I lose interest in a movie if a bumbling beta attracts a beautiful female (e.g. every Adam Sandler movie ever made). There has to be a chance that the relationship would happen in real life or else I’m watching a science-fiction flick that depicts a parallel universe where the immutable laws of attraction are suspended. This is why I like La Dolce Vita, Gloomy Sunday, When Harry Met Sally, movies by Pedro Almodovar (Broken Embraces, Talk To Her, Volver), and a couple by Woody Allen (Vicky Cristina Barcelona, Hannah & Her Sisters, and Annie Hall). A silly movie with cringe worthy dialogue like Before Sunset will get cut off after 10 minutes.

I recently saw Broken English, a movie centered around an American woman named Nora who is panicking because she’s in her 30′s and has no hope of finding a man. Even though her best friend is extremely unhappy in her relationship, Nora becomes desperate to settle down. (Fittingly, she had a chance at her friend’s man years ago but passed on him). Written by a woman, the movie nails a lot of the American female qualities which I have been beating here to death lately:

-plain clothing
-not sexy
-oversized sunglasses
-anxious
-overly logical
-not well-traveled
-slutty but unaffectionate
-neurotic and jittery
-snarky
-doped up on pharmaceuticals
-unable to control alcohol consumption
-distorted view of the relationship between sex and attraction

Nora reminds me of about 20 girls I’ve dated. She’s played by Parker Posey, your stereotypical pretty American girl (before the obesity epidemic). She’s reasonably cute, someone who you wouldn’t be ashamed walking down the street with. Wrinkles are starting to show on her face, but most men would sleep with her if given the chance (I would). With the right hairstyle and outfit she could be classified as extremely attractive.

As she wonders “What happened?” to the past ten years of her life, so does the viewer. How many guys did she pass on while in her physical prime? How many “actors” did she date until she realized they were no good for her? Why didn’t she take her mother’s advice sooner, who was at least successful enough in love to bear her? The movie doesn’t explore her past, just her current dating mishaps of getting pumped and dumped and going out with a man who has serious baggage. She becomes bitter and jaded, closing off her mind to potential suitors.

Approaching the depths of loneliness, she reluctantly attends a party thrown by a coworker. There she meets an artistic Frenchman who has classic direct game more common with his Spanish and Italian counterparts. American women are taken off-guard by this game at first (Nora calls his approach “intense”), but commonly break down to the persistent charm and affections of these men. (Sorry, a European accent or some otherwise exotic quality is needed to run this particular style of game. Trevor with the striped shirt would be laughed out the bar if he went around telling girls he wanted to kiss them.)

The Frenchman’s direct game is world class, and it doesn’t take him long to dismantle her bitter shield and get right down to business. We would expect a pump and dump in this case, but no—he’s smitten and spontaneously asks her to return to France with him. She says that she can’t because of her oh-so-important event planner job, among other logistical reasons, but we know it’s because she’s deathly afraid of being disappointed yet again.

The film falls apart after that, which is probably why you’ve never heard of it before. It could have been the spinster manifesto up there with Sex and the City, but instead gets tossed into the indie yarn stack behind Chasing Amy. Nonetheless, if you like my blog, you’ll like the movie. The game performance by the Frenchman is alone worth a viewing (note his body language, his devastating use of silence, and his tonality). Completely ignore the fact that in real life a handsome Frenchman wouldn’t fall for an aging spinster who, frankly, was a bitch to him for most of their time together, and enjoy a pretty accurate take on American hook-up culture from a woman’s perspective. It makes me almost feel bad for them.

A fellow American I met in my Belo Horizonte had an odd complaint about me: he said I talked “too much” about girls. I scratched my head because the only two safe topics that you can talk about with just about any guy in the world are sports and pussy. What else am I going to talk about? Art? Style? I wondered if he was homo. Did my gaydar fail yet again like it did really late at night with that Colombian guy?

Yes, yes it did.

