Apt...

It's appropriate that my last blog two days ago should be called slack attack. As for the last two days I have suffered from unenviable inertia. In fact I would dare say, that this is a level of idleness I have never achieved before.

I have done things I shouldn't, but pretty much nothing I should.

Highlights of the past few days include:

-Doing fuck all.

-Getting a new phone.

-Wandering around a nightclub trying to self-amuse in the most hopeless manner possible, by approaching groups of girls and launching into a rambling spiel about my phone that would have actually put my most hangover, lacklustre day of selling when I worked as a telemarketer to shame. Especially considering that last night I wasn't trying to sell fucking BT Total Broadband, I was half-arsedly trying to get laid.

-Laughing at myself for being blown out so many times, getting bored of talking to girls in a more traditional manner, going over to them, clawing at their forearms and pretending to perform cunnilingus on my phone.

It was a pretty droll night to say the least, and all I can do is laugh at myself.

My friend The Butcher returned from his holiday in Dubai today, I bought an aerobie, and we went to the park and threw it around. It was actually quite brilliant. If you own an aerobie you will be somewhat aware of why it was so brilliant. If not, I suggest you buy one. My sheer laziness is unfathomable. I can't motivate myself to go take a shit, nevermind discuss the intricasies of aerobie throwing.

We drove around for a bit, we were talking about banging girls and then Butcher said something I found interesting ''When I'm shagging a girl, I'm just trying to get off myself, I don't really care whether she does'' or something along those lines, whereas I still actually care somewhat about getting the girl off... it just made me think about the whole Entertainer guy/Sexworthy guy variation. I think I may post about this on RSDnation tommorow. As I'm curious as to how far the whole self-amusement sexworthy guy thing goes.

I dyed my hair black this evening, and am saddened at the demise of my beloved mohullet. :( it was a very glorious haircut. Light years ahead of its time.

I texted Rebecca a variation of Jeffy's weeping Air Supply phonecallback technique, because I'm lazy and want to get laid by doing as little work as possible. It seems to have worked somewhat. I'm not assuming anything on that one.

I had the following conversation with my friend on the topic of my myspace blog over messenger:

Mark says:
whats your secret lovers bf like
Michael says:
he is very tall and good looking, and well spoken
Michael says:
and a complete and utter pretentious cock
Mark says:
lol dear me
Mark says:
what did u say to him
Michael says:
well at first, I was very friendly and sociable, and tried my utmost to find commonalities and identify with him, however I just found his overintellectualising bullshit annoying, his pretentiousness irritating and the conversation to be a complete anti climax, similar to a handjob from my 'secret lover'
Michael says:
I can't precisely recall the topics discussed or any of the intricasies of the conversation, I do however recall him being very annoyed when I said to 'secret lover' I was going to fuck her? or I intended to fuck her
Michael says:
-shrugs-
Mark says:
lol, so he was very intelligent then
Michael says:
he said he'd read Crime and punishment and he seemed very opinionated on political matters, whereas I have never read more than the first two pages of Doestevsky, and battle a most inherent indifference towards politics
Michael says:
make of that what you will
Mark says:
is Bex in anyway like him?
Michael says:
no, but I do hear he has a massive cock... one time she mentioned the ginormity of his phallus, which prompted me to warn her : ''if you mention his cock once more, I will get you pregnant and then punch you in the stomach with a hammer''

Okay, that's the last two days ''highlighted''. I'm gonna shoot off because my intestines are rumbling and look forward to a day of... whatever. Tommorow.

Adios.

-Michael

'Slack attack'

It's been an unusual sort of day really.

I'm currently reading Junk Mail by Will Self, I have begun reading the chapter 'Slack Attack' which is on the topic of idleness... unsurprisingly.

Never have I identified with a piece of writing so much.

I finally finished Factotum last night. It took me eight hours to motivate myself to read twenty pages. It was hilarious though, especially the part where Hank Chinaski drunkenly holds his boss captive in a room, whilst telling him how the hotel should be run.

Actually from that book, I also learned something I kind of already knew:

''That's when I learned that it wasn't enough to just do your job, you had to have an interest in it, even a passion for it.''

It kind of puts my 'Whores of Amsterdam' post in perspective.

I might just stay up all night and completely catch up on my reading.

Or I may not, cause I be lazy.

I kind of want to post/rant about how Rebecca has totally fucked me off, and out of sheer bitterness and spite posted the following on myspace in the hope that preferably her boyfriend will see it:

''Damn, dude, I was on one on monday night.

I meet with my 'secret lover' at 5:30 in town, we started drinking at The Lambton Worm. Ended up going along to that new bar Porterfields. Pretty decent. At some point, I think it's a good idea to drink treble whiskeys. I'm up on some wild shit by this time.

We go to the Buskers night. I'm so keyed up on whiskey that I decide it makes total sense for me to start hitting on a nerd girl. I mean, hey, it's only my 18 year old 'secret lover' I'm with!

So I walk over to nerd girl. "Yo," I say to myself, "I shall pull this girl..." So I start talking to her. I'm uttering completely unthought out sentences, me attempting to convince the girl that I'm a bigger douchebag than her? (!) ostensibly because "I have stupid hair," waving my arms about in the air, gesturing in an attempt to further explain that "I'm a level 12 douchebag and a sexual predator." God only knows why, but she's laughing.

My secret lovers boyfriend arrives, with company. I'm like ''Oh hi, I'm Michael, I know your girlfriend'' where in the back of my mind I'm thinking yea, I made her squirt 3 times last thursday.

For some reason, he doesn't suspect a thing, and I drink more, and everythings cool. But then I suppose I said something offensive (!). They leave.

Secret lover girl is walking away, I storm forth and claw her back. Her boyfriend walks off angrily.

Some kind of argument ensues.

I suddenly realise, I should just walk off and I leave. On the way back home I am having a full conversation with myself. All complete nonsense.

I'm asking myself if I would rather be an inuit or an indian, or something. I get home go into my garage and proceed to vaporize a lot of weed. Nice, Michael. Around the sixth rip, I fall back confused. I puke at 5:30, copiously. On a toy shark.

I lost the girl. Still have the toy shark.

Overall, I didn't enjoy monday night, but I think evenings such as these can be essential for character building. Or something like that. -shrugs- whatever.

I'm going to eat some ice-cream and go back to sleep.

In a bit.

-M''

A severely cutting, slightly over dramatised account of monday night.

I'm vindicating myself here on the basis that anyone who will invite their boyfriend and fuck buddy to one place in away kind of deserves what they get.

I wish I could completely believe what I've just wrote.

No more night-time planz.

-Michael

30 day mission...

I'm thinking one of my biggest problems in life is drinking. It's expensive, bad for your skin, and has been involved in the destruction of my last two relationships. It was also a major contributer to what a fat fuck I used to be.

So, I'm deliberately picking the most difficullt time of the year to break this habit, because I imagine it will be far more character building.

I'm finally going to start researching and applying for jobs in Spain too.

I'm going to begin rebuilding again, as I have such a disgusting appetite for self-destuction.

Next girl who comes around the corner, I will make her fully aware of my ambition to stop drinking.

-Michael

Buskers night destruction; you fucking love it!

Okay, so I was fucking on one last night.

I'm actually terrified I could have jeapordised my relationship with my fucking "secret lover" wild cat, minx of desire.



Why the fuck is she seeing me though if her boyfriend is overly spectacular...

Is it because I'm good looking?

Is it because of my de rigeur sex moves?

My personality?

My use of language?

My body?

Or is it because I'm just convenient.

Who knows. As Tyler says it's best just to live your life and assume absolutley nothing.

One things for certain, her dode boyfriend wasn't particuarly bedazzled by my presence. Not that I could give a fuck. I just felt drunk, and he was a pretentious overly opinionated cock.

I was just trying to be friendly and sociable whilst at the back of my mind, I had his girlfriend almost cumming from kissing a few hours prior.

It's kind of weird, it's like I've downloaded myself off of the fucking internet. Almost.

I've gone from some fat chode



brutally lets just be friendzed. After a series of disasterous attempts to convert this friend into a girlfriend, where I must have made every mistake in the fucking book... I decided enough was enough, started hitting up the gym and underwent a DIY core personality, fundamental beliefs and body transformation to turn myself into:

Well, I ws going to post a nice picture of me and the girl, she took. Apparently she doesn't want to speak to me ever again eh. So I won't.

I digress, this is an ongoing project, but to get from that fat picture above, the whole process took less than a year.

Fortunately for me, I found a few sources of inspiration, completely digested all of the information and knowledge I could, and boom I'm not a chode.

I'm also suspended from work on full pay after writing a thoroughly preposterous letter concerning being sent home from work for having fucking stupid mohullet hair.

Dear Angela

I am perturbed at my recent sending home, and wish to write a rebuttal, as I don't believe I had a sufficient chance to explain my case.
I came into work on the friday evening in order to buy black hair dye, however, the warning on the back of the box says it is dangerous to use if your scalp is somewhat irritated, which is the case with me; as it took the hairdresser multiple painful hours in order to get the colouring of my hair so light, what with my hair being so dark and all.

The precise words on the box of the hairdye:

Do not use product at all if:

-you have already experienced any reaction to colouring products.

-you have a sensitive, irritated or damaged scalp.

I personally fall under both categories.

Also, if I was to cut my hair, which I'm admittedly reluctant to do so, as I believe it personally to be very beautiful and a dynamic representation of my core personality and self-esteem, rather than for simply di rigeur: it would be most likely expensive.

As is the case, that I take great pride in my hair, and my general all around appearance these days in particular, (good healthy diet, and plenty of exercise, aswell as plenty of supplements from Holland and Barret, such as spirulina, probiotic berry powder, omega 3 fish oil, digestive enzymes et al to maintain a lean physique for example) it would require an appointment with one of the most glorious salons in Sunderland or the surrounding area, these are very very difficult to get on a weekend at short notice indeed. I would boldly go as far as to say impossible.

