From the original article on September 4, 2009. Author: Chateau Heartiste.
First there was this. Then this herb poked his fat head up from his burrow. Then a magnificent specimen of herb was spotted on the concrete plains of a SWPL savannah. Suddenly herbs started springing up everywhere, wearing frontal papooses, inexplicably carrying satchels into nightclubs, and laying their bulbous heads in the laps of girlfriends to be stroked like a pet cat. But none of these squishy shuffling beasts in khaki could inspire the kind of awe, and gag reflex, that the latest discovery has provoked among the world’s top anthropological researchers. Behold... the Mother of All Herbs... the UBER HERB:
When I first saw this pic, I thought... Will Wilkinson! I mean, just look at their relationship exactness and complementarity. But no, I have been informed that Will does not have an Asian girlfriend. Then I thought... Hope! White and nerdy boyfriend? Check. Wearing healing crystals of Buddharrific transcendence? Nope, not Hope.
A close examination of this blurry photo reveals the embodiment of herbitude — perfect in presentation, flawless in composure, virtuous in cross-legged effeminacy, he is the archetype of the schlumpy herb whose feeble beta posturings are thrown into stark relief (fortuitously for the ninja photographer who risked his serum testosterone level to capture this herb on film) by the annoyed girlfriend stiffly rebuffing his tender ministrations.
The reader who sent this in provides the backstory:
Red Line, Wednesday evening.
This guy was so obviously beta he might as well have had a neon sign on him. He kept looking at her, smiling occasionally. He put his arm around her. He touched her leg the way some shy teenage boy might. He did the talking. He leaned into her. She might as well have been sitting next to a stranger. Her arms were crossed the whole time. Checking BlackBerry. No emotion on her face. When they got up, she got up first, and led the way. She wasn’t even cute; 4-5 at best. The thing was...they were married.
Married! This is what an equalist concept of relationships earns a man — crossed arms and clamped pussies. And this schmendrick looks so shit-eating happy to surrender any shred of manly dominance. I could carve a better man out of a purple saguaro.
OK, you say, instead of pointing and laughing how about some solutions to help this guy? Hey, I aim to please.
I’d begin with the easiest and quickest improvements and work my way up to the more difficult herb-cleansing tasks.
First, style and presentation.
Next, body language.
Finally, we’d move on to LTR game.
As I’ve written before, the Asian woman is a white beta male’s dream. Asian girls are guided less by their primitive gina tingles than women of other races, and are more susceptible to the herbly charms of the provider beta, as long as the provider beta in question is a white dude. The white beta male can wallow like a pig-shaped puffed pastry in his desperate, needy, cloying betaness with the Asian girlfriend without worrying so much that she’ll dump him for the nearest bartender. The white beta male would have to settle for a fat white chick to enjoy the same treatment.
But when you’ve become a caricature of a herb, and so beta that your Asian wife is repulsed by you and showing it in public, you’ve got serious problems. You’re one short step down to omegatude and midnight masturbation marathons to Caucasian-eyed anime.
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