He eventually told me, “Dude, I’m gay,” as if he was annoyed I didn’t figure it out on my own. It wasn’t obvious anyway—I’ve met straighter guys who acted more gay than he did.

One morning we got to talking at the dining room table and I asked him when he realized he was a homersexual. He said, “I didn’t know until really late. In college I tried to date girls but had trouble connecting with them. After college I couldn’t even get dates. I thought something was wrong with me. Then I experimented with a guy and it felt more natural. It felt right. It’s so much easier for me to meet men than women.”

“Do you catch or pitch?” I asked, in the most empathetic tone possible. “You know it sucks when you’re gay because only one guy is getting the pleasure.”

“I like to receive, but you know what… it is very pleasurable. I love receiving. Mmmm very very good.”

“Okay I’m going to watch some porn on my computer now.”

Let’s put his story through the Roosh Translator™:

“I was tired of being a virgin.”

How many men are there in America whose failure with women made them “realize” they were a homosexual? Thousands, I’d estimate. These are guys too disillusioned with the American female to put the game work needed to penetrate their holes. Guys who concluded that these girls are not worth the effort, and that they rather get banged in the butt than deal with them or figure them out. I have a feeling these gay boys had gay tendencies before their conversion, but how many guys in Brazil converted to homosexuality because they couldn’t get laid? Colombia? Russia? Italy? Significantly less, I imagine.

How many other guys have given up on dating and rely solely on prostitutes? And how many others put their cock in a lockbox until they can fly away to bang foreign pussy? These guys are withdrawing themselves from the dating market, making it even harder for the educated middle-class American woman to find a partner with the same socioeconomic background as her own. The problem that only exists for African-American women (finding a long-term mate within their race), will now become one for white women as well.

I know some American girls are cool, sexy, and attractive, but that small percentage is shrinking to where living in a city of a million people is no guarantee you’ll find one. If you have then great job, but most guys are not as lucky, something that seems to be a growing factor these days. As a whole, American women are deficient in so many areas that men are choosing homosexuality instead. I wonder what this means for the future of the white American race.

1. They’re fat.

2. They’re constantly glued to their phone.

3. They cut their hair short.

4. They’re more impressed by a crappy DJ than a doctor who saves lives.

5. They think being funny and witty is a quality that men love.

6. They listen to magazines like Cosmo when it comes to pleasing men.

7. They don’t know how to cook.

8. They wear flip-flops even when they’re not at the beach, pool, or in their house.

9. They have condoms in their drawers because they expect to have random sex with strange men.

10. They cannot dance. They also do not know how to sing or play basic musical instruments.

11. They idolize drug addicted celebrities, mimicking their brain-dead behaviors.

12. They acquire pets instead of putting effort into landing a quality man.

13. They don’t know how to be sexy.

14. They have standards way beyond their level of attractiveness.

15. They think having a good job means they’re a good catch.

16. They wear pajamas in public.

17. They like Twilight and The Secret.

18. Their idea of travel is going to the beach or France.

19. They have too many trashy tattoos.

20. They are proud to date multiple guys at the same time, as if they were men.

21. They are not close to their family, and would rather die than take care of aging parents.

22. They say filthy things in bed when you hardly know them.

23. They cockblock regularly.

24. They make lame excuses for not putting effort into their appearance.

25. They obsess about the environment above what is reasonable, even though they pollute more than 90% of people in the world.

26. They always lie by saying, “I’ve never done this before.”

27. They confuse being a challenge with being whiny and annoying.

28. They are acne prone.

29. They watch way too much TV.

30. On their way home from work, they put on dirty sneakers that don’t match their outfit.

31. They only dress up for special occasions, like a friend’s birthday, Presidential inauguration, or a Sex and the City movie premiere.