I was disheartened your attitude to my hairstyle was so truculent, I do not believe it to be a rebellious haircut, yes you may consider it to be unorthdox, but this is more pertaining to it being an invention of myself and not one that has been duplicated from outside sources; and thus I do not believe it constitutes a malfeasance.

It is a rather simplistic haircut really, short with a blonde stripe running down the middle, it has not in my experience offended anyone. The general consensus on my hair is that it is glorious indeed. One maiden who I served within the duration of my shift last thursday even complimented it, verbatim: ''You have nice hair...'' and in all honesty it really is homologous to a lot of hairstyles within the ASDA community.

Hopefully you would agree, that my hair isn't too bad, and doesn't make me look like a kohlrabi which would be far more offensive for the consumption of our humble customers.

I am aware that you are rather malleable and I respect and admire that greatly, such is why I have taken the time to constuct a cogent letter to try and display my opinions on this matter using the full extent of my lexicon and proper syntax in order to put my case forth fairly and clearly.

Would it not be feasible, to let me wear my hairstyle as it is? Especially as it is the time of year where one requires the money to buy others pleasant gifts and indulge in a glass of fine mead with friends. It really isn't completely fragrant.

However, I think my main concern is mainly being short of pay in the festive season is enough to make anyone feel emasculated and somewhat of a plebian.

I hope you can have empathy and I embolden you to treat this case with a level of concientious sympathy rather than condemnation, so I can attend my next shift without animadversion, for I am completely effeted in this situation. Fortunately it is not a feeling I am too unfamiliar with, growing up as a young man in an absurd world.

Anyway, thankyou for your time.

Yours sincerely

Michael Lane

My life is ridiculous at the moment.

I really have to find some kind of balance, some kind of stability, karma, some kind of lasting rather than temporary sanity, whatever.

I was having the argument with Rebex as I was writing this, and it completely reiterated everything in the previous sentence.

Perhaps the most terrifying thing is, when I started spending time with her I really hated her. I just wanted some kind of company to pass the time of day by; now I have grown to know her, we have a disturbing amount in common. The old adage again, you don't attract what you want, you attract what you are.

I fear I may just miss her and her stupid fucking 18year old ways. Or maybes not.

I'm sure I have stuff to do.

-Michael

I miss my friend Butcher who is sunning it up in glorious Dubai, and as I write this last sentence, the downtempo tunes of Ulrich Schnauss fill the air. Everything is going to be okay.

Drunk...

Okay, so I'm very drunk, so I shall type this as a Joyceanesque stream of consciousness ramble.

So I've been seeing Rebecca who's my 'secret lover' wild cat minx of glory who I've made squirt 3 times... she has a boyfriend called Dan who is much taller and better looking than me, yet I still relentlessly pull her with consummate ease using my natural super player powers which I learned some of which off the internet off of fucking Jeffy of RSD.

Now her boyfriend, he thinks I was trying to kiss her in the bar we were in, however this wasn't the case whatsover, I merely informed her of my desire to fuck her brains out, in pretty much exactly those words. Unless he heard those words, I don't see what his fucking problem is.

I drunkenly sent the lyrics of Purple Rain to her... which may be stupid, but I'm going to trust David fucking Shade on this one, and go on a hunch and say that a girl won't get rid of a guy who can make her squirt THREE times in a fucking night.

However, we shall see. Because on Projectglory, we're only interested in PROVEN facts.

LOL third person, very douchey.

Tick, tick, tick

Check back here for the results, same bat time, same bat place.

-Michael

Today is a magical day

Just like every other day, today is magical. I ate cereal, drank coffee and lots of biscuits and listened to heart rendering love songs play on the television.

I'm trying to motivate myself to finish the last 20pages of Factotum by my hero Charles Bukowski. I'm also quite saddened although I'm fully aware at how preposterous it is to be saddened by someone saying that they're discontinuing their blog.

I really liked reading this guys opinions on stuff, and some of it was really inspiring.

''Nothing lasts forever, even cold November rain...''

I wrote the dude a highly flagrant piece of prose as a comment on why he shouldn't discontinue his blog. However upon reading it, it will probably have the adverse effect of making him definitely want to rape his blog down to the ground.

Dude will be like, woah, I really have some complete fucking weirdos reading this shit.

Seriously though, I'm aware I'm rambling because it's one of those fucking winter days.

Best line on his entire blog for all of the fucking gold in there: ''If you do that again, I'm gonna get you pregnant and punch you in the stomach with a hammer...''

I know you really shouldn't laugh at things of this nature; but a repressed laugh is the best laugh of all. Or at least so they say.

Ugh I'm writing completely hyperactive and sound like a fucking tosser.

I'm gonna go smoke some herbal psyhadelic shit to chill out.

[I don't even want to take credit for how bad this blog must read :(]
-M

Licking pussy

God, I love licking pussy.

I think I have a natural god-given flair for this shit. I remember reading the part in Women by Bukowski, where Lydia says to Hank, she knew that he'd be amazing at cunnilingus because he's a messy person.

I can very much identify with this ideal of messiness. Plus I have an extraordinarily long tongue, and lick every inch of the pussy with an unfathomable passion until the girl is left in fits of orgasmic ardour.

Technique.

-Michael

Self Mutilation yo...

My parents are very disturbed at the 'incisions' I have made along my left arm.

''Are you an idiot?''

Indeed.

Although I am definitely more of a poser maniac seeing as I've had no seriously traumatising events in my life to justify going to serious extremes and actually pushing razor blades and knitting needles under my skin.

Well, unless you count the Maria fiasco. However she could also technically be seen as the catalyst for my rise to victory.

My behaviour from their perspective could be described as erratic to say the least.

I'm going to listen to Slayer, and take psychadelic drugs in my garage.

-Michael

Chodefest

Some thoughts this morning:

"People do not attract that which they want, but that which they are. Their whims, fancies, and ambitions are thwarted at every step, but their inmost thoughts and desires are fed with their own food, be it foul or clean. The 'divinity that shapes our ends' is in ourselves; it is our very self... Not what he wishes and prays for does a man get, but what he justly earns. His wishes and prayers are only gratified and answered when they harmonise with his thoughts and actions.

People are anxious to improve their circumstances, but are unwilling to improve themselves; they therefore remain bound. The man who does not shrink from self-crucifixion can never fail to accomplish the object upon which his heart is set."

I went out last night, I'm moderately hungover and haven't got much inspiration this morning. When I git in, I sent Lotte a message telling her I miss her. Previously, I would have considered this behaviour to be stupid. However, I really do. It's coming from a place of honesty and authenticity; so as far as I'm concerned, this shit is vindicated.

I remember very little of the conversation from last night, the usual discussions were had, and no new lays were bound.

I recall standing waiting for a taxi, and Andy regaling me with his tale of Lotte staring at him in the supermarket. So I presume that this was the catalyst.

-shrugs-

Time will tell. It always does.

-Michael

I

The effects of Salvia

I woke up this morning at 8:30, I realise I have less than 20 minutes to get ready and get to work. I get in, at ten past nine, and my manager immediately proceeds to send me back home. Furiously telling me not to come back until my hair is one colour. I go home, without a care, I've had one saturday off this year.

When I get back to my house, I realise that my phone is fucking broke, I can't call anyone. I decide to grab my vapouriser pipe, and the fucking Salvia divornum I ordered off the internet (!) and go down to the garage and smoke this shit by myself.

I sit down on the gym mats at the back, pour the salvia into the bowl of the pipe, take out my lighter and begin to take huge rips. I sit for 30 minutes and vapourise all of the one gram.

I start feeling weird. My body feels ostensibly different.

I stand up, and my vision becomes slightly blurred for a moment as I stare imperceptibly at the front wheel of my bike. I snap myself out of it, my mind starts wandering. I see parts of my life and the inspiration for everything I've done. It's an uncomfortable feeling. For a moment I actually want to cry, then that feeling vanishes.

I start to percieve things differently: I realise that all that matters is now. That's all that there ever will be and all I've ever got. I know this because I'm standing in a freezing cold garage, and the coldness emphasises that.

I begin to feel like the dude off Quantum Leap, except I'm not in anyones body, I'm in mine, but I begin to see things, I see the future, I see all there is, and ever could be, but I realise there is no future. No hope. Only now. I entirely realise the nature of the absurdity of existence. I wonder if Camus ever took Salvia. I begin to perceive failure and futility, but realise it's irrelevant in the grand scheme of things, because there is only this moment.

My mind wanders somemore: I see a plant with thorns, and become confused and disconcerted at it, even scared a little. It is very strange. I move away.

I'm standing, I look out of the broken window of my garage, and see my brother standing near the window. I feel like more of an outsider than ever before in my life. I crouch down, and hold onto the stunt-pegs of my BMX, I roll over to the gym mats where I vapourised the Salvia.

I stare at something, I have a sense of de ja vu, that I've been here before, and I will be again. Everything seems so normal but so different now.

I look outside and see the rain, and stare across at something or other. The rain looks beautiful. I begin to appreciate the beauty and nature of things.

Everything sems to be clearer now. I have a heightened sense of perception. I see hundreds of little things I had never noticed before, in astonishing clarity. It is beautiful, everything, even the rust on the door of the garage possesses a natural maginificence in this moment in time. In the Now.

As the Salvia starts to wear off, I wish I had a camera.

Everything is beautiful and glorious. Even as I write this, I have a strange sense of de-ja-vu.

My perception of reality is irrevocably altered.

It is beautiful and glorious indeed.

-Michael

LR: Yesterday and today

My shift yesterday wasn't particuarly ebullient, although I did gain high praise off several for my new mohullet, I was met with absolute disdain by my manager who told me I had to lose the absurd hairstyle or face the consequence of being sent home on my next shift.

-shrugs- the fucking hair is staying, it is truly magnificent. No matter whether I face disciplinary action, the haircut is representation of my noble nimbus.

After getting in the house, I get messaged off Rebecca who tells me she's at her boyfriends, but he's gone to self-defence class (!), I eventually find his house, I'm waiting outside for her for a little while, because apparently her boyfriends room-mate doesn't like me. Oh well. I lost no sleep over that, more to come on that later. I find a group of young thugsters and get a light for my ciggarette, I sit on the wall cool and composed, as if I were the reincarnation of James Dean or someone ostenibly magnificent and comfortable in theur own skin as he.

