Vita Brevis's Blog, page 2

It's that time of year again - online dating time

Like I've saidpreviously, I'm not all that a fan of online dating. However, once a year, I tend to dip in. That time of year usually being December.Last year I had a closer look at Plenty of Fish, sending out a few messages and bantering a bit. This year, prompted by a discount offer appearing in my inbox, I thought I'd giveMatcha punt.First off, I was surprised that membership had jumped to £42.99 for a single month! I baulked at that! I understand that they want to push you to signup for a longer duration of three or six months (payable up front) with the greater discount, but even so, I can remember when a month's membership was around £17! That sounds about right - damn near £45 doesn't! That's a ridiculous price in my opinion. Even with my discount I thought that around £30 was taking the piss.But I  logged on, perused the profiles, and while not pleased with the price of entry, thought "what the hell," and plugged my debit card details in.The profile I use is one I created way back in 2007. I don't think I've bothered updating the blurb on it in years. It's the same blurb with only a couple of deviations that I've got on PoF. The only thing it doesn't have is photos, so I added half a dozen - the best half dozen that exist of me in the world, of course. All taken within the last year at least. I'll remove them when my membership expires.That said, my profile does possess one tweeny-tinsy lie: I've shaved five years off my age. I thought of updating that... and then left it. One look at the women, and I'm not the only one putting a spin on my  birth date. And I can get away with more too.I don't really like to buy into the community/manosphere "wall" thing too much, but my Lord, I did notice something on my wander through the profiles of Match: in their early to mid 20s, the women looked okay. Come 28/29 - 31/32 something sure does happen! Over 35 and I'm guessing the ages need at least five more years added! By their 40s they look 'old.'  Just done.Now, I do know (very) attractive women in their 30s and beyond on-world, which is why i don't totally follow the "wall" line, but the women on Match sure do make a compelling argument for it! At least in my neck of the woods.So, I branched out and looked at other major cities near me; I saw the same thing.Beauty isn't that rare in this world, but in online dating it sure is!I look in on Match a few times a year, and as I say, I've had the profile I used for nearly ten years now. While not a member I login just to see who's on and note each time that there are still many live accounts with familiar names and the same photos that've been on the site all the years I've been looking in! These aren't the profiles with the "last activity over 3 months ago" tag either. According to Match, they're still checking in regularly.That's one of the catches of Match, though. Whilst they tell you when last last someone was active, they don't tell you if they're a paid up member who can read and reply to your messages - because they supply a handy additional payment facility that allows non-members to contact you. Which I was too cheap to purchase as I already thought the whole thing overpriced.I've got to say though, that like flicking through a magazine I buy on impulse purchase, once I get it home, it doesn't seem quite as interesting as it did back in the shop when I was browsing it. The same happened with Match. While browsing the profiles as a non-member it looked like there were a few I could shoot out a message to, but come spending my money, there seemed a lot less for some reason. Same profiles, none disappeared or anything, I wasn't scammed, just the women suddenly looked a lot less interesting now it came time to start messaging. As in, can I be bothered putting in the effort to get to a real world meetup with you? Given that I'm not so much looking for a relationship, but more a Christmas bang that plays off her feelings of loneliness at this time of year.I never said I was a saint. I try to be honest, but not a saint.There's a couple that look okay that I'm pinging back and forward with at the moment, but it's a slow process, and I know that as they're "okay" that makes them online dating superstars and they'll have exploding inboxes. Thus they'll be playing me, along with a bunch of other dudes. So, I reckon my intentions are about as honourable as theirs all told.I'm already experiencing buyers remorse, though. I knew I would, and I have. After making my purchase, I had a look at PoF and reckoned it was on a par with the quality, and maybe I should've played that, it was free after all. I already know my Match membership won't be extending into the new year.I have found that being in the 40+ age bracket myself these days (even with my five years shaved off) that I'm getting way more views, winks and favourited than I ever remember in the past! But even with less than honourable intentions, none of them are worth a damn, and I wouldn't want to be seen out in public with them.I'm not playing any grand 'game' here. I just open with a one sentence intro that makes a quip off something they've said in their profile or doing in a photo. Which can be harder than it sounds as most of the profiles are dull as dishwater and the photos likewise.I dislike those "making a quirky" look to camera pics as well. That forced "aren't I such a special, zany snowflake" Zooey Deschanel inspired look. Kind of the guy equivalent of sticking your tongue out in every photo to show how CrAzY you are.There's one profile in which the woman's uploaded photos of what she expects you to look like - pics of Van Diesel - and we're informed not to waste her time or ours, if we don't look like that. There's another lists what she wants in a man, and ends by wishing us, "Good luck!" Like she's the winning ticket in the lottery or something. None of these women are anything special, no one will be surprised to learn.There's the standard script stuff about not messaging for sex or one night stand, because they're not that sort of girl... riiiight. Never, ever, done that have you?So, as you can no doubt discern I'm not impressed thus far. However, I've paid me money, I'll take my turn.I'll give an update to how this all panned out later.

Ever feel like you've seen it before?

That's because you have. Including my headline and tagline here.The older you get, the more you've seen, and so the harder it becomes to be really, truly impressed by something so original or so outside the box, you've justneverconsidered that line of thinking before.At least these days for me in the PUA/Manosphere, it feels like that.I understand how PUA morphed into the Manosphere because there's only so much you can write about how to overcome the obstacle in a two-set or how to do an approach. So, talking about general bitchiness infield expands into a more general philosophy of female behaviour and an enabling society. Fair enough and all very interesting.I found a lot of the posts around that transition pretty interesting. Around 2010. I was never sure if half of what Heartise was saying wasn't just shit-trolling, but his comments sections sure thought it was all for real. In that regard, I found Heartise more 'avant garde' than Roosh. In fact it was from Roosh's site I found Heartise, and of the two, I regarded it as the more entertaining site - as sacrilege as that may be to say to some.Despite reading Roosh since the DC Bachelor days, I didn't join the Roosh V forum (RVF) when it started. To be honest, I didn't think it'd prove all that popular, and thought it'd never amount to much. Little did I know. Also seemed a bit, well, self-indulgent to create a forum named after yourself. That just didn't bode well in my opinion. That puts you in the follower box straight away, not the member one, at least to my way of thinking.Maybe the forum was needed to take up the slack where the blog left off, I don't know because I didn't follow it, but I've looked in on the open threads over the years.What I've seen is pretty much what I've observed on all forums; the owner and mods get their his e-dicks sucked, and high post contributors who start off as they mean to go on - as insta-gurus from post one - who pay the correct homage to the right people, will go onto to be forum Princes to the forum King.That's not a specific jibe at RVF, it's just a dynamic that plays out on almost any forum of any subject.It's interesting, though, how the social dynamic plays out. How people are willing to fall into line and toe the social group's line. And how those who rise within it expect it.However, it kind of gets a bit darker and off-putting when dissent isn't tolerated, by way of bannings. Like I said, I look in on RVF now and again, and there's hardly a thread I browse that doesn't have at least one forumite with a strikethrough against his name. For why I don't know, but there sure are a lot of them, and some with very high post counts so I can't assume they're troll accounts, or that would've been apparent much sooner.A well run forum membershipThat kinda strikes me as not all that healthy an atmosphere; not exactly indicative of an air of free discussion.In terms of forums, I've played the member and the owner. It was my previous experience on the old Scotlandlair forum that precipitated the creation ofScotlair. The guys just couldn't criticise or question the mods running it, not without the ban hammer coming down. Didn't matter how politely it was done. So, as good contributors got booted, I started up an alternative forum, with a commitment not to silence any discussion. I copied an aspect of the old Venusianarts forum and instigated a "Fight Club" subforum where if discussion got too heated, it could be trimmed and go there. Or start there if the beef felt was strong enough.What I didn't want to do, and what the people contributing didn't want to see, was more hair trigger moderation; censorship masquerading as keeping the place "positive." All for everyone's good, just like it is in every dictatorship where people disappear in the middle of the night.Scotlair wasn't, and isn't, a large forum, so moderating it has always been easy. Especially as I don't view it as "mine." I've never treated it that way, as a place for the followers of VB to gather and give homage(!) That would've never taken root. It is what it says on the tin: "the home of the Scottish pickup community."Not my little Moonie community dedicated to the cult of VB.In that regard, I've never kicked anyone out for saying my Game's shit or my ideas and posts worse. Or saying it about anyone else. Some of the threads that have wound up in 'Fight Club' are my favourites in fact. Even years later, they're still good for a laugh.But, you know, maybe I missed a trick with that. Maybe I should've opened the forum up publicly like we've only just done in recent weeks,yearsago. Made capital on the traffic and grown the place out. Instituted myself as Lord High Poobah with all the answers, and anointed my duly deserving disciples...I've seen flickers of the sort of ass-kissing from newbs over the years, desperate to ingratiate themselves, which means I could've done it, gone down that road. Would've lost some people, but there would've been others happy to fill their shoes. If I'd opened the place up, made it easier find some eight years ago, who knows, maybe I could be banned from certain countries now too!But the whole Jim Jones thing, like I've said in the past is just not me. This blog is my first foray into "promoting" myself, and I only created it because I wrote a book, and the accepted wisdom on author forums was to get yourself a blog.Me moderating ScotlairBut I did all that a bit arse-about-tit. I should've started a blog, grown that, started a forum, then published. Except I created a closed forum, neglected it, wrote a book, and then started a blog.And you know what... I don't give a shit. Because the forum was never for my self promotion or creating my ownLord of the Flieslittle Kingdom. The book was a personal project, and I wasn't even thinking that much of intended audience, or primarily doing it for money. The blog I thought of as something supplemental, but the more I've got into this, the more I've taken to enjoying it. I think I'm starting to find my voice now, too. Whether anyone's listening to that voice is another thing, but I'm starting to put "me" into it, and speak more and more from my life. It's quite cathartic.Blogging is a clique, though! Since doing this I've Googled up many a handbag fight over turf and credentials ha-ha! I find that amusing because I don't much think that way. Sure, I can be possessive, but over posts / ideas in the ether of the net?!This is where I get back to what I said at the start of this post: is anything all that original? Going to be honest, I enjoyed early Roosh, andBang, but it was all unacknowledged Mystery Method. Like early RSD, just minus the magic tricks. Heck, speaking of RSD, there's even a Game Tips link on Roosh's blog, the very first tip being a rip-off of a classic Tyler Durden post! Not saying the whole of the man's output is plagiarism, but just saying what's staring me in the face. We get influenced, we like ideas, so we repeat or re-spin them. It happens. I mean, is it a criticism if I point out that any weight lifting or diet plan isn't original work either?! Shit just gets too precious in too many people's minds.But some of the advice I've read on some of the blogs out there, that gets massive kudos... I just think some people maybe need to expand their reading material beyond the Manosphere. One gem I read on creating a best selling book, the advice was on a par with me posting that the way to get thinner is to lose weight! Holy-fucking-revelation!Of course such sacrilege is to invite a bashing, but whilst mindful of web traffic, I don't think it gives authority or says anything at all about the quality of advice. If it did, we'd all pack up and surrender to Jezebel. Instead, I just view it as a "voice". Like my own. With as much weight.I'm not Buddha by any stretch but I don't tend to overly covet. Like I look at my friendirishand I like what he's got going on in his life over in Singapore/Jakarta. But I'm not thinking I can't do that or because he's done that, that I have to lie down and prostrate myself because I want to follow suit! I give deserved kudos. I can learn - but beyond that so what? That doesn't "lower my value" in all other things.LikeSergei. He's given me weight training instruction. While he's not the next Schwarzenegger, he's still in great shape, and I find that inspiring in the same way. Like, me lifting less doesn't make me place him "up there" or make me feel there's some sort of imbalance or teacher/student dynamic going on that I buy into.And Gabriel. I'm more likely to approach than him in Game but he can drive way better than me. I've never met anyone with the complete package yet in my life, witheverythingI want to be, and I sure haven't encountered that dude on any forum or blog as yet. But all my friends have something I admire and I hope I can reciprocate in some way.It's the same two-way street I take to forum moderation and blogging. I'm just a dude saying his bit, not pretending to be the Oracle of the ages.Something else about forums that I feel the need to point out. Like I said, I've had Scotlair for coming up on nine years now, in that time I've always tried to encourage and cajole it, so that meant posting more than the average member... and in almost nine years I still haven't broken 1,500 posts.There's dudes on some forums that have racked up post counts in the three to five thousand range in a few short years, whilst commenting on a multitude of blogs, other forums, Tweeting and maintaining their own personal blog! And all the while writing about how to enjoy a "rich and fulfilling" lifestyle?! Maybe if being plugged into the internet à la the Matrix 24/7, living in a life-support pod, is your idea of it.Little wonder then, that I feel like I've read so much of what's out there before.

