

The two premises above, when combined, reveal something interesting (which explains the Stud/Slut standard, and why it can't be abolished):

The consequences of female promiscuity are different from the consequences of male promiscuity

In the age before contraception and DNA testing, things were clear. A promiscuous man could always walk away, while a promiscuous woman might end up in tragic circumstance. Mothers raised their daughters with that in mind. Things have changed. Not so female brains - the only law that is eternal is the law of nature. Last Minute Resistance is a very real and tangible reminder how a woman's genetic makeup interferes with her (sexual) decision making and behavior. Denial of the fact that women have an instinctive aversion against casual sex is like denying other biological realities such as the need to sleep or eat.

The Stud/Slut double standard help(ed) women circumvent successive loss of self esteem by adding a societal norm to one of their inherent biological preferences.

Now how does that go with the observation that women have become increasingly promiscuous during the past decades. Isn't that due to biological instinct as well (i.e. the female tendency to chase bad boys)?

Well, women's sexual decisions are marked by a strong dichotomy between short and long term mating strategies. The short term strategy is to collect sperm from "Lover" alpha male(s), who have high inherent fitness. The long term strategy is to get a "Provider" male to commit (even though women typically insist that they ultimately want both, in reality their Provider will never be an alpha).

The crux is that the long term strategy of having a man and family used to work under any circumstances, whereas the short term strategy only works in conjunction with having a long term Provider - otherwise she is prone to end up with a baby from a non-relationship material guy. And that left an evolutionary footprint in the female mind.

Yet, the promise of fitness-bursting sperm (genes) from a high status male is so tempting that a female frontal lobe frequently enough gets vetoed by desire. As a result, women's sexual decisions and behavior show a strong emotional (read: situational) component: sex with alphas is simply too hard to resist, no matter the cost. And without the societal foot (slut-branding) on the break, women will follow their crotches, uhm, instincts.

And the result is an increasing number of promiscuous women who are less happy. And, importantly, They do not feel guilty, cheap and dirty because society tells them so, but because the evolutionarily old part of their brain that is interested in fit offspring tells them so. This part of the brain does not know about birth control and feminist ideals. It does know, however, that the short term mating strategy alone is too dangerous to keep up until menopause.

And there is more to the influence of biological differences on morals. Because part of the equation are men. And men have inherent cognitive biases, too. Any behavior that goes against these biological norms will inevitably result in suffering - it is the brain's way of flagging a warning sign to its owner:

For men, women who had many sex partners are less desirable

Ever wondered why men would rather have sex with a virgin than an escort? The reason for this is fact is that men who loved whores got weeded out during evolution because they were at higher risk to get an STD, and women who have (had) many different partners increase a man's paternity uncertainty.

It should be obvious that a woman who sleeps around is at higher risk to bring home another man's child. But there is more to it: past promiscuity (strongly) predicts future promiscuity. And that puts a guy who commits to a promiscuous woman at risk of her cheating on his guts (which again puts him at risk of paternity theft).

 In conclusion, the Stud/Slut standard is not an arbitrary social construct. It is a well grounded distinction based on biological differences between the genders.

Eliminating the Stud/Slut standard creates a new double standard based on the wrong belief that women and men are completely equal and thereby increases the suffering of both, women and men.

Women suffer because as a a moral norm, the Slut/Stud standard helped them to deal with momentary temptation, and thereby prevented females from suffering  the twofold loss in life quality that marks Western women in their thirties today by being:
- unable to attract the guys they got sexually imprinted on
- unable to attract the guys who would satisfy their desire for commitment and family

It is not just women who suffer from dropping the Slut/Stud standard. And ironically it is not the Studs who get hurt. Instead, sexual political correctness lead astray hurts Provider males who are interested in marrying a young, attractive, loyal woman. The mating market value of these men has dropped now that women can get sex from more arousing alpha males without the risk of unwanted pregnancy. And at the same time, these men are facing the dilemma of an ever increasing number of females who are unattractive based on sexual history alone. If you are one of these men, keep reading this blog and explore the links on the side bars.

As long as our society allows women to negate the negative side effects of female promiscuity, men fare best at catering to a woman's short term mating strategy.