Whilst I am waiting, in a flash of brilliant cosmic irony I am passed by a Mitsubishi Nimbus, I smile knowingly.

She finally appears, we joke and then once we get to the bottom of the street, we begin holding hands. Unfortunately we are limited to 1.1 bar until 12oc clock, as I only have a credit card, we drink some aftershocks, flirt shamelessly, and then go to the Buskers night along the road anyway.

By 12 o clock, we've moved to another bar, and she's insanely drunk to the point of falling around. We get in a taxi, and go back to Casa de Michael...

She is sick. Lots. My bed sheets are ruined.

However, after a while, she's feeling a little better.

After she's fell of my bed. And then recovered.

It's time to lick it.

It goes something like this:




Baring in mind, this girl was disgusted at the thought of oral sex up until two days ago. Now she's lying there panting like a recovering tuberculosis patient and referring to me as an Oral genius. She actually squirts.

I proceed deliver the best sex of my life thus far to her. She cums again.

I go down on her again, and finger her in a manner reminicent of squirters 2 [great porn movie by the way, and I highly highly recommend it]. Carresing her g-spot with the pads of my fingers. And unsurprisingly she squirts again... woooooo

I smile, a smile that would undoubtedly be percieved by anyone as the essence of complete self-satisfaction.

I fuck her somemore.... she gets on top. Squirts AGAIN!!



She says she wants me to cum inside of her, I'm like ermm no, you're not on the pill, I'm not wearing a condom anymore. She says to just do it. Sometimes these ladies say the most idiotic things in terrifying fits of passion. But eh. I don't. I splurge over her stomach.

Then fuck her again for good measure, although this time, admittedly slightly more lacklustre.

Good lay. We go to sleep.




We just sit around most of the day shooting the breeze, until she goes on my laptop, and I for some reason or other start slashing my left arm up with my new knife. She looks, and I just smile as if this was the most perfectly normal and natural behaviour in the world. We continue on with what we were doing.

Late afternoon, my drugs paraphenalia arrives via Royal Mail, and we go for a joint of Salvia, it makes me happy, it makes her happy. It is all good.

She's talking to her boyfriend on the internet when we come back, and she proceeds to mock him in the most deprecating manner, actually it's kinda like something I would do to entirely amuse myself. I realise I like this girl.

We talk more. I do actually get a little bit frustrated, like when the fuck is she going to leave.

We go for a quick drink, I'm starting to appreciate how good her sense of humour is, and then dissapears on the bus into the night wearing my beloved Members Only jacket and Velvet Underground t-shirt which is so fucking tight, it would make the most vehement homosexual male cringe.

I go into work to find out what time I start tommorow, and to buy black hair dye. I won't be able to use it. So my shift could very well be depressingly short.

Good times.

I am actually thankful on days like these where I've been given the willpower by God to transcend adversity, and have a second chance at banging 18 year old blonde girls. Where are others are doomed to a fate of banging warpigs for now until eternity, if they even get that.

-Michael
I

LR: Vodka dick

I met up with the girl I was seeing yesterday. She sends me a text before we meet up, basically telling me there's to be no kissing, or hand-holding.

At this point, I'm not exactly sure why I'm meeting up with her at all... but being considerate of her boyfriend I turn up and state: "I don't know what the fuck you're talking about... you're always the one who kisses me and holds my hand, I only do that shit because we like each other." or something along those lines. [credit CJ]

We wander around town, I act COMPLETELY natural, just teasing her, and busting on her, we get some food and tell her that we're getting booze too.

We walk to the off-license near mine, which is like fifteen minutes away... I buy myself a 70cl bottle of smirnoff vodka, and two bottles of soda water, and her 8bottles of alcopops.

We go back to mine, I continue teasing, but mostly considerate of her boyfriend even though he called me a freak, do not try to kiss her... this creates more sexual tension.

We drink more... I FINALLY state unequivocally why I like her.

We finally kiss, I tell her she's the sexual predator.

We drink more, talk for a few more hours... I state that we're going to have sex, and pull her tights and underwear off.

I've drank way too much vodka by this point and have trouble maintaining my hard-on. I start railing her... I'm too drunk. I go down on her for a bit, she says she came 3 times from it, although she'd previously said she didn't like oral at all. Hmmmm... what the fuck?

She gets on top, more fucking. I don't cum. Although for some absurd reason, I used three condoms.

I walk her to the busstop, although not before stopping off at my work to get some food. Everyone stares at my highly unorthodox hairstyle. We leave and laugh. Today at work should be a glorious malaise indeed.

She gets on the bus. I get home and lie down feeling extraordinarily sick.

So there you have it... I did all of the fundamentals correctly, nothing to flashy... I was cool, pumped up the attraction by teasing, putting myself on the line, being dominant and assertive and leading, created sexual tension, qualified her, actually developed a connection with the girl, and railed her... and I'm sure there's other things I did correctly and did wrongly, but I am still very hungover and can't think of them right now.

Yes, she has a boyfriend, but I feel entirely vindicated because she told me he called me a freak the night before when I was talking to her online.

-shrug-

-Michael

Qualification...

I pumped up the attraction. I was dominant. Assertive. I qualified the girl. I got laid. Simple.

-Michael

On maturity....

It's actually taken this: haircut:
along with a talk from my cousin how I'm wasting my life, and the realisation that all of my friends actually have shit going on in there lives, that's made me think that maybe I should just finally grow up. Yes, acting childish and immature, working seven hours a week, and being a general all around douchebag can be fun for a while, but maybes you do have to finally give into the status quo at the end and just accept your terminal fate. Perhaps, all you're rebelling against beats the shit out of you in the end, and you just have to be a regular everyday Sisyphus. You can have all of the talent, and potential in the uiniverse and have all of the resources, maybes you believe you have that jais ne sais quois, but maybes that same universe has had you by the balls all along. C'est le vie?

Such is the absurd irony of life more like. What can you do other than accept your fate, and relent to metaphorically pushing the boulder up the hill, only for it to roll back down for all of eternity.

Even 18 year old said it: ''but you need a girlfriend i think''

So what the fuck do I do? Do I go the way of Camus and continue to revolt against an absurd world, follow the egotisticial path and join my friends upon a path of monotony, or just have a break down and consider suicide?

What is right?

I am very drunk and confused, this can be a very confusing world in which we live. My heart says very much REVOLT. My head says give up and join the monotony of the status quo and forego all of your god given talent and potential.

Life really is fucking ridiculous.

Yes, for the time being anyway, I'm definitely adopting the Camus philosophy of the absurd.

Yes, I desperately require a new purpose, but no fucking WAY, am I working 38hours a week.

Call me pretentious, for I don't give a fuck your opinions on me, I believe I have posess the ability to achieve greatness, and transcend all of the bullshit. I can picture my own mother and father now "get in the real world Michael" and what is this real-world?

I believe perception equals reality, and I don't believe in prostituting my life away for ridiculously measly amounts of money.

Yes, maybes I am immature. Yes, maybes, I am stupid and lucky to still be alive. Who's right? Who's wrong? I know one thing, thinking too much about this bullshit will make me depressed. There's nothing worse than thinking. It is the curse of humanity. I bet plants don't think.

All thinking ever made me was neurotic and gave me pyschosis.

FUCK THINKING.

Even old Ecky Tolle says it.

I know one thing, I just ordered a brand new vapouriser pipe and some Salvia divornum, maybes that shall give me the answers I possess, maybes not. Maybes I'm getting myself traumatised over nothing. Who really fucking knows anything?

Has life just got me trapped, or is this mother natures version of a bitches fucking congruence test? I should be shot for what I just said.

I know I'm meeting 18year old in the morning. Why? Oh fuck it.

FUCK THINKING.

Everything will figure itself out NATURALLY. Hopefully. So much for the absurd. Hope indeed. What the fuck am I raving on about. Far too drunk.

-Michael

Escalation...

Great video of some fantastic game in action. The subtelty of some of the stuff he does is fantastic.

Okay, so to the juice of todays article:

When should you escalate? Quickly and often, keep doing this shit until you are totally congruent, natural and comfortable with it.

My latest thing is telling girls that I'm a sexual predator... and that I'm going to hit on them. Does it make any difference? No, because I'm a cool guy, and just acting completely natural.

I simply don't care.

I just want to amuse myself. That's the most important thing.

Like I've mentioned on numerous occasions, it's all about being honest and authentic. I don't even see any reason anymore to lie to girls, because suggesting you have to lie to someone would also imply that deep down, you don't believe you possess the natural merit to have a fine lady of such a nature.



Perhaps you feel deep down you are a fatty, so fuck... forget about it and treat it like it doesn't matter, or go to the fucking gym and keep running and working out, dieting and sipping on protein shakes until you have abs to rival a comic book superhero.

Perhaps you feel deep down you're not intelligent enough or a good enough conversationalist to entertain this maiden. Well one, you don't have to entertain anyone apart from yourself. However if it's the case that this still troubles you, read a ton of books, load up on classical literature, interesting and cool movies, and documentaries.

Not cool enough? Well you're never going to be cool with that attitude, read GQ, and go fucking crazy, get drunk with your friends and cause a ton of chaos to amuse YOURSELF.

You're the superhero in this story, and can do whatever the fuck you want. The world literally revolves around you.

Remember *you* are the shit, and there's not unascertainable for such a grandious champion of heroism. (I was gonna put 'heroicness' is that even a word?)

You can be Hercules meets fucking Don Juan...

or you can just be yourself. Personally, I'd say being myself works WAY better, but eh.

You don't want to be to jabba the hut douchebag in the undersized reebok sweater. Be like water as Bruce Lee says, all at once beautiful, flexible, dangerous, placid and completely natural. An unstoppable and at the same time essential force of nature.



-Michael

Hmmph

Today has been truly frustrating. I still can't order the books that I want.