Stripper Game

I was thinking about PUA fads and this was a big one for years: Stripper Game.Like any fashion fad, in retrospect you can look back on it and cringe. I haven't seriously checked out Mystery for some years so I wouldn't be surprised if he's still clinging to it as the litmus test of your Game, but outwith Mystery, I hope that like a lot of that old time stuff, the fad's passed.I'm not going to pretend that I didn't buy into it at the time i.e. some ten years ago, because I did. When I got my stripper card, that was when I no longer thought of myself as just an amateur, but a fully fledged 'pro.' Not in the sense of looking to charge anyone for my sage-like wisdom, but bagging a stripper could only mean I was now eligible for a plaque in the PUA Hall of Fame: I was the Real Deal!Except in order to completely fit in with my new PUA identity I sort of overlooked that I'd scored a stripper pre-Game days, and whilst intrigued, didn't really think of it as something to brag on until Mystery told me this was a good thing.I'm not sure if any of my stripper scores fully count either, as I never successfully picked them up in the club, but met them outwith that environment.The first was a little blonde who I met shortly after I started tentatively dating a woman who was a doctor and local GP.  This was a few years before I got into Game. I remember thinking that the doctor was a rational choice, someone I should maybe stick to, as I admit I was impressed she was a doctor.But like any good, self-sabotaging Lothario I managed to look beyond her better qualities of intelligence and very well paid job path, and decided that she just wasn't hot enough. And she wasn't. She was kinda plain. Had hair that reminded me of Sideshow Bob too. So that was never going to last.The hair doomed usMuch to the disappointment of a female work colleague that I used to confide in at the time, and my mother it has to be said.I threw her over for a nineteen-year-old blonde that I met on the town, and had a four week fling with. I was in my early thirties at the time and so was the doctor. The fling ended when the blonde did to me, what I'd done to the doctor: vanished. As in all radio communication ceased.I only met her a few times, she was quite proud of working in one of the local lap dancing bars, it was her main job, but I also suspected she may well have been doing escorting too. Mainly because I seen a photo that looked very much like her on an escorting site for girls for my region. I was paranoid to go looking once she dumped me.I never seen her "dance" or went near the club, and other than that, she was just another girl with nothing more to distinguish her. I don't know if folks who buy into the stripper-thing think these girls glow in the dark, but they're pretty ordinary I found.Speaking of lap dancing bars, I don't hang out in them without very good reason. Like, say, a bachelor party or some other sort of boys night out. It's just not my thing. The girls view you as a mark, they don't like you, and their only interest in you extends as far getting you to take your wallet out and spend money on them. Which is fair enough as they're not getting paid by the hour. The cynicism is as visible as the flesh.A strip club yesterdaySo, the next time I tried Stripper Game in their environment, it still wasn't strictly speaking 'cold' Game and 'proper' by Mystery's standards.I was in a local "Gentleman's Club" with a friend I'd worked on film with. It was a shoe-string amateur effort, no big shakes, but in the making of it a local nightclub had been used that neighboured this lap dancing bar. In the scenes filmed there we'd also managed to rope in a few of the girls next door as extras and eye candy. It'd been a laugh, I'd a bit part as gangster in the background, and one of the girls had played my date/moll.Anyway, me and this guy who'd been involved in the production had went back to the club in order to speak to some of the girls a few months later, catch up, and show them how some of the scenes had come out. The girl who'd played my date was there, and we had a good chat and she introduced me to another girl that I got on well with. If they hadn't all been sitting around in their underwear it'd would've been just like any other social occasion.Only one of the girls went into her performance, because she didn't initially recognise us. When she came back from her lap dance, she saw us with her friends, and sat down. My friend greeted her by her real name and said, "Hi, do you remember us?" She smiled a fake smile, and stroked my friend's hair and said, "Of course I do - you gave me a dance." Which was just practised bullshit. I teased her and said, "You don't need to do that. You can be normal with us," and reminded her how we'd met. At which point she flicked the switch and was fine too.We were there for over an hour, and I chatted to the girl my onscreen date had introduced me to for most of that time, and she was happy to stay and banter. Maybe wouldn't have been as happy if the club was busier but we'd made a point of coming early in the night so could we chat without a load of horny, drunk guys getting in the way.So, when it came time for us to leave, I asked for her number. She was coy, and said she really shouldn't as she wasn't allowed, so I said that was okay, and went to put my phone away. At which point she told me to hide it under the table and gave me her number.I'd only been in the Game a few months then and thought that was some uber mPUA shit of me right there, taking an actual stripper's number, IN a strip club!Of course, I was somewhat overlooking that I hadn't played much Game other than not being over awed, and just had a normal fluff chat for an hour or so. Then like any normal dude, had asked for her number before leaving. But because of Mystery and the Seduction Community I was convinced I'd done something akin to a Jedi mind trick.The number flaked anyway. She answered a couple times, days later, and having researched Phone Game on the old MysteryMethod site (the threads would still be there under Lovesystems) I was careful only to reply in periods of the same time interval. If it took her two days to reply, then it took me two days to acknowledge it. All the while re-reading her messages and actively looking forward to when Game would 'allow' me. I didn't want to mess this up after all ha-ha.Actually, I don't think I was even replying 'normally,' I think I was using the replies I found on Mystery's forum. I certainly remember calling her and leaving the voicemail I'd memorised off the site. Back then, I assumed every high repped or high post member knew what they were speaking about when they posted; I was still to fully appreciate the term "keyboard jockey," and appreciate that some of the biggest ones were the mods.So that went nowhere.Next up was a girl I met in another club when on a night out with my wing Gabriel. It was a Friday night, it was the last hour or so, about 2 a.m., and I noticed a very attractive black girl in a figure hugging dress sitting on a couch with some friends.So, I went over, sat down, and joined them. Ended up going back to mine with her, her friend drove us, and it was a thoroughly enjoyable night. She was one of those girls that had a 'moral code' of dating, though. Whilst she was prepared to come back to mine and spend the night, she wasn't going to do more... but did everything but the final act of consummation. Not unusual. A lot of women need a further week of texts and a dinner or drinks in order to satisfy their dating 'rule' and not feel a slut.Following that we saw each other some more, met her dating code, all was good. She told me she was a law student and I never questioned it. Also told me she'd just had a tit enhancement and I never questioned that either; why a student would blow a couple grand on getting bigger tits.It was a few weeks later that Gabriel told me she worked in one of the city's lap dancing bars. Then it all fell into place. Her late night "bar work" and the odd hours she seemed to keep.I text'd her, asking if she "danced" at the club I was told she worked at. She was mortified, and full of apologies and explanations! I wasn't fussed, I thought it was sort of cool, and told her that. I meant it too. I mean, I didn't see myself marrying this girl or anything, it was just fun to hang out and bang her.She dotted in and out of my life until she eventually moved abroad elsewhere. As I got to know her better, I discovered that the world of stripping wasn't all banal, though.I consider myself fairly broadminded but she had stories, that she thought perfectly normal, that'd turn your hair white. Likewise she would phone me at all hours of the morning, inviting me to some party, but working a regular office job that just wasn't something I could do.She didn't like me coming into the club either. Presumably to avoid any "jealousy" or some such in reaction to seeing her work. I had to stand outside and wait for her of a weekend night. I was okay with that. I didn't particularly want to hang out in the place.I did go in one time. I was with Gabriel and a couple girls Gabriel knew. They were young, and thought the whole stripper club thing would be ever so daring to do. Yeah, they were that young.We had a good time. I remember she was wearing a lot more than some of the other girls working in there. Instead of flouncing about in her underwear, she was wearing what looked like a more 'conservative' gym training top and white shorts. She immediately hugged me and we sat together, her on my lap, and I don't mind saying I felt liketheman, sitting there with her genuinely fawning on me, while the regulars looked on, and was getting for real what they paid to fantasise about.What I thought I looked like but coolerI also felt soPUAagain. I mean, wasn't that ultimate turbo Mystery Game? And never mind I was in some shitty small town strip joint, not Spearmint Rhino or anything (but which I'm told can be just as shitty).I really wouldn't have thought all that much about the whole thing, like I'd done with the stripper I'd dated previously, if it wasn't for the influence of the Seduction Community. That's not to piss on the community, as I've taken a lot from it, but the stripper thing I never fully understood as to why it was considered such a landmark achievement - other than Mystery deeming it as such.To be honest, there are girls working on the makeup counters of some of the big department stores that I'd rather hook-up with. I'd think more of John Lewis or Selfridges Game than Stripper Game. Mind you that's technically 'Hired Guns' Game isnt it?! I hadn't remembered about that until writing just now! But Hired Guns were usually defined as shot girls in bars, not the girls working the Christian Dior counter.So, yeah, I hope that fad's well and truly past. Mystery had a thing for strippers - fair enough - but I don't know why we all had to share his fetish. Some guys really went for that too, hanging out in strip clubs, trying to 'Game' the girls, when they couldn't consistently meet women who were looking to have fun in bars and clubs, and not working in them, trying to hold a job down and meet bills with it.I recall the money my stripper fuck buddy said she made dancing too. It was a grand or so a month. In my naivety I thought she'd be making that anight, at least a week, but no, she was making little more than an office admin assistant per month.There's been a few fads come and go over the years in the community. One we're in right now is the eastern Europe tour. That at least does the have added benefit of seeing a bit of the world, a lot of the previous fashions were just hollow techniques, with nothing more going for them than just selling the authors as the next 'guru.' Apocalypse Opener anyone? And the guy who came up with it, RSD's Tyler said he'd never seen him pull it off and disavowed it - and the guy worked for RSD!That there is another series of posts to go along with PUA fads one: Fruitloops I Have Known.