32. They like to age their skin prematurely through frequent tanning.

33. They insist on eating pizza or otherwise fattening food after a night of binge drinking.

34. They’re obsessed with cupcakes.

35. They care more about maintaining their career than a good home.

36. They rarely wear high heels.

37. They think dining out and eating food slathered with butter and salt makes them cultured.

38. They don’t speak a foreign language.

39. They are uncomfortable in their own skin.

40. They like Ikea furniture.

41. They have the intellectual curiosity of a dung beetle.

42. They go on and on about the stupidest shit.

PREVIOUSLY: A Conversation About What’s Wrong With America

South American girls don’t drink nearly as much as American girls. When I was in clubs down there I’d imagine how much easier my job would be if they didn’t nurse their drinks. How many more bangs I would have if they didn’t average only two or three for the entire night!

When guys asked me what the deal was in getting with foreign girls, I complained about their slow drinking and how it was harder to get down to business. But was I really getting more in the States because the girls there drank more?

I don’t like to make conclusions with looking at the data, so I reflected on circumstances surrounding the first times I had sex with American girls. First thing I immediately realized was that I never banged a girl who was trashed or shit-faced. This is probably because drunk girls are almost impossible to game. They can’t maintain a conversation, can’t stand straight, and are like retards in how they process stimuli. I believe guys perceive them as easy because they are nearly unconscious and will not be able to put up a strong fight on the way to a bedroom.

(If you want to look at how cockblocking evolved here, look no further than the drinking habits of American girls. If there wasn’t a cockblocking mentality then there’d be a million rapes every weekend because so many of these girls are too immature and stupid to ensure their safety by not drinking to the point of blacking out. They need to babysit each other like little children up until at least their late 20′s. But it’s when girls unnecessarily cockblock, which they do out of habit, that provokes annoyance and sometimes anger from men like myself.)

For my study I chose a sample size of five American and five South American girls I most recently banged and rated them on their drunkenness at the time of initial penetration. Here’s the scale I used:

1: Completely sober.
2: Two drinks. More outgoing and chatty.
3: Tipsy. More flirty with slower movements.
4: Very tipsy. Eyes closing, problems speaking.
5: On the verge of passing out or puking.

Let’s start with the American girls first.

American Girl A: She was drunk enough that The Rookie almost got some right after me. Score: 4
American Girl B: Mostly sober. She kept saying “I don’t usually do this.” Score: 2
American Girl C: She had a few strong drinks. I noticed her speech ability decrease slightly. Score: 3
American Girl D: Sweated out much of the alcohol by dancing. No obvious sign of intoxication. Score: 2
American Girl E: Just a tad tipsy, but otherwise very coherent. Score: 2

Average American score: 2.6

Now for the South American girls.

S.A. Girl A: She was very tipsy when I met her, but the night I hit she only had two drinks. Score: 2
S.A. Girl B: She walked nearly half a mile to my place without any difficulty. Score: 2
S.A. Girl C: We had a glass of wine and then fell asleep. We woke up a couple hours later, completely sober, and did the dirty for the first time. Score: 1
S.A. Girl D: I bought a lot of booze in the hopes of getting her drunk, but she didn’t even finish the first drink. Score: 1
S.A. Girl E: Did it the morning when we were completely sober. Score: 1

Average South American score: 1.4

My sample set says that, on average, American girls are twice as intoxicated as South American girls when I have sex with them. Since these aren’t standardized for time, I cannot firmly conclude that girls who drink more are easier (though I think it’s safe to accept), but I can conclude that American girls are more comfortable having sex under the influence. Alcohol is more of a sex lubricant to American girls while for South American girls it’s dancing or simply nothing.

South America was the first place where I’d kiss or fuck girls who were completely sober. Developing game in the United States I had a belief that alcohol was essential to intimacy, but I understand now that it’s a cultural phenomenon, albeit one that cannot be ignored. While you don’t need to get American girls drunk to fuck, you should drink to connect with them at night. You can cover your sobriety by lying about how you’re the designated driver or what have you, but truth is no girl wants to fuck the designated driver. In South America you can take a girl for a walk in the park and then hit for the first time. I’m not exaggerating.