Go Tell It on the Mountain by Baldwin...
Kingdom of Fear by HST
Junky by Burroughs
The Doors of Perception: And Heaven and Hell by Huxley
The Bell Jar by Plath
Notes of a Dirty Old Man by Bukowski
Dune by Herbert
Tough, Tough Toys for Tough, Tough Boys by Self
Journey to the End of the Night by Celine
On the Road by Kerouac
The Rum Diary by Thompson
Great Apes by Self
Dr Mukti and Other Tales of Woe by Self
Ham on Rye by Bukowski

This probably only appears to be more frustrating than it is, as I have the impending winter blues, it's cold, wet and drizzly and today I was in work and served a repulsive Jabba the hut douchebag in an undersized Reebok sweater and white tracksuit bottoms. Vile.



Not to worry though, one day soon, I will be able to write at a higher standard than all of those writers listed above, whom I admire greatly. Apart from the ones I haven't read anything of yet. Obviously.

But hopefully I will be able to like, admire and lionise them, when my credit card stops getting fucking declined. Hmmph.

I will write a real balls to the wall article tommorow. I have ideas.

-Michael

Typical

I ran down to the new gym, entered the building and they don't take credit card. I go to the cash point, and I can't remember my number, so I literally run back home, get the number and ride back.

The card doesn't allow me to withdraw cash.

I ride back in the bitter cold and horrible, drizzly rain. Dissapointed, but my resolve for ripped abs is too strong. This setback is irrelevant. I am relentless.

However, these weren't the only setbacks. I had several of my amazon purchases declined, because I stupidly didn't activate the card. I can be very retarded at times. It's truly surprising I am alive.

I get a phone-call on my mobile off a witheld number, saying they are Natwest bank. For some reason or another I become dubious, and paranoia comes over me. I question them. Then I say 'ah, yea, that was me.'

Today has gotten off to an unusual start. I will be in work soon, where the weirdness will undoubtebly continue.

There's not really any particular reason for writing this.

EVERYTHING IS IRRELEVENT. BE RELENTLESS. TRANSCEND ADVERSITY.

I am a walking t-shirt syllogism.

As for my feelings the Rebecca situation 3days on. A similar thing happened around this time last year. I just don't give a fuck. Did I mention IRRELEVENT?

I have a small group of friends, who are highly dependable. They will always be more important than any girl. Besides, women are in abundance, it's like everytime you lose one, there's another one or even half-dozen waiting just around the corner, ready for you to fuck them senseless.

This is the way life is. You've just got to accept everything for how it is.

Okay, I'm gonna get ready for work. Why don't I just work from home creating syllogisms for t-shirts? Why why why?

L8rz

-Michael

Cool TV show

Just a short post before I hit up the gym this morning.

I'm just perusing youtube, and watched this really cool show called Man vs Wild which is on the Discovery channel. The guys a total survivalist, he kind of reminds me of Daniel Craig's James Bond in Casino Royale.

There's quite a few videos and it's really inspiring and definitely useful, especially if you ever intend to visit any of these places (which I do).

Fabulous stuff. Check it out.

-Michael

Books

After an unusual day, which began properly, as I raced through the streets on my bike like a bullet, as the cold air nipped at my skin; whilst I wondered what it must be like to be truly frost-bitten.

I began work at 10am and had several thoroughly idiotic customers before the day got progressively better, I sat and spoke to my friend in the canteen at lunch-time about the happenings of friday night as a group of ASDA women, sat and flashed me completely disgusted looks, as I spoke of the in and outs of my 'relationship' with Bex. Pun not intended, I dissaprove of vulgarity.

Now upon finally finishing 'For whom the Bell tolls' by Hemingway, I've just began reading Junk Mail by Will Self, and I'm literally frothing, nay orgasming over his use of language. Being a carniverous reader and vocabulary nerd, this shit is just magical. I may take up the study of philology when I am becoming old and grey.

Now I shall return to my reading. I may post later something constructive later, hopefully I shall be filled with vigour and inspiration; and my literary nimbus will become ignited.

UPDATED:

I'm definitely going to join the new gym tommorow morning. Two work-outs a day from now on minimum.

Seeing as I intend to sleep with 52 girls next year, one for every week of the year, or one for every card in a pack of playing cards; either way you look at it: this will require persistence, world class player skillz and highly questionable morality.

I'm beginning a strenuous training regime in the morning in order to get fit in preparation for all of the banging I shall be doing; aswell as starting on creatine:

Monday/Thursday: Chest, back, forearms, lats, biceps, shoulders.
Tuesday/Friday/Sunday: Abs.
Wednesday/Saturday: Legs.

One 30 minute session each morning on the treadmill or bike interval training.

One session in the evening jogging or on the bike for an hour +.

My goals are within 3months EXTREME fitness and 18inch biceps. I believe this is more than attainable.

I'm aware that it is the case as Hemingway says, that you don't usually stick to your night plans, however this is one, that will definitely be manifested. I am determined this time to TOTALLY ASCERTAIN RIPPED FUCKING ABS.

-Be able to fuck girls for 2hours at a time, because of the massive amounts of stamina.

-Be an animal in bed due to the unseemly amounts of TESTOSTERONE.

-For 2008 to be a CARNIVAL of sexual abundance.

-My vocabulary will be PREPOSTEROUSLY RICH AND FULL.

-My iq will be through the stratosphere.



This is starting to read like a sales letter heheheh.

I'm out.

-Michael

Love in a Trashcan

This morning, I'm feeling tired, wearisome, a little perplexed even.

I was standing in the shower telling myself repeatedly: it's okay, there's no need for worrying, just do whatever comes naturally.

Maybes later, I'll write completely about my recent endeavours in ''love'', or giving oneself permission to do whatever the fuck one wants, or possibly numerous other things all depending on how the day unfolds.

Last night culminated in me splashing out on Amazon using the credit card, and buying several books, including I believe two by Hunter S. Thompson, one by Bukowski, On the road by Kerouac and Celine's masterpiece. I'm beginning to behave like a typical English student. -shrugs-

At least it makes me feel warm and happy inside; and I'm being true to myself [egotistical, see: A New Earth by Eckhart Tolle]. That's all that counts.

This reads very meloncholy. I suppose friday night left me a little bit confounded. Whatever.

I'm going to work to get more £££££££

-Michael

The Whores of Amsterdam

A lot of people where I work love their job. I don't love my job, I just tolerate it, because I like the money and only tolerating it will keep me sane.

I started when I was sixteen, and have worked on the grocery department, outside ''Portering,'' and now I'm currently located inside on checkouts.

I was thinking, I'm gonna stay at ASDA for another ten years, and then write a semi-autobiographical novel in Bukowski style, all about how I spent half of my life in a menial job.

Instead of calling it 'Post office'', I'm gonna call it ''PORTERING''.

In ten years, I'll probably be a ridiculously talented or severly burned out writer, so this asda shit could be like discovering gold.

I can compare how standing entrenched at my checkout is similar to what it must feel like to be a whore in Amsterdam, waiting for the next cock.

Fucking capitalism.

Yes, my semi-autobiographical novel is gonna be 334pages of me comparing myself to dutch hookers and promisculously splurging over fat chicks on my nights off.

I am very sardonic this evening.

-Michael

Tentative...

I'm tentatively considering foregoing my current gym membership for the seemingly relevative splender of the new gym down the road.

However, I'm slightly concerned about the chode/douchebag/meathead quotient hence my incessant myspace bulletins this evening.

Most importantly though, I'm interested in how many HAWT girls inhabit this place, as this could be very important on those cold mornings when one is aching and unmotivated for a strenuous cardio session. Gotta keep that heart-rate up there.

With the sheer convenience though, I do believe it would be the perfect location to ascertain and then maintain my glorious abs. Gotta keep dem poppin'

I'm also talking with my friend and looking for some classye clothes. At the moment I quite like this:




Blastin' the credit card.

Gonna do an all-night reading session also; want to get started on the Will Self book with all of the glorious sesquipedalian. I love that word. I'm turning into a vocabulary nerd.


In other news, Power Lunch at KFC Newcastle on tuesdays, so I will have to be up on my marketing and business terms. I shall also have to make sure my Miami Viceesque H+M suit is fully resplendent. So look out for a write-up on that. Lot of good shit going down in the next week no doubt.

Even if it's the most boring week ever which it won't be, I'll just drink an obnoxious quantity of snakebite and whiskey on thursday so insanity, chaos and hilarity will ensue. I am tired and rambling.

I'll be like a zombie in work in the morning. -shrugs-

-Michael

Tonight.... and the 365 day mission. Of glory.

I had intended todays article, to be called 'The Whores of Amsterdam' and be on the topic of capitalism in the modern world. However, todays shenanigans have overshadowed this glorious article and it shall just have to wait for another time.

I basically destroyed my 'relationship' today, and it's totally my own fault. I acted like a chode, and my lesson has been totally, utterly, thoroughly, internalised.

So, looks like I shall be joining the new local gym, going every day, packing on a lot of glorious muscle, ignite the nimbus and be back in full effect for the '08, with a beautiful new girlfriend deluxe.

Wooooooooo

Yes, it'll be all about the hotties in 2008, as I begin my 365 day pick-up rampage of desire.

Yes, you read that correctly, gym everyday. Pick-up everyday. I may have came far since my chode days, but I am going to transcend even further than what I am now. Glorious love.

No ego involved.

You just watch this fucking blog, as I tear through Sunderland like a fucking Hurricane through a wooden hut.

Nowhere shall be safe from the absolute power of the holy and divine shimmering nimbus of glory.

:)

This means, internet game, day game, night game, none stop picking up girls in 2008. It will be absolute fucking CHAOS!!!

My fire of desire is rekindled and there is no stopping until all past adversity is transcended. This will be the fucking blog to read in 2008. Believe me.

There will be trauma, there will be heartache, there will be distress, weirdness, there will be lots and lots of sex and it will get very very insane. As I realise my full potential, gain magical social genius, and become enlightened. I am not joking. And like I said, there's no ego involved.

2008 carnival of sexual abundance. Represent. Serious.