Monday, October 26, 2009

Dogen's Special Little Hooker, Part 2

What's up, America? I'm drinking a Coke and smoking Marlboros in Africa. God bless the USA. I'm also fighting off a little of Shaka Zulu's Revenge, unfortunately. Too much spicy goat meat.

I wrote here a few posts back about the time I was dating a prostitute and didn't know it. You'll have to dig back a little in the archives to find it. I can't link anything in these posts from Africa, because I'm posting via email. In fact, Alpha Status is blocked at the hotel I am staying at (and the one across the street). I can't read my own blog! As I mentioned to 11 Minutes in an email, I don't know whether to be insulted or flattered. Too many f-bombs, I suppose.

So I can't remember how much I said about this girl, the hooker. Not very much, if I recall. I started writing more about how I used to be beta in philosophy (to my undying shame, I once bragged about being a "feminist") yet still alpha in my actions and expectations. I also mentioned that the girl, "Daisy," was a short, bodacious young mixed race girl, Filipina and Mexican American.

I had seen her around and lusted after her quite a bit. Honestly, I can't remember how I ever asked her out, but at some point I must have, because I definitely remember our first date.

We were having drinks at a bar near my apartment, and very soon into the evening, as we began drink number two, she turned full to face me and gave me a serious look. "There's something I need to tell you. I have a boyfriend."

Me: "Oh, I thought this was a date."

"But," she said, "we have an open relationship. He travels all the time for work, on long trips. I don't ask about what he does when he is away, and he doesn't ask what I do."

"Okay."

"So this is a date. Only I'm not interested in you as a boyfriend, because I have one. I'm interested in fun."

Naturally I had conflicted feelings. On the one hand, I was thinking "KA-CHING" because this hot little honey was telling me she wanted to have no-strings-attached "fun." But of course my other thought was, "Wow, what a whore."

Little did I realize how right I was.

I saw Daisy several times after that. She was pretty good in the sack, though oddly neurotic. I couldn't get enough of her though, because she was so very attractive. Once she made a comment about how "passionate" I was, which I took to mean that I was kissing her eagerly rather than simply jackhammering away. Another time, when I encouraged her to go down on me, she resisted, joking that it "reminded her of her hooking days." Ha ha. We both laughed. She did end up with her head on my dick eventually, and when she did she looked up in my eyes, but with the thousand-yard stare of the practiced professional.

In retrospect, it was all so obvious, but the thought had never even crossed my mind before, and I sailed along, happily, obliviously rampaging her fine body on a regular basis. Once she broke it off for a while because her "boyfriend" was back in town. But she ended up coming back.

Other clues: she didn't have a regular job, but she had a lot of money. She claimed this was from nannying for a wealthy family who paid her well, from time to time.

When I moved away from the town she and I lived in, to start a new job in New York City, she mentioned that she would be in New York "soon." When she arrived she contacted me and I of course invited her out, expecting some booty calls at my place. But she seemed mysteriously busy in the evenings. She told me that she was "staying with a friend." When I pushed her for details, she basically let it slip that he had money and liked to buy her lots of things, etc.

That night, as I was lying in bed, it all hit me like a ton of bricks. Suddenly all her odd behavior made perfect sense. I think I laughed out loud in my bed. I didn't see her again for a long time.

About a year later, I was visiting friends back in Daisy's town. I looked her up, partially because I wanted a booty call, partially because I was dying to test my theory. She had me over to drink champagne and do home karaoke with some "friends" of hers. The friends, all female, were straight out of central casting. Like extras from the first ten minutes of an episode of Law & Order SVU. I had never seen any of these girls around. One was a skanky tall white girl with bad hair and too much make-up. Another was a "thick" (actually, fat) black girl with bright blue eyeshadow. I can't remember the other one. They all had a loose, brash, insecure manner about them. Something inside me recoiled at their presence. They were dirty. At one point, Daisy took a phone call in the the other room, then left her own house, leaving us there, telling us that she had to go walk someone's dog. I think I guffawed audibly.

While she was gone, I asked her friends, point-blank. "Is Daisy a call girl?"

The caucaskank immediately, comically went on the defensive. "Oh, why do guys always ask a girl that? Why is it such a big fantasy for you? You WISH!"

I can't recall ever asking a girl that question before... I wanted to point out to this girl that she probably got asked whether she was a call girl a lot was because she WAS a call girl. But I nodded and said, "Okay, I stand corrected."