I used to think beauty was beauty, and a girl either had it or not. I was describing the genetic quality of a woman’s beauty—her face, hair, and body type. Assuming a girl doesn’t overdo it with the Haagen Dazs, she will score high on innate beauty if a psychologist measures her face for symmetry and proportion.

I spent a lot of time Argentina, a place where genetic beauty was very high, but wasn’t too crazy about the women. One big reason was because they were lacking in two other components that make up true beauty, which are needed to predict how hard a man will chase for sex.

The first is femininity, and describes her appearance. Is she wearing high heels and makeup? Or is she wearing dirty Converse shoes and a cheap summer dress? Are her clothes snug, revealing her curves? Or does she look sloppy with baggy jeans? Is her hair long? Or did she cut it because she was too lazy to maintain it? While a girl can’t change genetics, she has complete control over how feminine she appears.

Recently I went with my mother to visit her female doctor. Judging by the graduation date from the diploma hanging on her wall, the doctor was in her late 30′s, but looked to be almost the same age as my mom. Her hair was completely gray (she doesn’t dye it), she had no makeup on, and dressed like a menopausal woman. She moved like an old man. Someone who interacts with dozens of people a day was ugly in just about every way except for her intelligence, and has absolutely no pride in how she presents herself to the world. Unfortunately Western cultures are trending towards punishing women for appearing too feminine in the fear that they might be perceived as weak, dependent, and “girly.” At the same time men are punished for being too masculine, resulting in an androgynous archetype that both sexes overlap with (in America it’s common for some straight guys to be confused as gay, and some straight girls to be confused as dykes).

The final component is sexuality. It’s all the behaviors a woman does, consciously or not, that announces to other men her fertility and ability in the bedroom. It’s how she walks, how she looks at you, how she dances, and the minute changes she makes to her mouth while listening to you. It’s the things that make a man bite his lip and vow to do anything to get her. It’s the overall vibe that makes her a sexual animal and worth killing for (in prehistoric time, anyway). In my opinion this is the most important component of beauty because it takes the longest to get bored of. You can take for granted a girl’s pretty face and painted toenails in a week or two, but the magic at which she gets your dick rock hard can last years.

To put things in perspective, let’s compare the three components with four different cultures: America, Colombia, Argentina, and Brazil. Each has scores that range from 0 (lowest) to 10 (highest).

Even with my overly generous rating of Americans, they are still half the women of Colombians and Argentines, and a third of the Brazilians. While Brazilian women are on average not the prettiest in South America, they blow away their counterparts in the other categories. When American women look like men (I predict this will happen in 50 years), a sound option for American guys will be to move to Brazil working on some oil rig or as Amazonian logger.

Having a girl with high genetic beauty and femininity is nice because your conquest is constantly validated with others staring at her, but this gets old after a short while. If you’re going for long-term happiness and pleasure then she needs to have that high sexuality score. If you’re in a country where sexuality is punished, or the women simply don’t have the knowledge or capacity to be sexual, then I think you already know what you have to do.

I have some questions to ask you patriotic Americans about disturbing things I’ve noticed.

1. Why are the food creations so monstrous?

2. Why are people so big? How come big people don’t have any shame?

3. Why are 50% of men either gay or dressing and acting gay? Is being gay cool now? Why is American culture losing knowledge on how to be a man?

4. Why do straight men in the bar line up to hit on the sloppiest girls wearing Target flip flops? Don’t they know they’re encouraging negative behavior?

5. Why do men well over 30-years-old, with wrinkles and gray hair, dress like hipsters with skinny jeans and Converse shoes?

6. Why can’t people see the hypocrisy of caring about the environment while owning a car and flying in aeroplanes?

The girls are still easy at least.

Amazon.com: Huge selection of anything I can possibly want, priced fairly with usually free shipping, and delivered right to my door. This is what I missed most about America.