-Michael

Oh dear...

After noticing I've made twenty posts already this month, it would appear I'm becoming curiously addicted to 'blogging.'

Perhaps most perculiar and confusing, is that last night I enscribed a list of topics for potential future 'articles.'

It's no secret, and I've mentioned it before, that I'm determined to master and perfect my writing style; one day I hope to write a novel. A masterpiece that will be remembered.

My ambition is to be able to write prose that will put other contemporary and even past writers to shame, and leave them embarrased and humilliated by how 'feeble' their work is in comparison.

To be able to inspire possibly even change the course and direction of lives for the better.

To enlighten, captivate, fascinate and instill passion in people, and give them a greater feeling of appreciation for prose.

These are just a few of my ambitions. I suppose, in a way they say a lot about the kind of man I am.

So, I'll keep writing on here, with the condition, that I've promised and guarenteed myself I will only write thoroughly content-rich articles.

I've had blogs before, and know how you get frustrated and tiresome of them after several months and just want to delete them. With this one however, I want to use it to document my transformation over the next year, a personal odyssey to living the life of my dreams.

This will be my personal guidebook and reference book so any situation encountered will end gloriously for me in the future. :)

This whole page, will become so powerful, that the only outcome from reading it alone shall be total success, intelligence, inspiration, power, glory, deep identity level transformation, and personal enlightenment... and a very good time.

(As an aside, if this all appears to be thoroughly pretentious, I believe it was Brett-Easton Ellis, who said a writers first 100,000 words always are.)

Yep, but anyway, I've got a million and one things to do.

Byeee

-Michael

My wandering got my ass wonderin'....

I went to get my mobile phone back off The Butcher, he says he hasn't read anything on it, so if in future he is to use anything questionable from it against me, I have the moral highground anyway. Woooo

On the ride back, the weather was delightful, I like the way the sky looks at this time of year, slightly gloomy with a little bit of blue protruding through; and the way the cold touches your skin. Just magical.

I was also thinking about 'game', I don't like to use the term these days, as it implies you're doing something to the girl.

I'm starting to believe that real 'game' is invisible, it is pretty much internal, and most of it really requires very little verbalisation.

You are drawing them in with your nimbulons, yes, I love RSD, in a manner not too dissimilar from that of the force




Verbally, last year, I was probably far better. I had a wonderful array of clever lines. Some of them, I would go as far as to say were genius. I may even post some of the best ones at some point. I had some limited success.

Why didn't all of these lines give me ultimate success?

Because, they're not nearly as important as the fundamentals.

''Be confident:
-sense of self that's independent of any external validation
-No need to have to use any personality other than your own

Offer value:
-Put your real personality on the line (authenticity)
-Be the party rather than trying to get into their party
-Have belief in your own standards and let people see the world through your eyes
-Don't react to the value you want from her, but rather, view her as a human being to have fun with

Assert dominance:
-Strong eye contact, body language, vocal tonality
-Lead the interaction
-Punch through the wall (approach with full anticipation of success, and fully "put yourself out there")

Be unreactive:
-Have your own sets of standards that are unaffected by superficiality or any conflicting realities about who you are
-Show no visible emotional reaction to tests or wanting anything from her''

These are the most important things to have. Then as you approach more and more girls you have more realisations.

You reach higher echeolons.

Where once you were a chode and were scared to even approach girls, you realise it is the only way and rejection doesn't even really exist. For example in a club, if you're not doing so well, girls will just generally turn away from you.

Where once you'd be afraid to kiss the girls, you realise how simple it really is. You escalate at every concievable opportunity, because you're becoming a dominant man.

Where once you might end up in the friends zone, even if this was the case, you can blast through as you're self aware and realise your frame of sexuality is much more powerful than her frame of ''friendship.''

Instead of talking to girls for 45 minutes using your wittiest lines, just to get her ''attracted'' you're already well on the way to a sexual relationship with the girl.




Once you have the fundamentals, and you're cool, you can get away with saying or doing pretty much anything, aslong as it's congruent with who you are.

Seriously.

This shit is so simple.

What was it like to be a chode again?




I honesty don't know... I can't remember.

I wouldn't go back to that shit for all of the money in the world.

I'm reminded of the scene in The Tao of Steve, where the guy says to Dex, ''I don't want enlightenment, I only want to get laid..''

and Dex replies, ''They're the same thing,''

and I believe that to an extremely high degree.

Tao of Steve: great film by the way. I *highly* recommend it.

''In the film, Dex is a seemingly unlikely thirtysomething lothario - an underachieving, overweight, overeducated former philosophy student turned Kierkegaard-quoting kindergarten teacher. Yet, he has developed a rather effective method for serial-seducing women until he meets his match in Syd, an equally smart, sharp-witted woman who is immune to his charms.''

Okay, so now I'm all psyched up, feeling like a human pepe le pew, it's time for me to sign out.




Be desireless, be excellent, and I'm gone.

-Michael

To be a ripped abs hero........

So today, I'm not entirely sure what I'm doing. Soon, I'll have to go and meet my friend The Butcher to get my fucking mobile phone back, after I stupidly left it in his car last night.

Well, if he's read anything on it, I'm sure he'll have got a good laugh out of it; however, that's not really any consolation.

-shrugs-

I would go for a workout after, but I'm totally sore, so I think I will just ride there on my bike to meet him at work, and the cardiovascular exercise might do me good.

Thinking about it, all of my ideas for articles are on my phone, so if he's seen that, he'll probably just be extremely perplexed.

I still haven't finished the Hemingway novel, I spent most of last night with love-hearts in my eyes.




Yes I am a chode. A chodedode.

I am going to sing my new song ripped-abs hero to the tune of Jukebox hero by Foreigner in a ridiculous attempt to cheer myself up.

Bye

-Michael

A thought...

I have just had a thought, this might not be the case, but I'm going to post it here for posterity anyway.

I was thinking, about how still, I am totally bewitched by ''Lottetotte'' and for some reason, I realised, that everytime, I mention her or think of her, I think of her by her pet name *Lottetotte* which is of course an alliteration.

Heheh a compulsive reader being bewitched by alliteration.

Now, I recalled watching a video last month, that mentioned the importance of names... and how* powerful* alliteration can be, when naming a successful company.

I.e Coca cola
Pepsi
David DeAngelo
The Beatles
and so on.

And I also considered that the other girl I have loved, ALSO had alliteration in her name. Ma-ri- a.

I don't really know what use this is at the moment, but if I'm ever naming something, it may definitely be something to consider.

I've drank a lot of coffee today, have a lot of calories in me, and now I'm feeling like Ed Nortons insomaniac character in Fight Club.

I'm gonna fill my mind up with more literature.

Later d00ds

-Michael

Easiest pull ever...

Earlier on today, I was amidst a hardcore weight session... I'd done approximately 100 kettlebell swings, some shoulder presses and the testosterone was pumping threw my veins

I return to my bedroom, and see the phone vibrating, I didn't recognise the number:

Girl: I'm at number 10 on your street
Me: Erm okay
Girl: I can't remember which number you live in
Me: It's number 77...
Girl: Okay, I'll be there in a minute

I hurriedly wash my face, my hair greasy, I race down the stairs and she's there

me: come up

I do a bit cocky+funny to totally pump her state up, teasing her about various shit, and I think about turning up unannounced, dominant, assertiveness, honesty, authenticity, my new thing: huge vocabulary, hardcore kino, testosterone pumping in glorious synergy.

I put on some gangsta music on iTunes, and had to laugh at the hilarity of songs such as 'I'm a player' coming on

Commece makeout for about an hour, get her to tidy my room. She literally does the best job ever. I'm slightly, no, actually, I'm *really* horrified at how much stuff I have.

I have some serious fucking feng shui going now.

Get back into bed. Unleash the karma sutra oil

:)

Walk her to the bus-stop.

I realise this isn't the most eloquent, perfectly constructed post of all-time, but eh.

Glorious day.

:)

Okay, I'm off to the gym again: to pump my nimbus some more, and get my abs more ripped and popping for the cherishing of the lady.

-Michael

Highlights of '07 article 2: Thursday night jihad

I am still a little unmotivated, but this should be a more interesting and delightfully content rich article.. I apprehensively use the word 'Highlight' loosely as this may sound more like an autopsy, but eh.

Heres we go, this one is entitled 'Thursday Night Jihad' as in from the 13th of april in the year of our lord 2007, bon appetite:

''Sooo it was another drunken fucked up night in S'land.

We meet up at a different place this week, this is the first time our thursday night route has changed in about two years. But I digress.

The conversation is dire, I demand that everyone drinks snakebite to liven to motherfuckin party up yo.

After a while the conversation starts improving we go to some shitty new bar along the road, I recognise some girls I know from about five years ago, so I tell my drunk friend to go and pull these little hotties who are sitting under the DJ stand. I follow him across.

Naturally he fucks up big style, I try and save this fucked up mess. And then I end up making the Dj look like a total tool. AAAGGGGHHH.

We move on, and I'm insisting that no-one is allowed to get phone-numbers ever again. I give an impassioned speech on getting laid there and then or getting giving a flat out NO.

In the club, it's the regular thursday night shit-fest, I see my beloved magical sparkle girl ##### with her new douchebag borefriend. Her friend starts hitting on me, I tell her that I eat girls like her for breakfast, and that she's boring me, but naturally she keeps coming back for more.

We walk off bored.

Across the other side, one of the guys who's out with us is arguing with his girlfriend. Or some shit like that....this argument culminates in him steaming into the dancefloor and attacking a group of people. he comes out fine.

Aforementioned girl returns...we're drunked now, and singing:

Steve Bruce are you listening?
Our trophy is a glistening
Because we're five points in front
You fat Geordie cunt
walking in a Keano wonderland

She doesn't know what to make of this...I tell her to be gone.

More drink is consumed. We leave to get food, open up a conversation with a couple of hotties in the pizza shop. I'm talking smack but they're loving it. Really should have laid these two. It was on.

I shouldn't drink so much. If I drank less I would be getting laid like a fucking pimp. AAAAGGGGHHH

Will write more, when I'm more sobre.