When Daisy came back (an hour and a half later) I said my goodbyes. I didn't have the heart or the balls to confront her there in her own house with her own troops on hand. I was actually still flirting with her out of habit. I kind of wanted to bang her for old time's sake. But when she put up the smallest wall of resistance — the kind I normally blast right through — I realized I didn't have the heart or interest to pursue her further.

Many months later, I ran into her at a coffee shop and we acted pleasantly to each other. She said, at one point, "Oh, yeah. There was something I wanted to talk to you about. Something you asked my friends?"

I smiled and played dumb. "Yes?

"Oh..." she acted distracted, as if losing the nerve. "I can't remember what it was."

Mainly, I'm glad I didn't get the hiv from that girl. I strapped it on with her — usually, I think. I'm also fascinated to notice my own change of perception about her. I never had a Madonna complex about her, but I did indeed use to feel she was somehow unattainable. Certainly, I have a Whore perception about her now, but it would be inaccurate to call it a "complex." I'm too amused by the whole situation, and she never did anything to make me hate her. I generally like people, even dirty dirty prostitutes. Of course, I don't respect her, but respect and liking are two different things. Neither am I interested in dating her. And my mild, continuing interest in fucking her is not strong enough to make me think much about her when there are so many other gorgeous young girls out there to pursue.

No lessons today. Just a little reminiscing. There you have it, my special little hooker. Kind of nice, I suppose, to know I was getting that for free when some chumps out there were paying for it.

Now... back to my goat meat and shitty internet connections.

Friday, October 23, 2009

Real Women (by Master Dogen)

[The following post was sent to me by Master Dogen from Ethiopia with a brief note that our blog is blocked at the place where he is staying. This is his text as sent plus a picture of Miss Ethiopia 2007, to illustrate his point.
- 11minutes]


Women in Ethiopia are famously beautiful.

One time a few years ago, before I had ever been to Africa, I was spending the evening in the good ole USA with my Dutch friend and his wife, and their 10 year-old son. The other guest that night was an acquaintance of ours from Zimbabwe. We three men had been working together that day and at the end of the business day, the way the Zimbabwean fellow (let's call him "Paul") had been sadly lingering made my Dutch friend ("Kees") realize that Paul had nowhere else to go in town and no one to visit. So Voors invited him to break bread with all of us.

At dinner, Paul immediately dominated the conversation and insisted on talking about the political situation in Zimbabwe. Kees' wife didn't help much as she kept feeding him leading questions. He had that intense black-African way of speaking with round vowels, pointing
fingers and staring eyes. He literally didn't let up for three hours. Kees tried to steer him away to other topics after politely listening (and indeed commiserating... there are few situations on Earth more fucked up than the one in Zimbabwe). But Paul, with no sense of manners, kept hammering away on his topic, even describing in detail — right in front of Kees' son — the special kind of gruesome torture he had dreamt up for his political enemies.

After dinner and wine, with Paul still beating his dead horse, the three of us men decided to go check out a new bar that had been getting a lot of mentions in the press. On the way there, in the car, Paul continued his rant. It was hour four. I kept breaking in, telling him that "Yes, that's fucked up... but life goes on," upon which Paul told me I "didn't understand Africa."

Kees spoke up, practically yelling to make himself heard. "You know, Master Dogen here is going to Africa for the first time in a couple weeks!" As was indeed the case.

"Where in Africa?" asked Paul, seemingly unimpressed.

"Ethiopia."

And that's when Paul, for the first time in four fucking hours, finally forgot about the political situation in his homeland. "Oh my friend. Ohhhhhh, my friend!" he said, every bit as intense, grabbing my shoulders from the back seat, but with a smile forming on his face. "Are you prepared? Are you prepared for the WOMEN?"

Kees broke out in a big laugh and nodded his agreement. And from then on, it was all smiles and reminisces and fun and drinks. No more Zimbabwe.

That's my long-winded way of saying that Ethiopian women are famously hot. I'm not alone in that boat. But how are they hot?

Well, if you look at some photos, you can see that they have above average faces, on the whole. They usually have nice, golden skin tone that ages gracefully. They have very delicate noses, and full but not fat lips. They have beautiful eyes that are almost cat-like in the prettier girls, lined with dark lashes that contrast with their golden skin and the whites of their eyes.