How much bullshit is enough?

Over the years, I've noticed that the guys who've progressed fastest in the Game, or done best, have invariably had something "wrong" with them. As in usually a clearly narcissistic/sociopathic personality, or just a little plain dumb.Not all of them, but just about all of them.That doesn't go just for advancement in the Game, but in the office too. That same grab everything first, ass-kiss and back stab mentality, will get you far. I'm pained to say.When I was at uni, I knew a guy, he was okay, but my Lord was he full of shit! He was a friend of a friend and one of them sorts that anything you've done, he'd done too but with bells on. I remember one night, out for a drink, we got onto talk about fights etc., the sort of stuff young guys bullshit up, and Billy (let's call him) goes off on the tale of being a wanted man by the IRA... Yeah, I know.Billy was an Irishman, and he comes up with this story of getting into words with some IRA big wig back in the home country, beating the shit out of him in some pub, and that was one of the reasons he was now "hiding" out in the UK, studying here.Even back then, green and gullible, I couldn't buy that the dude was A) drinking in IRA controlled pubs and B) slapping the shit out of their commanders over girls.And C) still be alive or walking.But this was a practised story, and one I'd hear several more times, with more arms and legs on each telling. The guy seemed to absolutely believe it too. Like the scratches on his arm, he'd got them after fighting off some guys on the way home one night. His flatmate told me he got them off the cat they kept. I didn't need the same flatmate to tell me the IRA story was all bullshit too.As was the boxing story. When he found out I was into training, he didn't miss a beat: told me he'd been an amateur boxer for Ireland and just missed selection for the Olympic squad by a whisker. Some injury or other kept him out. This was never mentioned till that moment, which was unusually modest given what a blowhard he was on all things other than that...I remember him telling me, all deadly serious, that he couldn't come to training with me; because if he hit someone, it could be lethal.Yeah. Gimme a break. But Billy had a swagger. People bought into his bullshit, and he was 'respected' to a certain extent, all by engineering of his own mouth, and no action. He got the girls too with it. Maybe not as many as he claimed, but he got them.That fascinated me. I was doing my "nice guy" genuine act, he was acting the full on tosser, and he got the chicks! Back then this greatly confused me.But Billy expected the chicks. He expected that women would like him. He was Great after all. The sort of dude that slapped around terrorist chiefs in their own local, a pick for his country's Olympics boxing team, and so lethal he couldn't dare train in the uni gym hall doing a bit of pad work for fear he killed someone.Billy believed all that 100%. And it didn't seem to do him any harm. Me thinking he was a harmless clown didn't affect his reality or life one iota because enough other people shared his delusion. I don't know where he is now, but I wouldn't be surprised if he was a Vice President by now, wherever he finally ended up working.Billy wasn't just a product of youthful exuberance, because I've gone on to meet plenty more "Billys" in my working life. Guys who couldn't do the job for shit, but talked the big talk, and despite results (or lack thereof) were well thought of. All achieved by word of mouth and spinning their own story.I was never good at that. I didn't play golf and didn't go to the organised afternoons (that included tea and sausage rolls in the price - how could you turn down a treat like that?) and I even shunned the official works annual formal dinner-dos. Wherein all the lameos would appear in formal kilt wear with their equally lamentable partners and make shitty work related jokes all night.YupOkay, that wasn't smart, and not exactly networking, but that's always been my problem - if I like people I make the time for them, if I don't, then, well, I don't.The work place involves more frame-games than a convention of PUAs and isn't all that far removed from the playground. Some workplaces are much better than others, but it's not the ethos or the perks, it's a matter of whether you get on with the immediate people you work with. There's being professional and getting the job, and then there's the indoctrinate, the guy who really does believe the company brochure, the dude who's a full blown party member and who will report you to the Thought Police for any infraction.These are the guys you work with who are on the same grade as you but act at least one grade higher at all times. You don't so much work together, as the guy overseas and reviews your work. The guy who will gleefully highlight any shortcomings in it, and proclaim surprise if you can produce something better than he can. Soon it'll dawn on you that these guys mostly produce nothing, except their own press.They're in every meeting with their smug grin and coffee mug, gums flapping, but when you pay attention, there's not that much substance coming out. Which is what "meetings" are mostly about: your own sales pitch. Doesn't matter what you're saying, so long as you're saying it.And so long as people leave with a positive impression, substance isn't required. Reality is perception and all that.And so it is in the world of PUA-dom too, as many an eviscerated instructor onSluthatewill attest.Back in the day, I remember reading on some blog somewhere, an ex, and now forgotten Lovesystems (or MysteryMethod as it was then) coach saying that the best student he'd ever had, who'd went onto be a successful instructor, was as dumb as a brick. He did well precisely because he didn't question or overthink the material: he just did it, and did as he was told. I've observed that same phenomena. Guys just going out, spitting the lines and doing the routines, will get success where I'm expecting them to crash and burn. Of course that happens as well, it's not all a path to easy victory, get a lobotomy and get crazy amounts of ass; I'm not saying that. What I am saying, is that just letting go, and letting the woman make the decision, instead of taking it for her (that there's no point talking to her and she won't like you), is the point of the lesson.These dudes don't have much in way of off the cuff chat, and no wit, so going off material isn't something they tend to do, and when they run out of material, that's the end of the set.I've seen this manifest in academic world too. People who are good at remembering facts and figures by rote, but outwith the examination hall, fail to see beyond the question at hand and how to apply the information practically. Same in maths, not just history or literature. I've seen peers fully able to tackle a question and work through the process to the answer... butdefiningthe question is something they're totally unable to do. They're unable to pinpoint and extract the problem. If someone else does that for them then they can go to work on it, but they're lost until that happens. Because it hasn't been programmed and they don't deviate from it. Your programming can be very restrictive.The "Billys" of this world are programmed too, they're just following one with a lot less conditions and subroutines. So, without all that additional spaghetti code to get in the way and clutter things up, if you can just chuck out as many variables as possible, and replace them with constants - like you're the greatest fucking thing ever - then the ensuing sense of entitlement that comes with that will go a long ways to getting you whatever it is you think you're entitled to.Me, I've always been too much the guy who hangs back and waits in line. I don't shove to the front like Billy and grab all I can when I get there. The people who do, get more, and they don't agonise over being selfish or your loss either: it's just not something that'd even occur to them. It's not even bullying, it's just that they're entitled to it, this is how the world works, and there's nothing unfair in it. When youknowthat, you don't need to question it. It's like gravity. It's just a law of nature.And I've had wings like that. Well "a" wing anyway. What's yours is mine, but what's mine is totally mine, and you can get to fuck. While I'm concerned with computing what the outcome should be based on the rules of fairness, friendship and decency, someone with who's never had those subroutines added, just steams in.I have to say though, that whilst either being to dumb to know it, or sociopathic, works well individually, as a combo they don't. I have met guys like that, and the combination doesn't tend to make a super-slayer, just a poisonous mix that doesn't do anyone any good that comes into contact with it. At least some minimal, redeemable human qualities are required.A potentially great PUASo, for shy guys, or guys who like to rationalise, the Game is tougher. You have to overcome your intellectual arguments (which are probably founded on bad premises) and your inherent programming to "give way" - or not prioritise yourself first and foremost.I don't want to crush other people underfoot, but I don't want to do myself down either. It's a tightrope to walk. I'm not totally blameless because of course, I've disappeared on more than a few women without explanation over the years, and not been as upfront and honest as I could've been with others. In fact I've been downright dishonest and conniving. But I've never permanently damaged or emotionally scarred someone. I don't think any woman's been left the worse for having known me.That there is a line for me. I may still have an agenda, but I have a sense of decency. Trying to reconcile all that still entails over rationalising and too much code, though. No one who gets ahead does it by being "nice" and whilst I'm no angel as I said, I'm not cruel either. This is all stuff I've worked on since coming into the Game, and I'm still working on; the bigger game.I don't know, can you be successful and still look yourself in the mirror? I guess like everyone else I'll find a way to either justify it or rationalise it, come success or failure.Does it matter if your backstory is all bullshit so long as it gets you where you want to go? I mean Billy could never get in the boxing ring with anyone, but he'd have a damn good excuse for why he couldn't. He was a fantasist, not an idiot. But if push ever came to shove, I wonder how he'd bullshit his way out of it?Crunch time can happen in the office environment too. Very infrequently granted, as there's usually a fall back guy or two, failure is an orphan and all that. Except the work place tends to put that saying on its head, and success is due to the orphan that is Billy; it's failure that has many fathers (and none of them a Billy).Look atFrank Abagnale. He couldn't fly a plane or perform an operation but he bluffed his way as an airline pilot and doctor. Had a good run for his money too. Left a string of women in his wake as well. A charming impostor... and total sociopath and phoney underneath it all.So, while there's something seductive and fascinating about Billys, and certainly Frank Abagnale, would I go down their path? Playing King for a day would be a fun prank I admit, but ultimately, I like to know I can back my bullshit up if need be.