-M''

Ahh yes, I remember this... the night I had my chode friend Walters approach a couple of girls, and he unwittingly cock-blocked me from here to Valhalla, fortunately I was fired up on ethyl alcohol and managed some miraculous damage limitation exercise, no-pulls on this evening never-the-less.

The second thing that strikes me, is when I'm describing my interactions with girls on this evening of shenanigans, I am coming off as very cold and aloof, pushing away, and acting so disinterested that in hindsight I may have considered to be cool, indifferent but really it's now striking me as extremely emotionally cauterised. Maybes even asexual.

I mean, I still indulge in the odd-spot of kino-pinging with girls, but it's all in fun. The whole-arch-nemesis-asshole-jerk things has been surgically removed, ostracised and exiled to the dustbin. What was going through my mind?

Comparitively speaking, take saturday night... I'm a little out of practise at pick-up game, as I don't really do as many cold-approaches these dayz.

However, I start a conversation with one girl. She is a tall-attractive-nerd.

I open with something along the lines of ''You some kind of fucking nerd?''

In one sentence, maybes it exudes assertiveness, dominance, confidence and maybes even an element of qualification at the same time. I believe I said it with a smile on my face; best never to make assumptions.

But over all of those things, I said it because it was the first thing that came to my mind, so most of all, it was completely natural and in the MOMENT.

I could have probably done better with nerd-girl; I could have just clawed her off and told her that *we* were going to the bar, rather than just get a phone-number [what I said about phone-numbers earlier, I believe still holds true.], and I had I been persistent, had some glorious fun with her. Yep I'm a bit out of practise.

Lesson learned and lesson learned.

As I was going inside, it turned out that one of her friends recognised me from a few months back in the club, we shot the breeze, she complimented me on what good shape I was in these days, and she was pretty attracted, now had I been more dominant and assertive or perhaps sharper in the moment I could have had a pretty advantageous situation going on.

I could have used her to help the nerd-girl campaign, or could have just been dominant, assertive, witty, shot the breeze, clawed, built rapport, pumped buying temperature, built up some great rapport, pumped up her buying temperature some more, been persistent and had some kind of relationship going on with this girl.

It's not nearly as complicated as it sounds.

Remember the only two things to really care to remember are: 1. Be cooler than the girl. 2. Don't say anything stupid




But in this scenario as is apparently becoming a recurring theme of this article. Lesson learned. LOL

And it's cool with me, I'm always telling my best-friend, in my drunken but eloquent 'seminars' that it's the rejections and the general fuck-ups that we make that make us great.

There's no reason to get stressed out over any of this shit, because at the end of the day none of it matters. It's insignificant. Totally fucking irrelevant.

Picking up hotties and is life, is just one big learning curve. So just keep having fun with it, and it will come.

And before you know it, you'll know a new hot girl, have new experience, new friends, new adventures delux.

And I'm out to read some more and then swing a kettlebell around my head.

Have a good one, and until next-time

TTFN

-Michael

Interesting article....

Earlier on, I was feeling completely invigorated, inspired and compelled to write a content rich article that would be fascinating, amazing and complete with the requisite sesquipedalian, hyperbole, and resplendent wondrous syntaxes that would captivate and inspire my readership, [haha I'm deluded enough to believe anyone actually reads this stuff. Yet.]

But alas, I'm not sure whether it was the 5and half hour bombardment of chodes earlier on at work, the weather, or my hardcore workout, which has dampened my ardour for writing my glorious article. Maybes all three.

-shrugs-

I will read some more Hemingway, digest my protein shake, watch wrestling, dream of ripped abs and deliver the gloriousness in the morning.

It will be just magical.

Stay beautiful.

-Michael

Thoughts on a cold winter monday morning....

Yesterday whilst I was in work. My seven year old Spaniard cousin ran upto me and started talking. In a way I was kind of delighted by this.

Recently I had been considering doing some kind of English degree; I've always thought I'd enjoy it, what-with my incessant reading.

Yesterday however, it occured to me, that if I'm to leave home, I should move to Spain. My aunt lives there and I could get a job in a bar or for one of the travel companies.

This has nothing to do with my present Hemingway 'obsession,' as I would be a fucking Holiday Rep not helping guerilla fighters.

Although, I could see myself as a modern day Jack Kerouac, but rather than just limiting myself to the roads of America, I could travel the world, and be a sleazy, debauched douchebag.

Would be fun.

I'd imagine this blog, becoming some eJournal being updated from cyber-cafes in Hong Kong or Thailand as I'm accosted by 12 year-old lady boys offering me super-happy fun time deluxe.

Until I finally write a real-book on my travels and my life.

Oh dear.

I am feeling pretentious this morning.

Now I shall go, and do something worth-while and enjoy this wonderful winter monday morning.

I will update with something interesting later.

Buenas dias y adios.

-Michael

Highlights of the '07 article 1: I'm going to hell....

I eventually ended up going out last night.

It didn't get off to the best start, when the cash-machine literally swallowed up my card. Fortunately I borrowed £40 off Andy, and we ended up staying out until 4am getting fucking drunk.

There was a lot of tension around the town last night, partially caused by a lot of deflated guys who'd been drinking from 10am.

I saw a couple of incidents where there was people standing around bleeding and shit, and also witnessed a fight that started in the White Room, went outside, and culminated in a few lads being beaten up by 8-9 hooligans.

Which reminds me, I really want a Fjall Raven jacket; but eh.

I spoke to one girl in the entire evening, a nerd, and got one phone-number by teasing her about her nerdiness and using the ''you're like baby polar bears sliding down a rainbow into a pot of gold'' line, which I never rang. In hindsight I should have just phoned anyway, even though I didn't think it was by any stretch of the imagination a solid number.

-shrugs-

I was in work today, and I'm still fucking hungover and pretty unmotivated to write any real content, so I've decided to repost some of the more interesting ''field-reports'' if you like from the year.

This one is from the seventh of april as is entitled: I'm going to hell. Here's why:

''I spent the whole of yesterday getting obnoxiously drunk (again) went to the club at about 12.3o, I try to by pass the que by walking past the bouncers, I'm stopped arrrrggghhh.

I join the que, I'm in loserville.

There's a guy I really really don't like, and he doesn't like me, I had a thing with one of his friends before christmas. I always thought it was because of her he didn't like me. I find out this is not the case. Then he starts telling me that now he's spoke to me, I'm a really cool guy. Yea well, lil ole me, oh the humanity.

Get in the club, see my friends, I'm feeling centred, I feel like I'm the coolest fucking person in the club. I couldn't give a fuck, the girls can obviously smell this, I've got some really hot girls into me. Including one who I pulled a few months ago infront of her boyfriend, I'm sure she tries to repeat this trick, her boyfriends there again. I don't want none of this. Back turn. I'm getting more and more drunk, I recall vaguely getting home. I crash out.

Today, I fucked up big style, I had a fucking insane hangover, I get a burger, I feel completely fucking disgusted at myself when I remember it's good friday. First mistake of the day, I'm already going to hell. Me and my friend the Butcher, we go to meet some girls, they're young. We go to the beach, drink some shitty wine, mistake number two you're not supposed to drink wine on good friday either, hellbound again. I bust on both girls mercilessly, I feel unstoppable, I know I can have my pick of either of these cute ass adorable little fucks. My game, has come on leaps and bounds in the past few months, I like this. Still a long long long way to go to where I want to be.

I'm going to go get some food, and have a lie down, all of this sinfulness has made me feel catabolic.

Aaaaand I'm out.''

Hehe oh dear, back when I used to drink copious amounts of snakebites, and eat burgers.

I kind of like this story, and I vaguely remember it. I think the part about being centred and being the coolest person in the club is my favourite part. Good example of being in ''state.''

Shame I didn't really document, *how* I got into that state, I think it may have been the ridiculous amounts of cider mixed with lager in my system, and a total fuck the world, I don't cay-ur attitude. Oh well.

I remember the time with the girls the next day. Lot of teasing and some really good cocky/funny shit, competent flirting. I remember it went wrong when I tried to put my scarf on the girl or some shit like that.

Basically, I think it might just have came across as incongruent. Ugh. It seems like an eternity ago. El Natur-el is how we roll these days.

This is one of the girls.................




-shrugs- seeing as that isn't a very good picture. Here's a video of her in action




Okay, now that I have *definitely* guarenteed myself an eternity of surfing the lake of fire. I'm gonna finish this fucking Hemingway novel, before I roll off my mortal coil.

Catch yaz later

-Michael

When saturday comes...

I'm slightly dissapointed today. My one true love Sunderland drew with the scum, although they were by far the better side for the entire game.

I fucking hate Newcastle.

I hate their fucking owner Mike Ashley, and I'm totally boycotting sports and soccer, I mean who'd want to buy ANYTHING from a shop owned by a fat disgusting sloth in a fucking Alan Smith shirt?

I hate their fucking fat manager Sam Allardyce.

I hate fucking James Milner and that Taylor cunt who should have been sent off. ARRGGGHH

If I can take any solice out of today, it's that I have £400credit to spend on designer clothes and other assorted junk of my choosing.

Rant over. I needs to chill the fuck out.

-Michael

Where I am now compared to where I want to be...

I've been thinking about where I am now, compared to where I want to be 5/10years down the line. Obviously in the past 6months alone, I've made so much improvement on what I was like 2 years ago.

Back in the day, I was a real contender for biggest chode in the world. I was horrifically LJBF'd and couldn't get a girlfriend or get laid at all.

To be honest that kind of stuff now, is really a none issue to me at all, as I know at the core of my being, I can get that kind of stuff at a snap if I really want it.

I think at the moment, I'm a generally well-rounded person. Not perfect, but there's a growing consistency in me. I'm mainly focussed on being the best I can possibly be, and making MASSIVE gains to all-round total TRANSFORMATION. I see my life down the line being off the frigging chains.

I can't even relate now to what I was like in 2005. It's all about the positivity and core self esteem.

I was thinking, if I keep up this kind of level of consistent improvement, how tight is my life going to be in 5/10 years?