Also, body-wise, they tend to be tall and slender like Somali women, but with more curves — there are fewer "boy-body" women here, which can be the occasional downside of tall, slender females.

But that's all on paper. A photo only tells half the story. In person, especially with real Habesha Ethiopian women (not the DC imports), the charm lies in the way they move, the way they talk, and the way they flirt. I've never seen such feminine women in my life.

When a woman acknowledges that you are speaking to her here, even at the customs office, she looks up and widens her eyes briefly and raises her eyebrows. The men do that too actually, but the women imbue this cultural tic with a special charm. They always smile when they speak to you — a real, interested smile; not some phony smile of politeness. They speak with a lovely, lilting tone. The verb often comes at the end of a sentence in Amharic, and women will lift that
last verb often, so it sounds like a little girl asking a question of her Daddy. One cute, charming question after another.

When they walk, they move their hips naturally. Not stomping like an American lawyer-bot battleship, but also not grossly exaggerating it like an American whore. Just swinging their hips gently as if it were the most natural thing in the world, which of course it is. When they move their slender hands, it's with control and grace. And when they dance... oh, when they dance.

I knew what to expect this time — it's my second month-long visit here — but nevertheless I was once again truly stunned to see it in person. In a few hours, some friends and I will go out to an Asmari Bet ("cultural house" where there will be food and music and dancing and
this bizarre form of singing stand-up insult comedy that men do here). I haven't even put on my shoes yet, but I can already tell you I am going to have a fabulous time, because such are the joys of being surrounded by women, real women.

Saturday, October 17, 2009

Damn, C. S. Lewis is a Good Writer

Here's a lengthy quote to chew on for your weekend. From The Abolition of Man, by C. S. Lewis, and asserting that there is such a thing as objective morality outside of our individual perspectives. Not necessarily an original point — but then there's the rub: this is an eternal truth — but succinctly and pithily put.

(PS: One need not be a Christian — as I am not — to appreciate Lewis. Note here he is at pains to prove the universality of his assertion)

St Augustine defines virtue as ordo amoris, the ordinate condition of the affections in which every object is accorded that kind of degree of love which is appropriate to it. Aristotle says that the aim of education is to make the pupil like and dislike what he ought. When the age for reflective thought comes, the pupil who has been thus trained in 'ordinate affections' or 'just sentiments' will easily find the first principles in Ethics; but to the corrupt man they will never be visible at all and he can make no progress in that science. Plato before him had said the same. The little human animal will not at first have the right responses. It must be trained to feel pleasure, liking, disgust, and hatred at those things which really are pleasant, likeable, disgusting and hateful. In the Republic, the well-nurtured youth is one 'who would see most clearly whatever was amiss in ill-made works of man or ill-grown works of nature, and with a just distaste would blame and hate the ugly even from his earliest years and would give delighted praise to beauty, receiving it into his soul and being nourished by it, so that he becomes a man of gentle heart. All this before he is of an age to reason; so that when Reason at length comes to him, then, bred as he has been, he will hold out his hands in welcome and recognize her because of the affinity he bears to her.' In early Hinduism that conduct in men which can be called good consists in conformity to, or almost participation in, the Rta—that great ritual or pattern of nature and supernature which is revealed alike in the cosmic order, the moral virtues, and the ceremonial of the temple. Righteousness, correctness, order, the Rta, is constantly identified with satya or truth, correspondence to reality. As Plato said that the Good was 'beyond existence' and Wordsworth that through virtue the stars were strong, so the Indian masters say that the gods themselves are born of the Rta and obey it.

The Chinese also speak of a great thing (the greatest thing) called the Tao. It is the reality beyond all predicates, the abyss that was before the Creator Himself. It is Nature, it is the Way, the Road. It is the Way in which the universe goes on, the Way in which things everlastingly emerge, stilly and tranquilly, into space and time. It is also the Way which every man should tread in imitation of that cosmic and supercosmic progression, conforming all activities to that great exemplar. 'In ritual', say the Analects, 'it is harmony with Nature that is prized.' The ancient Jews likewise praise the Law as being 'true'.