Alpha, Beta, Gamma, Omfga

I can get on board with the whole Alpha/Beta thing that's been so prevalent in the PUA/Manosphere for years. It's a got a solid basis in zoology I believe, and even without the theory, it's something I've anecdotally observed throughout my life, believe the documentaries I've watched on primate behaviour, and seen first hand in dogs.It's a theory, that even if the finer details are disputed amongst academics and scientists, the broad brush strokes I've no problem with.These days though, we've got all shades of bullshit discussed on this topic, dreaming up new designations, levels and hierarchies of male society. Not so much to help anyone's understanding of the whole thing, but more to create a new pompous 'rank' the authors of said bullshittery can slot themselves into, and wear the worthless epaulettes, like decoration on the uniform of a pre-war cinema doorman.If you can't be classically Alpha, because even with several hundred blog articles arguing your case, and playing and judge and jury on everyone else, you made the mistake of actually meeting people on-world, instead of staying safely online, and thus even by Manosphere standards you realise you can't continue to bang that gong and claim the tune's a symphony, you can just designate yourself as something equally as lofty.So, if the current theory doesn't fit, make up your own one; take an existing theory, so at least you can start from some foundation of credibility, and just shamelessly expand it. You don't need science or peer reviewed academic studies, anymore than you need reality when picking up your power ups in a video game.Once upon a time that sort of hobby, fantasy game playing, was the preserve of the Dungeons & Dragons crowd, but we've moved on, and you don't need to meet up in pubs and clubs, just hook your Xbox up, forget the dice and imagination, you can play out all this shit in glorious 3D and play it as any make-believe character you want to create.No wonder video games are so popular in the PUA/Manosphere.Shit just got seriousHonest to Christ, all the mental masturbation over Alpha/Beta/Gamma/Sigma/Omega and whatever else the fuck, or R vs K selection, or greater Beta, lesser Alpha... what is that? Collecting coins and power-up points?! Except back on-world no one gives a shit. A mate of mine used to play some online game, don't know which one, but told me he was a Colonel or Brigadier or something in this game's ranking system, and that only 'x' amount of thousand people in thewholeworld were at that level. Which was apparently an achievement, except that his "commanding officer" was twelve years old. Yeah, excuse me if I don't stand to attention and salute.Like this masculine hierarchy bullshit. I'm not disputing that it doesn't exist, because it does, but it exists in a much more black&white, simplistic realm than the beautifully shaded, all colours of the rainbow, everyone-gets-a-medal new hierarchy that some people in the Manosphere have embraced.I feel it's important to say "some people in the Manosphere," because if you speak about this pseudo-science outwith that world it sounds as crazy as any SJW's multi-gender chart.It's not something I give a great deal of conscious thought to, or worry about. If I'm in any situation where a guy feels he has to 'out-Alpha' me it'll probably take me a while to notice unless he's being outright aggressive or something like that. Otherwise I probably won't notice and it'll bounce off me. 'Alpha framing' (or is that micro-Alpha aggressions?!) I'll most likely just interpret as the boorish behaviour of a selfish, loud mouthed prick. I won't be sitting there feeling "value tapped" or my "status" has been lowered. And if I need to sit in a particular chair at the table, or stand in a certain position whilst at the bar with my group, it's a pretty tenuous "status" in the first place! You know the old saying that those who care don't matter, and those that matter don't care? Anyone with any real rank (or just isn't a neurotic mess), doesn't give a shit for these theatrics.If you obsess about this sort of stuff, then stop. The only people who'll notice will be other PUA theory aficionados; they're the only people you'll pickup with those button combos.

Rejection is unavoidable

Rejection is one of those things guys love to obsess over in the Game. Or at least the new guys do.Called by its other name, it's failure. It's not just having a nice, polite chat for a few minutes that goes nowhere and she leaves, because that's failure too if you want to take a binary position on pickup/no pickup, but that sort of failure is more akin to going the distance in a boxing match and losing on points. A "fuck off" on approaching is getting knocked clean the hell out in the opening seconds of round one.You can stomach losing after a well played bout, doing your utmost and very best to win, but getting floored immediately is humiliating. You feel like the judgement of the club or bar is on you too; theyknowyou just got blown out. At least in your head anyway.Whenever I get asked about my rejections these days, I'm hard pressed to bring to mind any recent ones, I always have to go back some years to dig one up. That's not because I stopped getting rejected, but because I just stopped attaching as much emotional significance to them. I won't remember anything more recent unless it wasreallybad. I remember the earlier stuff better, because in basic terms, I was more upset by it.Case in point. This is one from the early days. I was in a bar called Cafe Society, it was a nice place not far from where I lived, maybe a five minute walk, and qualified as a local I suppose. I used to like the place but like so many other venues in my city, it's long since closed. The bar/restaurant and adjoining casino are now offices. Shame. Anyway, it was a Friday night, my first stop, and after some prevarication I opened a two-set neighbouring me at the bar.They weren't aggressive or unfriendly in their demeanour, and as is usual in these sorts of scenarios only one of the women spoke, the other remained quiet and enjoyed the show. I can't remember what I said now after all these years, it was probably an opener about the food in the restaurant, one I used to do that a lot back then. In reply to my perfectly reasonable and contrived conversation starter, I basically got a rendition of "Do you mind, we haven't seen each other in a while, and want to catch up on our own."In other words, go away.You can get hit with that one from everywhere from a quiet bar on a Wednesday night, to a club with ear-shattering music. Personally, I'm quite capable of catching up and entertaining other people all on the same night, but some women like to treat it like it's a double-date, and act as though they're a man and you're trying to pickup their date during dinner.It's bullshit of course. If some other dude she happens to know or likes shows up, then the hell with "catching up." It's not even a genuine rejection, as in she's heard your pitch and just isn't interested, it's more theatre than situation. It's practised drama. She's hoping to get a chance to do her "rejection" act in front of her mate, it doesn't matter who it is."I watched this before going out and think that'd be cool to do "So you find yourself a reluctant participant in some chick's little stage play, performed for the benefit of her mate(s) and the thirty second ego stroke that playing diva gives her. That she'll be moaning Monday morning she never meets anyone, and posting amusing singleton memes of pathos on Facebook on Sunday night, can be reconciled with the unique sense of doublethink that women can engage when it comes to the mating game.As per Lucy Liu and her suitors above (and getting back to my tale), I attempted to circumvent the brush off by seguing into some version of, "Oh, you haven't seen each other in a while, why's that?" And was just bluntly, and directly, told to leave, while getting looked full in the eye. From her expression I don't just think she meant leave their company, but the bar.She had that look of "I'm going to really kick off if you don't" too on her face.So, I shut my mouth and literally slunk off with my tail between my legs. The bar wasn't too full, and it wasn't that big so I couldn't hide in the crowd either. To fully comply I had to go and hide around a side corner.I was hiding too. I felt embarrassed; belittled. Of course that was pretty mild, but it was within my first few weeks of playing the Game and it was my first real blow out of significance. I felt it. I also knew I shouldn't "care," be unaffected and not bothered by what anyone thinks, but to this day, whilst I've got a lot better at that stuff, a really harsh blow out will still affect me. Not as much, or for as long, but just like you can never really, truly, kill off Approach Anxiety, you can't kill off having a human reaction to a negative blow against you.A lot of the immediate brush offs are more practised drama than genuine, they really are less personal than getting a few minutes into a set, and then getting told to sling your hook. You don't even need to open to get girls rejecting when they're really on a kick of delusional self-grandeur, all giddy with the bright lights, loud music, and being in their best party dress.One time I was out, in Soul Bar, it was a Christmas weekend, and the place was rammed! I was meeting my wing Gabriel, and we'd arranged to start there. The only space I could stand comfortably was at the back of the room, beside the doorway between the front and back bars. There was a group of girls stood to my right, a few feet away from me. We were close, but not standing on each other's heads or anything, and as I say, the place was full to capacity so there wasn't really a lot of choiceAnyway, I'm on my phone texting Gabriel where to find me in this morass of bodies, when one of the girls, a little blonde, comes up and demands to know, "Why are you standing here?" I ignore her and continue texting. So she says, "We don't want to speak to you!" And with that flounces back to her group: told him!But she wasn't done as a few moments later she comes back, and without speaking, started pushing me. As in "get away, back off!" Like I said, I wasn't even technically standing beside them, but just near them! In the general vicinity in other words!I was a bit annoyed at that asked her to stop shoving me - but she kept at it - and really started putting her back into it. Like, leaning into it. Eventually I got bugged enough by this ridiculous little performance and started walking forward into her, which caused her to slide and stumble back against pushing me. I used my body to push her back until we reached her friends and repeated again, "Stop that!"And that was all. I never put my hands on her or shoved her or verbally threatened her. Then I went back to where I'd been standing. I saw her then conflabbing with her friends, and then ascend the staircase to the DJ both. I saw her speaking to the DJ and pointing at me and the DJ get on his ear piece thing. I assumed she'd just fed the DJ a line of bullshit about me assaulting her or some such, so she got the result of me moving, as I disappeared into the back bar and crowd. I just didn't want the aggravation of giving my verbal defence to a couple of doormen with a crying girl and a few friends backing up her accusations.What that was all about, don't ask me.Another time at Babylon nightclub, I opened a girl at a table, was chatting pleasantly enough, when a girl sat at the tablebehind, a completely different table with a completely different set of friends, came up and pushed me in the back. It was a mild shove, like maybe someone might do brushing by, so I looked round, and then saw her return to her seat, and glare at me.Again, how was I in her space?!But a little later that same night, I was back in the same area, this time about six feet away from her table, and she came up and did it again! Like WTF?! She had to get up, and walk several paces to reach me, in order to shove me out of her 'personal space.'That one was so ridiculous I could only laugh at the time.I've approached women I know from work, or friends of friends, simply to say hello to, and before I can open my mouth have a hand held up to my face - by the friend of the woman I'm about to acknowledge. Doesn't happen a lot, I don't want to paint a picture of an epidemic, but I can recall an instance or two of that. The woman I'm saying hello to will put the friend on stand-down, with a phrase like, "It's okay, I know him." Like it would've been okay to react like that otherwise? In these situations you won't get an apology either. Women view it as their God given right to treat you like shit, and even mutual friends won't see anything wrong in it, or chastise their sisters in any way.So, the point is that you're going to get rejected, and sometimes through absolutely no fault of your own, and there is nothing to be tweaked or learnt in your Game to prevent it. You can exude all the masculine energy, special K (or r)-selection you like, and be all dressed up in your best Alpha outfit... you're still going to get knocked out of the park on your pitch on occasion, because that's what she's lined up to do before you even decided on which type of ball you were going to throw.There is no "never get rejected" method, and things that are irritating will always be so, but less so with more exposure.