Mainly, my main focuses for 2008 are getting the 8pack, super ripped abs like John Morrison, which I will achieve by hardcore cardio sessions pretty much daily, and hardcore weight training. Testosterone levels through the roof. It's gonna be fun.

My health in the 08 is gonna be fucking amazing. Best ever. Holland and Barrets, perfect diet deluxe. Word.

Improving my writing skills. My writing compared to many people is pretty poor, my vocabulary isn't brilliant, my syntax and the way my writing flows can be lame, but it's something I'm absolutley determined to work on. It may take another ten years to get to the level I want to be at. Again, it will come with consistent practise.

At some point next year, I'm gonna look at having a serious-relationship, I considered it recently, but I want someone amazing, and gloriously attractive. So I'm gonna have to LORD UP.

I want to launch my intelligence through the roof, in ten years I want to be considered by people to be a fucking genius, and I want to be at least more intelligent than a girl I used to know who now studies at Oxford.

08 I will FINALLY sort out my whole financial situation once and for all. Wealth will be in abundance.

The whole key here is consistent gradual improvement. Consistency over perfection.

Keep chipping away, and you'll comfortably get to where you want to be.

And voila! One morning, you'll wake up in a grande four poster bed with ripped abs, an amazingly rich and varied vocabulary and a beautiful girl.

What more can you ask for?

-M

Irony, and the ethics of ''pick-up'' and manipulation....

God, Matthew McConaughey's so cool in that vid. Seems a little high, but hey. What's that got to do with todays edition? Nothing, absolutley nothing.

Anyway on we go.

I've read The Game, and I do enjoy occasionally perusing a few of the so-called seduction blogs.

My perspective on this, is that for the most part it's good.
David Deangelo's newsletters and eBooks have been some of the most influential things I have ever read in my life. Not ashamed of it.
My whole take on it is this, at a certain level what it represents is a good thing.
It's male self-help and if you're an intelligent guy, who just wants a little bit direction and realise how to present himself it's great.

On another level, if you go to bullshit sites like Thundercats seduction lair, which is basically the ''seduction communities'' gossip tabloid, you'll find unparalleled bullshit, terrible marketing, some awful snippets that are passed off as advice and bitchiness that would put Joan Collins to shame.

That kind of bullshit aside, I am reminded of the scene on Fight Club where Brad Pitt proclaims ''Here at Fight Club, we have some of the most intelligent men who ever lived.''

A few nights ago, I was reading a short work by acclaimed philosopher Alain De Boton, one of his short essays was on honesty and authenticity. He gave an example of a romantic dinner he was on with a young woman, and he was the archetypal ''nice-guy'' i.e. a bullshitter [or as the PUAs call them AFC's or chodes] basically changing his personality and beliefs in order to fit the womans. He mused that it wasn't possible for a man to be able to honest and authentic around an attractive woman and that it would be only by luck that a man should be able to hit her attraction-switches.
Although at first I almost cringed at this, but immediately thought of Mystery, of The Game by Neil Strauss and star of his very own VH-1 television show.

There's always a lot of controversy surrounding this guy, and a lot of it is outside the context of this article. Mystery however over the past ten-years with help worked out the major attraction switches.

The 3 main ones which are pre-selected by women, leader of men, and protector of loved ones.

And in fact over the years with help created a whole step by step system which is a compartmentalised version of the stages of a relationship. Based on his own research going out and getting rejected by hotties and Darwinian theory.

His whole system, is controversial amongst a lot of people for its use of pre-planned, scripted routines which some would argue are just manipulative and wrong.
But hey, If you're intelligent enough to use it...

Me personally, definitely prefer a more natural approach. I am a really big fan of RSD who at the moment are dealing in being more natural, self-actualisation, and all that you really need to be succesful is your natural self-esteem. I likes. Incidentally, in the book The Game, RSD are the guys who get the beatdown, and are made to look like manipulative, unethical slimebags.

Personally, I think the leader of RSD Tyler, is one of the most intelligent dudes I have ever come across. Now this is someone who in my estimation blows De Botoin who I mentioned earlier away. This is someone who gets it! His marketing and business plan is to say the least quite brilliant... to use his words he throws at you all of the free content and you're left in your own little buying temperature bubble frothing at the mouth.

Kind of reminds me of David D a couple of years back...



Anyway, these uber-smart RSD guys, seriously they're good, and I genuinely convinced they're some of the finest players in the world. Tim, Jeffy jlaix et al.

And they have another new resource...

and it is HAWT.

It's called RSDwiki and it's a useful, funny and cool wikipediaesque site that focuses on all things Real Social Dynamics.

I was reading some of the stuff, and the content was fucking fantastic. Here's a cool article:

“Yeah, I’m a bartender at _____.”

Any DHV can come off as nothing more than rubbish if you are calibrated about as well as a moldy gym sock. You, our hero of this story, know very well how to approach and talk to girls, and even get their loins burning for you. How do you hold onto that feeling, though? The answer, normally, is qualification.

There is a monster living underneath this bed, though, waiting for you to dangle your little stocking feet over the edge so he can snap them up in his claws and devour your testicles. This monster has three different kinds of claws, specifically, and they are Disclaimers, Excuses and Statements of Expertise.

“Well, I could be wrong, but…” Disclaimer!!! “I don’t know much about ____ however…” EXCUSES!!! “Well I ___________ so my suggestion is ________” EXPERTISE!! CHOOODE!!

Chomp, chomp, chomp. Bye bye lefty and righty.

DROP QUALIFYING STATEMENTS.

Why state that you could be wrong? Of COURSE you could be wrong, no one is infallible.

This is useless drivel that you are spitting out to cover your ass in case someone calls you out. SO!?

Put yourself out there, put your personality on the line, and make BOLD ABSOLUTE STATEMENTS. No, I don’t mean make blanket statements and come off as some kind of bigot, I mean stand behind your words and say them with conviction and purpose.

Statements of Expertise? BULL SHIT, MATE! Pure desperation trying to qualify yourself in their eyes. You are telling them WHY your opinion matters.

CHOOODE! Chomp Chomp. Adios, juevos.

If you want them to think your opinion matters speak every word that leaves your ruby lips with the conviction of Moses handing the 10 commandments down to the Hebrews. Speak with the reverberating tonality of the grand high lord of the universe! Worry not about their reaction, put the whole of your life energy behind your words!

If you want to talk about your previous experiences that have given you these insights, AWESOME vibe on it, talk about it, convo about it, but DON’T use it as some kind of chode qualifying statement to lend weight to your own weak words.

You are our hero! Why are you so afraid? Are you afraid of being called out, of being WRONG? Make your statement, make your mark. Press your feet into the sand of life, slam your face into that brick wall. Might it hurt? Surely. If you get called out, take it like a man. Respect. No one expects you to be the answer man. It is also not your job to convince people you are correct.

---

“So, are you adventurous?” “Yeah!” “You know what I love about you? You’re adventurous.”

It’s formulaic. You set up a standard, she meets it, you qualify her on it, and then you pick her up and carry her into the bathroom where you rip her skirt off with your teeth and bury your love sausage deep in her warm hot-dog-bun of passion. Well, not quite, but the general idea behind this kind of Direct Qualifying is two fold. Mainly, you are trying to convey the fact that you want her for more than her succulent mounds of supple delicious breast, whether or not this is true. The nice side effect is that you are trying to encourage certain behaviors to assist in your escalation, like being adventurous.

It works, for sure. In my opinion, though, this is weak. This baseline type of qualification should certainly be in your toolbox, you should certainly use it to drill many holes, hammer the rest, and get your saw on. You want more though. You want the POWER TOOLS. Screw this hand crank drill, forget this little rubber mallet, and get the fuck rid of your back and forth Neanderthal saw that you don’t even cut shit with anymore you just use it to play crazy woosey music when you are drunk in the garage. Don’t even talk like you have no clue what I’m talking about.

YOU want the power tools. You want the 250hp gas powered turbine drill, you want the 100Gpa rivet gun, you want the titanium reciprocating Saw’z-All of DOOM. You want True Qualifying; Expression of Quality.

I take issue with direct qualifying in that it inherently turns into nothing more than you complimenting her character. Yeah, this is all well and good, but WORDS ARE WEAK, MAN. Just like I discussed above, you can spit your expertise till you are blue in the face and people might or might not give two shits about anything you have to say. However, when you speak with conviction and purpose, people are FORCED to listen regardless of whether or not you have any clue about what you are saying. Same thing here, talking about your expertise has its place (convo) and direct qualifying like this has its place (vibing.)

So, JD, you ask, our hero… how do I go about Expression of Quality?

Two simple steps, first you express yours then you ACCEPT her expression. Well ok I made that sound simpler than it really is, but I promise you, by the end of this article you will totally get it.

Essentially, you are qualifying yourself THROUGH YOUR EXPRESSION, through your conviction, your personality… YOUR VALUE. This is the ESSENCE of BEING HIGH VALUE! This is the kind of core value that transcends social value (like having a BMW or being a bartender.) Just like there are two kinds of Direct Qualifying, there are two kinds of Qualification of Expression.

The first, obviously, is qualification of your own expression. This is a summation of your body language, your tonality, your personality, and your overall value. SWEAT FIVE TONS OF VALUE every step you take. This is like screaming “I am a fuckworthy guy!” on the subliminal level and having it WORK. This is what sets you up as a high value individual, one who is respected and desired. Combine this with your normal well placed DHV’s and you are going to have a Midas Cock, everything you poke with your man-bat will turn to gold before your eyes.

The next step; accept her expression of quality. In any interaction, people are going to be expressing their HUMAN QUALITY. This is SO important for a girl to actually FEEL qualified. You can tell her how much you love her for being ‘fun’ but it means only steaming piles of donkey shit unless she actually FEELS QUALIFIED.