This conception in all its forms, Platonic, Aristotelian, Stoic, Christian, and Oriental alike, I shall henceforth refer to for brevity simply as 'the Tao'. Some of the accounts of it which I have quoted will seem, perhaps, to many of you merely quaint or even magical. But what is common to them all is something we cannot neglect. It is the doctrine of objective value, the belief that certain attitudes are really true, and others really false, to the kind of thing the universe is and the kind of things we are. [...] And because our approvals and disapprovals are thus recognitions of objective value or responses to an objective order, therefore emotional states can be in harmony with reason (when we feel liking for what ought to be approved) or out of harmony with reason (when we perceive that liking is due but cannot feel it). No emotion is, in itself, a judgement; in that sense all emotions and sentiments are alogical. But they can be reasonable or unreasonable as they conform to Reason or fail to conform. The heart never takes the place of the head: but it can, and should, obey it.

The full text of the Abolition of Man is available here. Have a nice weekend.

Thursday, October 15, 2009

Damn, I'm a Good Writer

I was just reading back through some of the old posts here and thought, Damn, I'm a good writer.

So even though I'm going to Africa for the next four weeks, I believe I'll be posting on here a lot more. I know it's a cliché to promise more from a blog that's been languishing, but from the comments and traffic we got not long ago, I know there are people out there who appreciate reading this stuff.

Once more into the breach, me hearties.

Friday, October 2, 2009

David Letterman, Alpha Male

ADDED Oct. 7: For all the haters, here's a couple quotes from today's Maureen Dowd column:

From what we know so far, and that may not be everything, the women who got involved with Letterman were not pressured. One former intern, Holly Hester, said she had wanted to marry him but that he broke it off because of their age disparity.

Stephanie Birkitt, his former lover and assistant, described herself as his best friend. She was not punished but rewarded with a recurring on-air starring role — despite the fact that she wasn’t funny or charming. As usual, Letterman was living out loud on the show, showing the audience his crush. His company footed the tab for Birkitt to go to law school, a loan she has now paid back; it says it did the same for some other staffers who wanted to pursue higher education.

As a side note, the fact that uber-shrike Dowd takes a conciliatory tone towards Letterman just further proves his alpha appeal. Eat it, haters.

ORIGINAL POST:

I just heard about the David Letterman sex extortion case. He's been blackmailed by a man who claims to have damning evidence about Letterman's multiple affairs with female employees of his production company, Worldwide Pants. The man wanted $2 million, and Letterman and his lawyer set the blackmailer up by meeting with him several times and even giving him a phony check.

But what Letterman did next was what inspired me to put a post on about it. For a minute put yourself in his situation. Someone is threatening you with public embarassment. You have a family, you have a job that, while it allows you to make lots of crass jokes every night, basically rests on you being acceptable to Middle American TV-watchers on a nightly basis. Howard Stern could not do Letterman's job (actually, he probably could because Stern is a very smart guy... but you get what I mean, he would have to totally change his public persona).

Well, Basic Damage Control 101 states that you own up to everything, immediately. So Letterman did that. But rather than just releasing a statement he brought it up directly on his show.

But then, instead of just bringing it up, he took the opportunity to tell a little story. He's a good story-teller (whether you like his show or not, it's obvious that entertaining people is one of his strong suits as opposed to, say, mountain climbing or impressionistic painting). So he took the opportunity to tell his version of the story. And he spends seven minutes telling the story from his point of view, quite sympathetically. Then about a minute and thirty seconds owning up to his supposed "crimes." (The "crimes" consisted of having sex.)

Behold an alpha performing a massive reframe. The link is at the end of this post.

Notice the fine touches. He pokes a little fun at himself, but in just the right way. He makes fun of his midwestern Lutheran, guilt-based upbringing, which is exactly the sort of thing to remind people of when you are being portrayed as a sleazy New York womanizer. He jokes that no one could imagine that he had sex, but of course this is after he's already established that he has... in fact so much sex that people are trying to blackmail him about it. He's being charming and self-deprecating, but never once denying that, yes, he's an alpha male that fucks his cute emloyees.

From here on out, anyone that tries to profit off this, whether the blackmailer or the women who were involved, will just look petty and Letterman will look more and more magnanimous. And to his other female employees, trust me, more and more attractive.

Massive reframe. Alpha.