Herd mentality in the Manosphere

If Manosphere is even the right word these days, as there are splinter groups with new tough sounding names and new boys-clubs popping out of forums and blogs as each new writer who gets a little traction in web traffic jockeys to step up with their own littleLord of the Fliesrealm.But I'll call it the general "Manosphere" to cover it all. There may be differences in the detail but a Dachshund and a Great Dane are still dogs at the end of the day.I don't like banging the politics gong. I'll leave it to the other blogs. It's important sure, but I've seen many a Game pundit stray off message over the years, and like I've said in the past, either onScotlairor inOne Saturday Night, just end up looking more the dumbass than guru. There's a lot taken that route too who should've stuck to how to deal with the obstacle in a two-set, not the obstacle to world peace.However, as it's the eve of the American election, I'll allow myself a politically flavoured post. Who knows, if this domain is still here a few years from now, maybe I'll have went native too and abandoned what I know in favour of what I'd like you (and me) tothinkI know.I like rooting out bullshit. I just don't like to feel fooled. Part of that is intellectual vanity, feeling like "I know something you don't!" That sort of smugness that comes when you're privy to a greater universe, one your contemporaries are totally unaware of, until you drop the enlightenment bomb on them. It's born as much of being viewed as the Messiah, as it is of it just being good fun to ruin everything; you know, make others feel dumb so you can feel good about yourself. Sort of like you did if you were the first kid in class or amongst your friends to discover the truth about Santa Claus and where the presents on Christmas Day really come from. Or babies, and how all that happens. You know when you got hold of that, you just couldn't wait to tell everyone.That there were plenty of 'everyones' i.e. adults and even just slightly older kids who already knew, didn't really matter or occur to you. Such was the giddiness at being in possession of the Knowledge, the thought that this information might actually be commonly known just wouldn't flutter across your mind. You and your small circle are the World after all. So the notion that such revelling in your newfound insight into the adult world would be viewed by more experienced souls as endearing at best, and a proud admission of your own naivety and ignorance at worst, wouldn't be something you'd conceive of.A lot like the discussion of politics in the Manosphere.If you've read more than blog posts and Manga comics during your adult life, then a lot of the 'reveals' to be had in the Manosphere are as revelatory as Santa Claus. If you're late teens and early twenties, not got as much life-stripes on your sleeve, then I can see how it will all seem so much more profound and shocking - how the big, grown-up world really functions resulting in your Zeitgeist shattering moment.Now, that sounds patronising but I don't mean it to be, because I've visited that station too earlier in my life - just as I stopped off to pickup the telegrams at the Santa and Stork stations as well along the way. And I don't mean to imply that I know it all either, because I don't have a crystal ball. I remain still just as susceptible to, and enjoy, a good breaking news scandal.However, in the Manosphere, I don't mistake the messenger for being anything more than they are: a copy&paste pundit. In fairness, most guys aren't trying to suggest they're anything more, and are merely highlighting a topical story they want to express an opinion on. That's all good and healthy, because you frequently get more interesting information in the ensuing discussion comments than the main article itself.There is of course a brand of 'guru' who wants to try and imply a bit of insider knowledge, that they're a bit more connected somehow, putting dots together that you can't... all cloak and dagger stuff, don't ask me where I'm getting it from, my life could be in danger...Which again, when you're a bit younger, it's easier to fall for that line of bullshit.There's wanting to get the Truth, or perhaps 'Case' (because it's your interpretation and presentation of the facts), out there, and then there's hijacking the cause as the vehicle to drive your own agenda: yourself.A lot of what I read in the Manosphere is as opportunistic and insincere as the politics under attack. The real cause is the author's, not the story underpinning it. The Tweets and blogging are self-promotion, not self-sacrificing.And for all the talk of being 'men' and following your path, having your own mind, the Manosphere is just as rife with fashionable politics and Cause Du Jours as any teenage SJW's Facebook.I mean, Jesus, the current promotion of Donald Trump as Lord and Saviour? How many folks have really thought that one through?!I subscribe to a lot of the politics of what's deemed the 'Alt Right.' That hodge-podge of ideas that's attracted everyone from sieg-heiling Stormfronters to gay free speech advocates. It's quite a mix, but a lot of it, I don't mix with.I don't mix with persecution. I have an opinion on immigration, wealth redistribution, free speech etc., but I address these issues on a practical level, not on the grander, all encompassing global-cabal, tinfoil hat wearing scale.At that point you're no longer dealing in real issues, bucket in hand trying to bail the water out or shoring the leaks below, you're standing on the deck, grasping at the air, trying to throw it back into the hurricane to save the ship.May as well just swap out Santa Claus for the Tooth Fairy.Except Donald Trump's neither, he's real. I just wonder how many guys would be genuinely for his inauguration as POTUS if it hadn't come through their own preferred propaganda channel of their favourite blogger. I also wonder how many are just going with the flow and moo-ing approval along with the rest of the herd in the comment sections and forums.I like too how fluid the concept of 'Alpha' is when it's applied to Trump. Is he a bully and braggadocio? Does he epitomise delusional self-confidence? Hell yes! And it's helped put billions in his bank account.Yeah, and that's great, that's fun. He's a guy I'd like to hangout with, get a few tips off. He even bangs young Ukrainian models. If the guy would only start lifting and get his body fat percentage down, he'd be the damn PUA cum Manosphere crossover guru that Roosh could only dream of!Except I'm not really sure that qualifies Trump for POTUS. If it does, Joe Rogen should be on the ticket for Vice President too.No one's going to voice the opinion that maybe there could be a meal where not adding that Alpha sauce improves it?Of course the alternative to Trump is Clinton, and I'm in no way endorsing her. I'm also aware of how close the polls are and that the vast majority of those Americans voting will never have heard of the self-important but minuscule band of bloggers who feud with each other intermittently like they're actually relevant outside their own podcast. So, I know there's a bigger consensus of opinion here than just what's represented in the blog articles and comments of the Manosphere.What I don't see much of though, is push back and genuine intellectual debate, from a subculture that defines itself in those terms; guys who pride themselves on recognising that the world isn't as black & white, Alpha/Beta, as the text on their favourite blog.So, either everyone's fully convinced and all on board... or just too chicken shit to say different and what they really think.Because there might be some REAL blow back to that, like getting banned or your comment removed(!) Or worse... ridiculed by the very people you'd like to become: a guy with a blog and some significant web traffic built on an internet persona.Speaking of which, I wonder how GManifesto's voting?