Here’s the scene: You are non-stop expressing your HUMAN QUALITY; you are oozing shit tons of value every time you drip a bead of sweat. People are hanging on to your words, you are stadium story telling to half the bar, in fact some guy over in the corner just grabbed one of your cigarette butts to try and sell on eBay. You are the VALUE MASTER, and you’ve spotted this super fine girl who is half Taiwanese and half Argentine while simultaneously fending off the other chode girls in the bar trying to snip a lock of your flowing glorious mane of hair so they can make a love-voodoo doll. This smooth caramel colored girlie is about 5’4” with gravity defying C cups, hair softer than silk, lips that could suck the soda out of an unopened can and an ass you can bounce a quarter off of. She is very used to always being the center of attention, but you’ve been Lording the bar since you set foot in the door and got up to the plate to Karaoke your way into the celestial palace of love on a glowing nimbus built from Styx’s “Blue Collar Man.”

“I'll take those long nights, impossible odds Keeping my eye to the keyhole…”

You glide to little Caramel on a cushion of air, and spit your line.

Suddenly, little Caramel is feeling this strange pang in her little fem-gut. That pang is what we call BEING AN OBJECT. You know you are the man; she knows you are the man, but she feels a twinge of NORMALCY. She feels like she is not worthy of your attention. She is recoiling, and begins to feel objectified. She starts to feel like YOU JUST WANT HER FOR SEX. You sense the shit tests on your PUA-dar… two bogeys, incoming at 5 o’clock!! You must cut them off!

WHAT DO YOU DO, Lord of the bar?! Your neurons fire ablaze as RSD fueled serotonin floods your synapses with the nectar of the Gods. Harder, better, faster, stronger, you are a machine, and the little monkeys on typewriters buried deep in your subconscious hammer away at the files of reference experiences in mere nanoseconds to dredge up an auto-response to your plight. You dog, you. You move into Qualifying.

More or less, the PURPOSE of your words are as follows: “So, tell me. Are you fun/can cook/insert random standard?” “Yeah…” “Awesome, I love you because you are ______.” “Thanks.”

Bombs away! You are now in qualifying!! What’s this? You are stalling! What is happening? The LORD is losing altitude. THE NIMBUS IS CRASHING!!

Stop, rewind. Take a page from Alexander, from Tim, Jeffy, Tyler, you name it. Call up your inner Manwhore. YOU HAVE TO ESCALATE.

This abstract concept is the stuff of legends; escalation is qualifying! Have you ever sat, alone in your dark den of chodiness, and contemplated the essence of the CLAW? Why does it work so well, and have the little girlies staring at you wide eyed, expectant, ready to receive whatever you so choose to bestow unto them?

The answer is the 1-2 punch of Escalation and Qualifying. The Claw expresses your entire purpose as a living being in one motion; your dominance comes out, and she feels qualified to be CHOSEN by you. She is under your wing, in your reality, and all because she is WORTH IT.

Another day in the life of our hero… You managed to save the day and cut your losses on your crash and burn with Caramel, and left the club with her phone number. You ring her up and set up the date at that sweet coffee shop you talked about, you know, the one that has those orgasmic pastries slathered in creamy cinnamon and sugar glaze, mated deliciously with all that rich dark scrumptious imported Brazilian coffee? But first, a surprise! And she only gets to see it today, so she has to come or she misses it! What fortune! You bring her to a playground at a local elementary school before the coffee house, swing on the swings, play Marco Polo on the jungle gym and get your kino on like a river of passion. At one point, your faces are near, the energy is high, her eyes are wide and glistening…

….AND YOU CHODE OUT. You don’t kiss her. She goes slightly cold, but remains friendly. You backwards rationalize it saying that you ‘didn’t want to go too fast and ruin the pull.’ BULLSHIT, MATE!! She gets slightly colder, but remains friendly, albeit no longer reciprocating your physicality with the same fervor.

You arrive at the coffee shop, laden with the smoke of Clove cigarettes hanging in the air like an herbal fog of cancer. You can smell the beatniks’ musk of artistry set against the simmering scent of ripe coffee beans steeping into little paper cups behind the cute 18-year-old blonde barista, blue eyes peeking out from behind her thick-rimmed now-in-fashion glasses. Caramel’s rear looks firmer and rounder than ever in her jeans as she wiggles to the counter in front of you to order her late. YOU JUST WANNA SMACK IT.

Throughout the evening you try to re-escalate, but are running up against a wall. You are being needy and reaction seeking, the whole time being inside your head and thinking, “I have to get her back!” She senses it and you sink farther and farther into the Friend Zone.

The moral of this Day Two is NOT that missed opportunities cannot be recovered, so if you are thinking this is the point I am driving home you are both sorely mistaken and, as I assumed, relatively blind to the BLATANT PHYSICAL DISQUALIFICATION you wrought on this poor girl’s soul!

Know this and know this now… if you already have attraction from a girl, escalation will qualify her. Read: do NOT be needy, do NOT be a horny chodeling, and do NOT under any circumstance REFUSE TO ESCALATE. Push-pull is fine, but you gotta have the PULL!!! You got to the point with Caramel where she was presenting her quality to you; you guys were vibing, having massive amounts of fun, building insane attraction, with a small spice of pair bonding. You were going to kiss her, and you didn’t. At that point, she thinks, why? Yes, sometimes you CAN recover, because she will wish to re-gain her favor in your eyes, but other times if you come back at it as you did in the coffee shop here, you will come off as needy and wanting her for nothing more than sex despite how many standards you qualify her on.

Enough of the “do- not’s” it’s time for some “do’s.”

Escalate, all the time. Always be closing, take a step higher and a step higher. If you have to ask, “Should I do ____?” the answer is always YES. PLOW. She is expecting you to do it, she sure as hell is not going to do it for you. Reward her with your touch. When you are doing role-plays, touch her on the high notes, and push her on the low notes. When she does something you approve of, qualify it with words AND kino. Seems like a basic principle, I’m sure, but it is too often discounted that failure in this area can be a complete disqualifier!

Finally, one fateful day, you’ve pulled Caramel back to your apartment to show her your exotic fish tank full of wonders from the time you went snorkeling off the coast of Bangladesh. Go you, you and your bowl of Sea Monkeys. Nevertheless, she is on your bed in your room, and you make your moves.

WHAM. LMR wall. Face first, nose on the bricks, blood. You taste the salty sting in your mouth and have two options: Plow or Chode Out. Much to your dismay, you chode out. You fail to recognize her LMR as token resistance:

You reach for her pants “nooo not today!” “Ok.” As you trail off into the friend zone….

You asshat, haven’t you learned a thing!?

”Excuse me? We’re not having sex. Show me your panties babe, they look sexy." ”Haha, okay” as she reveals the lacy trim of her tiny black thong strapped around her 41” arse You play with it, MMmmm wow you cannot resist her, and rub her through her underwear, the whole time maintaining, “We are not having sex.”

Until eventually, wouldn’t ya know it, you are slamming her shoulder deep in the sheetrock from behind with her screaming, speaking in tongues, some kind of Demonic language, as your cock is devoured by the angels turned devils inside her walls of love. You pull out and do your best to make a Jackson Pollock all over the dimples on her lower back, hmmmm, maybe she should get a tattoo here.

Oh, Our Hero, you did it! You have successfully shattered the oppressive walls of our society that condemn women to torture inside of an impossible double standard. Her entire life she has had to live under the judgment of the lens of the world; is she a slut? Does she have too much sex? If not, then she is likely to be a prude! Incapable of love with a man! Oh, woe is she, what is a girl to do? Put out and be a slut, or keep it and get no love. Up strides you, our knight in shining armor, to liberate her from these shackles of repressed sexuality.

Had you not freed her from these bonds, and continued to chode out and not pushed past the token resistance, guaranteed next time you would be hard pressed to attain the same level or push past it. Do-able? Sure. Advisable? Never. You had value, you had a strong vibe, you had a good connection, and you escalated all the way through the interaction to the bedroom. Not only does choding out there disqualify you as a fuckworthy man, but also it completely disqualifies HER as being WORTHY. Qualifier her with your dick.

So, you have been enlightened. You have read through this missive, and you have mentally banged this very fine chica I have described to you despite some chode-lapses.

What I want you to take away from this post, in order of internalization:

1. If you simply walk up and start interviewing a girl, as in asking her questions, she is predisposed to wonder why you give a shit what her opinion is. This is why I believe opinion openers are weak if you do not recognize them merely as an indirect opening strategy and follow them up with strong game. If you do not GIVE HER A CHANCE to establish her WORTH (qualify herself) the only thing she can pinpoint that makes you desire her is the way she looks and her sex. So, go into an interaction giving value by making comments, relating a story, and projecting fun positive energy.

2. Setting up standards and qualifying a girl on them works fine, but you must understand the deeper essence of Qualification Game to really make it work to your best advantage.

3. Understand that you need to mix all aspects of your game into every action. Each thing you say/do should escalate and qualify at the same time. The Claw is a perfect example of this, as is physical push/pull during role-playing. Start the kino right at the start of the interaction, and pace it through the interaction. The pace you set is what determines her qualification; bathroom pulls of glory happen when you break a girl’s chains as described above very quickly, often times these bonds will take longer to free before you become more and more intimate with the dynamic.

4. Do not be afraid to push the interaction as far as you can push it, because she is expecting you to show her that this is OKAY in your reality. It is horribly unfair the double standard that has been created for women in today’s society, that they cannot connect with their sexual urges and desires without being labeled negatively. Allowing them to qualify themselves to you by expressing their quality, and accepting this expression, will let them see for themselves on a subconscious level their human worth. A slut is a girl who has no worth and is having that sex, however if a girl has expressed her value then being sexual is simply recognizing her desires.

Set women free.

Cheers

-JD

Yes. Beautifully put.

These RSD guys are the shit.

On the life update side I went to pick up The Myth Of Sisyphus today, and waited for what seemed like an eternity for the woman to find it. If it was any other book, I may have been frustrated, but I felt I just had to laugh at the irony; considering the books subject matter.

I worked tonight, pretty dull time.. I saw the magical Christine who told me she'd been kicked out of her house.

Smashing. Just smashing.

Commonalities are great for rapport building!

I see a future of love and big issues.

Be good.

-Michael