Netflix: I get my choice of just about every movie ever made in the history of the world, also at a fair price. When I’m abroad I hit up Isohunt to download movies, but they are rarely enough seeds for the faggy foreign movies that I enjoy (I’ve seen just about everything from Pedro Almodovar).

Supermarkets: Huge warehouses stocked with a million items that allow me to make any type of recipe imaginable. In South America, it can be hard to find basic foods like broccoli, ginger, lemons, limes, salsa, spices, barbecue sauce, parmesan cheese, turkey or chicken breast, spinach, and decent bread. Standing in the produce section of an American supermarket now feels like I’m on a movie set. Fresh food here is expensive (cheeses, produce, meats), but all that processed garbage is very fairly priced.

Liquor Selection: Go to any bar and there are fifteen types of vodka, four types of bourbon, and six beers on tap. American night spots have great selection for whatever mood you happen to be in. In Brazil you’re lucky if a bar has a palpable whisky. And besides for a couple exceptions, all South American beers taste exactly the same, along the lines of Budweiser.

Herbs/Remedies: Is your stomach growling and in need of some soothing peppermint? Need a specific vitamin supplement? Probiotics? Coenzyme Q10? Fish oil? Resveratol? These things can be hard to find and expensive in South America, but in the U.S. all you have to do is go to GNC or a site like iHerb.

Target/Walmart: One stop shopping for all your hygiene, home, clothing, and electronic needs, all at rock bottom prices. To be fair, there are Walmart-like stores in every South American country, but they tend to be out in the suburbs.

Customer Service: The customer is always right in the United States. Without having to raise your voice, businesses will do a decent job making sure your needs are met. In South America they just want your money and if there is a problem then too bad because they simply don’t give a shit whether you are satisfied or not with their product. Even the staff is disrespectful: they will stop talking to you midway to look at a text message they’ve just received. American cable companies like Comcast look top-notch compared to the ones in South America (e.g. NET).

One afternoon in Rio may have had me going to two separate grocery stores, the pharmacy to buy shampoo, the “informatics” store in the mall to buy a USB stick, and then a hardware store to buy a plug extension. Three hours of my life, gone, when in the U.S. it would’ve taken an hour at most.

I’m sure you see the pattern. Most of the things I missed were based on our consumer culture: choice, convenience, and selection. Other than that, America has only one other benefit over foreign countries: health care.

Just kidding. There are no other benefits.

PREVIOUSLY: Part One

Fast forward three days later. The memory of the Mexican girl is fading and I’m in my top bunk trying to get over a bad cold when a Brazilian girl checks in.

I thoroughly checked her out while she was bending over to store her things and deemed her nothing special. The Mexican girl had a better overall face and body, but of course the Brazilian had a better ass.

I found out later that night she doesn’t speak any English, so I took it as an opportunity to practice my Portuguese. She was nice and allowed me to mangle her language while correcting my horrible pronunciation, and since so few gringos speak Portuguese I earned 1,000 bonus points for being able to communicate in her native tongue. During our conversation I concluded that her appearance was homely but not ugly—she was simply a plain girl you’d see anywhere, not worth a second look if you caught sight of her on the street.

While we talked I noticed she had a peculiar stare. She’d squint her eyes ever so slightly and part her lips just a hair, a sensual look you’d expect during intimacy and not in a casual conversation. I like to think this was an unconscious gesture on her part and not something to “game” me, but then again at some point in her life she must’ve realized that it has an effect on real men.

She asked me if I was going out and I told her I was going to be a loser and stay in, as the next day I was meeting an old flame and wanted to be as vigorous as possible for the sex that would likely ensue. She then began to get ready, and like a caterpillar morphing into a butterfly, she literally transformed.