On being 'Alpha' & fighting

Perhaps even bigger than bullshitting up your lay count and the HB rating to go along with it, is the bullshitting up of your 'Alpha' status, and the fights to accompany it.Once upon a time, it was enough to just aspire to be a ladies' man, the guy who gets the hot chicks, but in more recent years, you've also got to be the guy who can stare down a Silverback gorilla. With a suitable story to go with it, like he walked in on you fucking his wife from behind, and your only reaction was to put your cigarette out on his wife's ass as you looked him in the eye and barked at him to, "Go get me a fucking beer!"The internet is a wonderful place and you can be anything you want in both the comments sections and blog post boxes! For verily, the "publish" button is a magic wand that makes it all come true!Yeah. Right. Tell me about your diet and weight training too, you fat fuck.I'm not going to pretend to be a fighter, my face is in far too good shape for that claim, and I'm not going to claim that you can justtellif a guy is to be fucked with or not... but most times you can.I watched a documentary on the Kray twins the other night. It was an old one, maybe ten years or more, and a repeat I'd seen before. The guys on it were now all senior citizens, probably half of them had trouble walking, and the other half problems with incontinence.  But they still looked hard as fuck.You could see it, quite literally etched on faces carved from stone. You could hear it in their voices, even above the wheeze of asthma, and you could see it in the way they held themselves; they were hard men.I look at pics and Youtube material from the land of the Mansophere, from some guys claiming similarly, and I don't see any of that vibe coming through the screen, the why I did with them geriatric gangsters. Probably because those men have genuinely fucked people up, and not just fantasised about it on a blog.I've met plenty guys in real life that I know on a logical level could fuck me up, but I wasn't intimidated by them, or afraid to be around them. That's because I knew they were well balanced, nice guys, who'd prefer to avoid the aggravation and all that comes with it in the consequences of a fight. They weren't psychopaths in other words. Sure, if you pushed them hard enough, gave them enough of a reason, they'd eventually punch your ticket for you, but they weren't hair triggers like Joe Pesci inGoodfellas.These days, everyone wants to project that they are, though. Or at least a brand of Joe Pesci-lite. Not a full-on psycho, but a guy not to be fucked with or the retribution will be just as terrible...Gimme a fuckin' break.Not an internet Alpha. Giveaway: he'd be shooting himself in both clown shoesI can maybe count on one hand the number of guys who scared me, and that's over the course of my life. The guys who really were in the not-to-be-fucked-with category. Some of these dudes weren't the biggest, most physically imposing, gym or boxing monkeys either. But you could sense, on some primitive level, that they weren't a regular knuckle & bruise scrap; they'd kill you. They just wouldn't stop.I'm not going to do the next best bullshit act and pretend I've kept company with such people, because I haven't, I am literally speaking about a handful of brief occasions that my path has crossed such animals. Two spring most to mind.One is a local gangster who used to own a club in my city. It was common knowledge, and he'd had trouble with the law. His club could be heavy handed on the bouncing too. I was a VIP member of his club, he knew his members personally because there just weren't that much of us that paid the fees, and it got us access to the club's roped off, balcony area. The guy always had a "hello" and was friendly, but I never mistook that for him being my friend. Even if I was shit drunk, I knew enough not to be overly forward, and I was always polite and deferential.Because I knew what the guy was capable of, and whilst I didn't think I'd "accidentally" break my leg exiting badly from the club as one punter had, just for being too chummy after a couple of drinks and stepping over the line, I still didn't want to give a man like that ANY excuse or reason to feel aggrieved.It was like when me and my mate (Gabriel fromOne Saturday Nightwho was also a member) used to get invites to special hosting or occasion nights at the club. We knew we were just names on a mailing list, but we went when we got the message asking if we were coming. Did we really think the guy would give a shit if we weren't there? No, of course not. But like I said, I just never wanted to put myself in a position whereby the man might have cause to feel snubbed.Now, I never seen any shit at this guy's club, I never heard any shit, I always had a good time; but I had heard the rumours and read the local papers. Thus whenever anyone said anything to me about the man, I always answered in the positive. I just didn't take the chance of anything in the negative getting back to him.Call me a pussy. I call it being sensible.Another run-in that sticks out was in London. I was outside some club, in the smoke section, and there was this dude noising up the line to the front of me. He was being obviously aggressive and looking for trouble. He didn't look all that, he wasn't even a big guy. In fact he was a bit of a short arse. So when he came up my way, and bumped his shoulder off me, I responded. I whirled round, so did he, and I opened my mouth... and then shut it. There was something in that guy's face; in his eyes. There was something "off." A voice in my head, my body, said loud and clear, "Leave this one alone." If I've ever seen murder in a man's eyes, it was his. Call that melodramatic, or me a pussy, but that's the only time I've felt to my core that this guy wasn't just a fight, he was a fight to the death. I let it go and never questioned if that was the right thing to do. I didn't want none of that.Now, what's my fight card like, though? Some dudes claimFight Clubnumbers and more altercations than a professional boxer. Me - actual, real knockdown fights in adulthood? I think the number's three.Sabre-rattling, I'm-going-to-fuck-you-up but never do bullshit, probably too many to count. That's what 99% of my 'fights' have been. Just by showing a willingness to fight, 99% of the time I haven't had to.But then, I've always hung out at nice, upmarket bars and clubs, where trouble is a rarity anyway. The few occasions I found myself in those positions, two were in the same small town that I was visiting, out with a mate for a drink who lived there. You know, an unknown face, and so the local asshat(s) have a 'problem.' Even more bizarre, I was in my thirties, not some kid in the college bar."My mule don't like people laughing." This is EXACTLY how it happened. Honest.Without arms and legs grafted on, here they are:First small town incident, I'd been out with a mate, we'd had a good drink, and then went to the local club. I call it a club but it was the back room of the bar, which when they had no functions on, used as a "nightclub." We'd been in, enjoyed ourselves, drank, had a couple dances with a hen party that was celebrating there, and then left (on our own) at kicking out time. No trouble or hint of it.As we're walking away from the place, a guy some way behind us is shouting something. I don't tune in, but then I catch, "POOF!" Which is the thinking man's goto insult to demand "satisfaction" in Scotland. I didn't think this was aimed at me so we kept walking. Then a few more descriptors were added, "Hey you! You in the black! Aye you, ya fuckin' poof!" seeing as I was in black jeans and black tshirt (it was summer), I surmised it was me he was addressing.I turned, he was on his own, not a big guy, but not a small guy, just average, and on his own marching up to me. Again, he mentions he suspects I'm a homosexual in his delightful way, "You're a fuckin' poof, aren't ya?" It was so cliched and ridiculous, that my mate said later that he thought the guy knew me and it was a joke.I didn't know the guy and was bemused by all this. He gets up in my face, and anyone who's familiar with the Scottish practice of fisticuffs will be aware of the "Glasgow kiss" - which is a headbutt. I thought that was imminent so immediately swept across his neck/shoulder area while simultaneously sweeping his feet from under him. That upended him and allowed the concrete ground to do the damage. As he tried to get up I jumped forward and snap-kicked him full in the chest, putting my full weight and momentum into it as I came down. That knocked him heavily back down again. Then I paused to see what he'd do next - which all the hardened street fighters would say is a mistake - but he clambered to his feet and sprinted off. I was glad he did too. And that was that.Next time was maybe a year later, same small town, same mate plus another friend, same club, and again at leaving time another altercation. I really don't remember how this one started, but again I was being singled out for some reason? I'm 6ft 2" and over 13st, so I don't think I look like an easy target? I don't look like a thug, but I'm not small. Anyway, I was as bemused in this incident because there were three of us, and one of him.I can't remember the preamble now, but I recall he was smoking a cigarette. In that 'hard man', underhand-hold way "thugs" do. He's smoking - hard style - and giving me the Clint Eastwood stare, and then suddenly brings his hand toward my face. I thought "Punch!" and blocked it, immediately firing out a snap-punch to the dead centre of his face. As he went whirling back I felt something ping off my face and realised it was his cigarette. He hadn't been going to hit me, but had flicked his cigarette into my face.I hadn't knocked him out, nothing as dramatic as that, but the look of incomprehensible shock on his face as he went sprawling back was a beautiful image. It was a look of total confusion, of "this is not the script. This is not what was meant to happen!"But with that, a genuinely big dude on the other side of the road suddenly comes running at me and my mates. I could see his big, bodybuilding chest bounce in his tshirt, and those big arms pumping as he came charging.I don't mind saying, I thought, "Fuck!" That the other guy had been the set-up, the excuse, and now here was the main course. I knew my mates wouldn't run so I stood waiting. I was thinking, do I charge him before he gets to me? Do I wait and see what he's going to do? I didn't know what was for the best so stayed put.To give you an anticlimax, the guy simply pulled up behind the guy I'd downed, put his arms around him, and then walked off with him.I was right glad he did too. I really didn't want to get into it with that guy. Whether he knew the other guy or what, I don't know, but that was what happened.You'll note too that what does happen, isn't much. It has been my (limited) experience, that street fights are quick and brutal. They are not long, drawn out Rocky V affairs. Also the guys who want to spend fifteen minutes telling you how they're going to take you apart, won't. If such a guy genuinely believed he could do that, he'd be doing it. The guy who's serious to do you harm just hits you, he doesn't piss about painting you a picture.This is just how it happened. Except there were maybe one or two more guys.The last time of note was in my hometown. I was at a city centre club, maybe not the most upmarket venue, but we used to frequent it, and always enjoyed it. On this occasion, we'd been on the dance floor with a couple girls, I left to go take a piss-break in the toilets upstairs, and as far as i was aware, my mate was still dancing with his chick.I had to use a cubicle, so I do the necessary, and come out - and find my mate standing at the sink mirrors covered in blood! I thought his nose was broken, his clothes were covered, his suit looked a bucket job. I was in shock, and asked what happened? I'd only just left him, and was only taking a piss!He told me some guy had got up in his face about dancing with the girl, knocked him down, and then kicked him in the face. Then my mate had picked himself up and run up the stairs.We went down to the doorman, and said what had happened. The doorman wanted to know who it was - so did I - and although reluctant, my mate finally agreed to point him out.I walked along, saw the guy, and the bouncers removed him. We went back to the door and my mate called his brother to come get him. We were going to have to take him to A&R to get that nosed checked out for sure. I spoke to his brother on the phone because the guy was in a bit of a state.I was steamed. To see my mate upset like that, shaking, and covered in blood. I could see the guy arguing with the doormen. So I said to my mate, "You're sure that's the guy?" He said that was definitely him.So I exited the club and started and swinging. I broke his nose with the first punch. I was aiming to. I thought he'd broken my mate's nose. I felt it go under my fist. He tried to fight back - half heartedly - but you can tell in sparring when a person gives up, becomes afraid of you, and is just 'fighting' to try and minimise the injuries. I remember him going down twice and me kicking him as hard as I could in the body as tried to get back up both times. A couple of girls in the queue had run over to try and stop it. One was either side of me holding my arms, telling me to stop, and the guy crawled over to sit on a wall opposite the club.I was lucky there was no police outside the place. I was also lucky my mate's brother showed up in his car too then, and we all got the fuck out of there.That was maybe thirty seconds, no more than a minute that altercation. I remember feeling hyped up at the time, steamed as I said, but it wasn't until I was home hours later, adrenaline still pumping, that I felt one of my legs shaking. It was then that I was having thoughts, like what if that hadn't went my way? What if his mates had joined him outside? What if he had known how to handle himself? It was after the fact I felt 'scared.' The same with the two incidents prior. Away from it, later, I'd get the leg trembling, hands shaking.I've had nothing physical like that in the last ten years, and I hope that continues. I just don't need it. Getting my clothes messed up, maybe me messed up or worse. I've had words and stare downs in the last ten years, but whilst wary, I never seriously believed it was going to go any further.I have maybe a half story more but that's for another time. As I said in mymartial artspost, by the time of those incidents I'd had years oftrainingbehind me, and whilst I'm no bar brawler or thug, I felt confident. I'd cross-trained in kickboxing, boxing and MMA. I knew that not everyone with a shaved head, tattoos and a big mouth, was Jason Statham - I'd encountered many of those types in training and been surprised by how many guys I thought looked 'hard,' weren't shit.I hadn't always been confident, though. I've no sad tales of being bullied at school, but I was a coward who didn't stand up for himself.I recall one time, I was eighteen, it was before university, I'd been in a club and a guy had come up and tried to pick a fight with me. I was scared shitless. I was literally shaking. The reaction was enough to please the dude, that I was about pissing myself, and off he went. I about run out of the place.That was another reason I got back intomartial artsat uni. The disgust I felt at myself for reacting like that.But that's the truth. That's my 'Alpha' moments and not so alpha moments. I don't consider myself a candidate for Rage Cage, but I've had enough of a moment or two to smell out the bullshit. Same with the 'womanising' as the two seem to go hand in hand.For me, being alpha, isn't about being the loud mouth jackass. It isn't bragging on whaling on dudes. It's just not being afraid. Not being afraid of other men, and walking through life feeling that way.Unless there's real danger, in which case there's no shame in recognising it and walking away from it.

'Death By A Thousand Sluts' review

I first became aware of John Bodi back in 2010 when I read his original blog,my great experiment. I found the link on either a post or comment made on Krauserpua. I can't remember which it was now, but know it was from there I discovered Bodi's blog.I liked it. Updates could be sporadic but I related to what he was saying to some extent about his struggles in the Game. It was obvious he was a very intelligent guy, and I'd wrestled with many of the same objections he had to Game, and daygame in particular, myself.I wouldn't say that blog was full of positivity, in my opinion it had a deep streak of black negativity running through it, but it was still an interesting read. It could be self-absorbed and revelling in the "depression" I felt, but it was a personal blog, and everyone's open to the self-absorbed charge who keeps one of these things.Eventually, the updates ceased altogether and I stopped looking in. When next I heard of Bodi, he had a new blog atbodipuaand had released the first volume of his currently two volume memoir,Death By A Thousand Sluts.It took me a while to get round to buying it, I grudged the price ticket thinking it overpriced, but looking at the samples, it certainly looked a well written, interesting bit of work. Having enjoyed his old blog, I was intrigued. I thought of Bodi as the everyman of Game, the typical intelligent IT professional, who covets becoming the ladies' man, and simultaneously the typical procrastinator and naysayer as well. Like the guy who really wants to do the bungee jump; you can see it, the excitement and trepidation, but come the day he will find a hundred good, intelligent reasons why plunging off the bridge is a really bad idea, and back out whilst everyone else leaps and he sulks in the background. You're not entirely sure either if he's not hoping someone plunges to their death, just so he can say, "Told you so."I didn't really get into Bodi's new blog, by then I was reading less and less of that sort of material, but I always recalled I enjoyed Bodi on his good-to-middling days on his blog (in reference to the black cloud that permeated it) so kept returning to check in every now and again.irishhad met Bodi out in Singapore and recommended the first volume of Bodi's memoir, and having just finished and published my own, I was curious to read a similar work by someone else in the genre, and as I say, having always intended ordering a copy, now was the time.I have to admit, when I first began reading, I had what Bodi would refer to as a Gamma moment, as the first few pages had me thinking, "Shit, this is way better than my effort" as I was also reading from a technical standpoint as much as a reader looking for a good story to hook me. However, my opinion changed throughout the course of reading...Volume IA lot of memoirs tend to dwell overly long on the stuff you don't really care about i.e. the writer's backstory and how they got to where they were when they finally snapped and went searching for the answers to life in the seduction community - or how to get laid. Bodi recognises a lot of the bullshit in the community and calls it out, his own too, and writes about how everyone loves to tell Their Story whenever given the chance - which Bodi does in a fair bit of self-flagellating detail.I get that he doesn't have the best of relationships with his father, I relate to that, but despite embracing the Redpill myself, I don't blame my father for not living life as a Redpill example I could aspire to! Okay, I appreciate a lot of Bodi's issues with his father stems from more than just that, but I would've liked my father to be a millionaire, which despite my personal gripes, I don't hold against him. Neither do I hold my sister's gender against her, or view her partner as in someway inferior to me, because he hitched himself to her wagon.Some of Bodi's feelings towards his family are deep seated personal grievances which we all have our share of, but I think it's fair to say Bodi also harboured some pretty deep seated feelings toward society before he ever discovered the Redpill, which allowed him to focus and channel his inner-sociopath in a way he'd never felt given permission before.I could relate to being the guy in his university years who always got friended, never the girl, and knew how that felt. I didn't know, however, how it felt to return home with the intention of murdering my hall-mate and her lover, standing in a kitchen holding a butcher's knife, and seriously considering taking two lives. All for the heinous crime of not choosing to bang me.It takes a great deal of honesty to admit to these things, I give Bodi all credit for that, and he is unflinchingly honest throughout, but it still genuinely disturbed me, and made me wonder just how mentally healthy the guy really is?!I'll admit to harbouring fantasies of beating the shit out of some dude for scoring my onetitis back in the day, but I never, ever, stood in proximity of these people, holding a weapon, and seriously contemplated their murder - all because things didn't go my way with some chick.That admission was totally out there for me. Like "What the fuck?!" out there.That wasn't the only instance. There were the fantasy plans of creating an abattoir to lure women to, crushing them in a steamroller while they were trapped on the road, highlighting and bookmarking rape and murder passages of women in novels (Anthony BeeverBerlin)... all of that wascuckoo-cuckoorevelations I just couldn't relate to, and turned me off. You know, like when you might entertain a taxi driver's conversation on the immigration question, but within three sentences regret it, as you find yourself listening to a diatribe on how Hitler had the right idea.That was sort of how I felt. Like, this guy is not right...There was so much of that sort of thing throughout that I had to discard the thought that such revelations were merely exaggerations for dramatic or comedic effect.One such incident that was described in glorious detail, was the green diarrhoea story that occurred in a nightclub toilet. That was one tale that I really do hope was subject to comedic license and not entirely faithful to the truth. For all concerned in it.Speaking of shit, Bodi is aware of how much of it there is in the pickup community and has some excellent insights on the sorts of characters that inhabit the seduction forums. He also has similarly good insights on the sorts of objections you'll get to learning Game from friends, and the different types of naysayers you'll encounter.I liked too his descriptions of meeting fellow forum-ites off the London Seduction Society and found his experiences with that eminently relatable.  And his analogy of the pickup instructor and the guy new to Game, likening it to a newbie in a traditional martial arts class; what he had to say there was spot on.So, what he had to say with regard to his pickup instructors and bootcamp, for me fulfilled the old adage that the best books tell you what you already know...Bodi always gives kudos where it's due, but doesn't shirk from adding the warts to any description of a person he paints. Thus, a lot of guys get eviscerated to some degree or other. Given that Bodi maintained friendships with a lot of these people after the events he retells in the publication of two books, is astonishing. One of the worst recipients of Bodi's honesty is Krauser.Krauser isn't exactly painted as all that likeable from Bodi's perspective. Even in his second volume. I got the impression that Bodi was as repulsed, as he was fascinated, by Krauser. Krauser doesn't play a major part in Vol I, but what is written isn't flattering.It is glorious guy-bitching gossip, though! But it's not intended that way I don't think. It really is just a continuation of Bodi's warts-and-all memoir, that doesn't make any concessions to anyone, least of all himself.In that regard, Bodi tells of us of the struggle that Game, especially daygame, was for him. The debilitating panic attacks and evasion and procrastination that his fear and social anxiety manifested in ("weasling" as he coins the term). The OCD routines he devised as  good luck talismans for pre-Game outings, the frustrations and uncontrolled tears, the binge eating, are all laid out, and it is not a pretty picture. Bodi reserves the harshest criticism for himself throughout - which is saying something once he really gets hopped up on the Redpill!Again, I can relate to the nerves of doing Game, of the sting of rejection, the feelings when it's a vicious one, but I couldn't relate to the depths of Bodi's experience. I had just never submerged to that distance to be able to nod when reading of him choking on Marks & Spencer cream buns whilst in hysterics, as he gorged them down in a side alleyway, following a brush off to an approach.I also found myself, despite reading these painful trials and tribulations, just not having much sympathy for Bodi. Given his even more warped inner dialog, I found it hard to, and the tale became very repetitive: Bodi would get all psyched at work to go out daygaming at the weekend, and come the weekend would totally choke (sometimes literally a la the cream buns). That would go on for weeks at a time. I really wanted him to man-up and stop revelling in his own self-appointed special snowflakeness as the most persecuted man on the planet.Even when he did get chances with women he'd somehow blow it, and despite the explanation being a lack of Game, I just found that an evasion of responsibility, that it wasn't his fault, that he hadn't learned enough yet. I wasn't totally buying that as he was no virgin and hadn't lived a life of total seclusion, being quite 'popular' socially in some circles he'd described. Meaning, he didn't need a map provided for everything, and he is an intelligent guy, so I found myself as frustrated as Bodi no doubt did, reading about these self-sabotaging non-events.I also got the feeling that nothing was capable of making of Bodi happy. That no woman would come quite up to scratch, that no sarge would be enjoyable, that no drink or dinner date or afternoon stroll in the park, could ever just be enjoyed and appreciated. It's like he had to find the shit centre in everything to be reassured and happy.Thus come the end of the book, after Bodi scores in a venue whist travelling in Singapore, the notorious Orchid Towers 'Four Floors of Whores,' Bodi closes this volume by saying he was happy... then gives us a taster of volume II in the final pages which is right back to the moaning.The Orchid Towers pull - whilst Bodi went into great detail re his 'game' to get this chick, it seems evident that just about zero Game was required to get with this woman. So, I was left at the end of the book feeling, three hundred pages and you still don't seem to have worked out that the problem isn't the principles of Game, it's yourself. Or at least able to fully let go of your intellectual vanity and admit it to yourself.So, the first volume, I finished up maybe able to relate to about 10% of it. I couldn't really get it at any level, where Bodi was coming from, because I just hadn't been there or could imagine it as beingthatbad. I did get his relationship