First she showered her body. Her hair stayed dry in it’s already perfect state, long to the small of her back, soft and feathery like you’d see in a Pantene Pro-V shampoo commercial. After changing in a short black dress that came halfway up her thighs, she escaped to the bathroom with a brush and returned ten minutes later, suggesting that hair like hers is no trivial matter to maintain. I don’t think she’ll ever get an ugly bob cut like an American girl, who works forty hours a week pushing papers that contribute nothing to the progress of the world but is too lazy to spend a few extra minutes a day on her hair.

She then got out her compact and began applying makeup. She put on a dark rouge to stand out against her olive skin, glossy lipstick to match, and thick eyeliner which made her eyes look twice as big. You can imagine what that did to her stare and it’s here I noticed that my breathing picked up in speed. She slipped into five-inch heels that highlighted her freshly painted toenails, a bold orange color that matched her fingernails, so fresh in appearance it had to have been done just a day or two prior. I really have no idea how she could walk in those heels but she made it look effortless, like she practiced often starting from a young age. If they killed her feet I doubt she would let a man know.

(Speaking of heels, not once have I seen a Brazilian girl take off her heels and then put on sneakers for the bus or subway ride home after work. It’s because they don’t do things that purposefully make them look like an idiot. If you can’t wear attractive footwear because they hurt your feet or are hard to walk in, then maybe you should get a stay-at-home job instead of embarrassing yourself in public. Either do it right or don’t do it at all.)

She walked in and out of the dorm room to the bathroom, and the girl I witnessed earlier in the day was gone, replaced by this sexual creature I’d do all that I could to bang. I’d happily spend hours in the club with her, dancing, touching, and drinking for a chance to violate her body. I believe any man would. While her genetic appearance was only average, she has figured out that by maximizing her look she can gain the attentions of men like myself who resist chasing average women. It’s true that my interest may not carry over after sex, but at least she has a chance at hooking a man, for a woman who can’t even get sexual attention is already dead in the water. Tight game for men is words and a cocky attitude, while for women it’s looks and a playful attitude. I don’t know why this is so hard for Westerners to understand.

The Brazilian girl didn’t leave right away—she had to wait for a friend who was staying in the bunk above hers to return. She sat down on her bed and then very slowly and deliberately started putting lotion on her long legs. They did not have mosquito bites or mountain bike bruises and cuts like the gringas in the dorm next door. By now I’ve already run out of my good Portuguese and had nothing more to say, frustrating to a man who in English can talk to a wall for five hours nonstop without interruption.

She’s stroking her legs and I’m catching this from the corner of my eye, rubbing my beard roughly at the torture I was witnessing. Then she does the inexplicable: she lays down on her bed while dangling her legs and feet (heels still on) over the bunk’s wooden ledge. Her dress snaked down to the very top of her thigh where it meets with her body and only two more inches until her vagina would be in plain view. Her hair is splayed across the bed and she’s inspecting her finger nails and it got too hot for me so I stopped out for a couple minutes to get some air. She left soon after.

The next day she looked average again but I saw her differently. Loose jeans covered her body but I didn’t forget the ass in the black skirt that bent over to retrieve feminine hygiene products from the locker. She had a plain t-shirt on but I didn’t forget the way her back curves into the meaty part of her hips. Her hair was up in a bun but I could still pick apart its thickness and length. My attraction for her didn’t decrease because I knew in a couple hours time she’d transform back to what aroused me.

Here’s a business idea for a Brazilian woman out there: write a book called “Why Brazilian Women Get All The Men,” in the spirit of “French Women Don’t Get Fat.” Teach Western girls to look their best at all times, to know how to maintain eye contact with a man, how to move, how to properly laugh at a man’s jokes, and how to exercise the ass. An entire chapter must be dedicated to ass exercises. Teach them to forget about being witty or snarky or funny or “intelligent,” as those things decrease attraction instead of increasing it. Teach them well so that when I go to an American bar I don’t see average girls with chipped nail polish, flip flops, masculine movements, and a generally sloppy appearance—I see a sexual creature that I want to get to know, possibly for more than one night.