with his father, and understood why he still felt compelled to do his duty by him as his son in his infirmity. I got his intellectualising on talking himself out of Game and why it wouldn't work, but as I say, my hole was just never as deep as Bodi's. I had something dug in the garden with a spade to climb out of, Bodi had a mine shaft - and despite all said and done, seemed to be happiest there.On a technical note, there were many typos and grammatical errors, not so much as ruin the narrative, just something I was alert to given my own effort re writing. Given Bodi's pride in his literary "gammaness" I was somehow expecting perfection, but that's through no fault of Bodi's, that's my own gamma/insecurity rising. There were plentiful footnotes but I felt they could've just as easily been worked into the main text, as per the many additional highlighted explanations, which whilst useful, were so frequent they could become disruptive to the main narrative. The Alice In Wonderland style and imagery were very apt, and a nice flourish, though I did wonder about copyrighting and permissions etc (having a "gamma" moment again as Bodi is fond of labelling just about everything at one time or another).Volume IIThis book finds Bodi ensconced in the world of PUA in a fully (dis)functioning house that is a bona fide PUA mansion.He is house sharing with his old bootcamp instructors and students, and from the get-go, whist still in the same vein as Vol I, is much more upbeat. Which was a welcome departure from the first volume.Bodi is still in the doldrums of Game, still struggling, and still taking as little action as possible, but I found the tone much lighter this time around, and what with the inclusion of the other characters to bounce off of, a much, much more enjoyable read.Again, Bodi pulls no punches, and again Krauser comes in for the worst of it. No one gets off, though. Jimmy Jambone is described as a somewhat eccentric but affable character, disenchanted with London. Krauser, to use his own Tweeted words on Bodi's character sketch of him, "a self-obsessed, psychotic clown." Going by Bodi's text, that's a fair conclusion to come to, though Bodi gives Krauser much kudos too as a well-read man of very sharp intelligence. He credits Krauser with teaching him economics and Redpill philosophy, not via the superficial blogs of the mansophere, but as a student and reader of the source texts. Given Bodi's own intellectual vanity, it says a lot that he gives ground to Krauser in that regard.It also says a lot that Krauser refuses to eat vegetables or wash his hands subsequent to taking a shit, and seems to have a very warped perspective on many common, everyday things that once put through his Redpill filter, come out as ravings at the other end. Or, as he would declare, "Gives you AIDS."Like a lot of the characters, Krauser doesn't seem to do too well at everyday life according to Bodi. Things like cooking and putting up a simple set of shelves are completely beyond him. But then Jimmy Jambone seems incapable of preparing anything but jellybabies for a meal, and Bodi has a side business going with his culinary skills as a sometime, inadvertent, in-house cook for Jimmy who regularly purchases Bodi's evening dinner off him. As Jimmy can't, as we learned in volume I, boil as much as an egg.The same Jimmy who is a successful, self-taught stock market investor.I found a lot of humour in the eastern Europe road trip that's described at the beginning of the book. The expectation versus the reality, and that theme is repeated wherein Bodi pulls the curtain fully back on the theatre of the lives on many in the London daygame scene, to reveal an existence perhaps not quite as salubrious as alluded to on many a blog post.I found the descriptions of the "gentlemen's club" evenings quite amusing as everyone sits around in pinstripe suits with fake watches, sipping whisky like Bertie Wooster - whilst the kitchen is a cockroach's play park and the only parts of the house that are decorated, are the ones that a visitor is likely to encounter i.e. if you could see slightly round a corner, the other 3/4s of the wall wouldn't be painted.The additional characters help to break it all up and you get treated to some further gossip in the London scene, what with the introduction of both Tom Torero and Steve Jabba as well.Bodi describes Jabba with a sort of mythical awe. Both at his immaturity and selfishness in many things, but also with the seemingly effortless, almost Jedi-like mind control, he appears to exert over females, being able to pickup and entrance the most beautiful of women, whatever the occasion. If it were anyone else I'd be sceptical, but given Bodi's unvarnished honesty in all other things, I've got to believe it.Just like the state of Jabba and Torero's apartments.As a UK seduction community reader, I'm familiar with the names Bodi writes about, so Bodi's "tell it like it is" approach is refreshing. It's like that moment Ken Clarke was caught chatting with Malcolm Rifkind when he thought the camera's weren't recording. There's no bullshit, no self-aggrandising, no running someone down or bigging someone up without context and explanation. It's just reportage, and it's genuine.But of most note in this book, is that Bodi starts having success with the ladies and his daygame! And I was glad for him. The Bodi of this book was much more likeable and seemed like the sane one in the lunatic asylum that was the PUA mansion. So, I was cheering for him when he scored with Mary, and the other women he went onto meet. All of those tales were a good, fun read and felt like I was right along with him.This time around I also got where he was coming from in wanting to daygame solo, as I recognised what he was saying about someone else's vibe wearing on you. Once Bodi got momentum going, he starts to motor along and gets some very good results. Including a toilet bang - which you have to have if you want to be anyone on the PU blogging scene...But despite these successes I still got the inkling that it wasn't enough for Bodi. That he still wasn't happy. Even though he was clearly a lot happier.Bodi is a stickler for graphs and charts which he revels in in vol I, and here again he keeps meticulous records on his progress. I wouldn't perhaps go to the trouble of drawing it all out, but the mathematician in me knows where he's coming from, and I can't say I haven't indulged at least similar mental spreadsheets and bar charts.There was one or two slips into the old depressed Bodi, I wasn't really feeling the magic mushroom bad trip and the detailed pages on that, that was a "green diarrhoea" moment for me, but other than that, this was a book I was sorry to come to an end to.In ConclusionThe first volume ofDeath By A Thousand SlutsI found pretty bleak and unsympathetic. I wouldn't really be able to recommend it as a standalone work.In conjunction with volume II, it's still a tough one to call. Without having read part one, I wouldn't appreciate how far Bodi progressed, so without that point of reference may not have enjoyed the second instalment as much.I think you can read Volume II as a standalone work, even if it does reference things from the first volume at times. What it does reference, is done within a certain context, so you can sort of guess without missing essential background in my opinion. However, as I said, without the first book, you won't appreciate how far Bodi's come by the end of the second.For that reason, if I only had one choice to make, I'd make it volume II without a doubt, and have no hesitation in recommending that book. Volume I... I would have to say you should buy it in a double purchase so you can immediately progress to the second book upon completion, and rest assured that things get much, much better in the next book!That goes for technically as well, as this book is free of the typos and grammatical errors that were to be found in the first volume, and is subject to much better proof reading and editing.I still think they're both a bit pricey but I understand for why Bodi's priced them as such, and the price is more a reflection on his effort to produce them than book market value - and good on him if he can get the return. I'll take a page out of Bodi's honesty book and a say I'd have liked to have charged similarly forOne Saturday Night, but I didn't think I could get away with it! And that's not just the greedy Scotsman in me speaking - because I'm not a Scot - and Bodi hates the Scots, so I feel the need to point that out.Bodi is another mature man in the Game, fretting over age, and given I have more years on me than he has (he's in his late thirties) that was another reason I read his original blog all those years ago, and was rooting for him in book no.2.I've heard tell a rumour that part three is in production, seeing as part two ends in December of 2013. Still more to be told if Bodi wants to tell it.

My chat with Seth Rose of Masculine Books

Had the unexpected pleasure of being invited to be interviewed by Seth Rose of Masculine Books recently, following their kind review of my bookOne Saturday Night: check out Seth'sreview hereand thefollow up interview.Over the years, I've had a couple of interview invites extended to me to regarding discussing myself and my involvement in the Seduction Community in Scotland, but eschewed the occasions. One was an invite to be a panellist on a BBC radio discussion of pickup as the 'expert,' another time was an interview sought by Napier University student newspaper based in Edinburgh. I just didn't want my name out there, my cover blown so to speak.I feel differently now. These days I'm not so bothered, and having written a book, I'd be glad to! That there being the difference I suppose: now I have something to promote, in a way I didn't before.On the topic of self-promotion, I used to despair of the commercial PUAs we'd get signing up toscotlair, the one post wonders who only chimed-in to do the same copy & paste promo they did on every other forum. Members wanted all commercial stuff banned but I didn't want to do that provided it was ring fenced from the rest of the forum. There was value in some of it for some guys, and I was never for censorship in the way some forums are. I prefer to let folks make up their own mind, and if they don't like what they're reading, then the replies are entertainment value in themselves.So, I don't spam my book on other forums or blogs etc. Speaking of other forums, now the London Seduction Society (theLSS) is gone, I can't think of another main UK clearing house that the commercial guys would go to in order to advertise? There are a few other forums still going with a UK slant, but many disallow commercial posts (unless it's the mods products) and relish in bringing down the hammerban on any offenders. You can get away with a link to your blog in your sig maybe, but that's about it.Anyway, this is a short one, I was about to go into a post about the state of the surviving PUA forums out there these days but I'll save that for an article of its own. I just wanted to link up and highlight the piece in Masculine Books. The interview segment can take up the slack for my lack of words on this occasion!