***** by Rammstein - NSFW - Sunday Humor Edition

Gremlin Hunting

Soundtrack: Hazy Shade of Winter by SWR

"The life that was to make his soul would mar his body."
Oscar Wilde's The Picture of Dorian Gray

Strolled into the cool evening air. My head and chest were fighting a battle for control. My head spoke of moving on and my chest strummed fingers upon reflections and longing.

I walked in my Chucks on the cooling pavement whilst feeling the night's languid air...yet somehow the white noise of crackling tension began to announce the night's possibilities.
I posted up with a different crew than usual. Change was necessary. Something else was different: I was not drinking.

A fashion show took place which explained the bevy of girls taller than myself that had gathered at said drinking establishment like some herd of giraffe on migration. An Asian guy chatted me up due to our having mutual friends. He actually used some PUA lingo within the first few sentences. I told myself to be pleasant and sociable but I honestly had to force it. I was discordant. I was sober. I played around the room and ascertained who was with whom and who was more interested of each couple.

He was a cool kid, asked me about jiu-jitsu b/c our mutual friend had told him about my chosen sport. He was gung-ho about opening some pretty birds in the room, but I wasn't out to socialize with the fairer sex. I had simply come out to hang with my buddies and make it a sober night.
I was doing surprisingly well on both accounts.

My mentor arrived and we chatted about the blowout with my girl.
Walked outside and my buddy was chatting up two gremlin-looking coquettes. He introduced me (unnecessarily) and they acted like they were doing me a favor by giving me their names. Stupid college girl(s) inundated with dick offerings by guys in flip-flops, rockin' wayfarers, smelling like deodorant. Give it a couple years ladies.

I controlled my face and hid my disgust so as not to fuck up my buddy's approach.
They walked away after one girl feigned that she didn't want to give my buddy her number.
He was going to be the best looking guy that even looked at them that night. Period.
I complimented one of the models (a ginger) on her walk.
"Did you really just have to bullshit over that gremlin's phone number?" I asked.
"Yeah. It's cool.You gotta' put in work sometimes."
"I guess. Fuck those gremlin hags. They looked like 12 year old boys on Halloween wearing masks they bought from the Halloween store. 'Sides, I'm prettier than those bitches."
Two of the models seated to my left began laughing and joined our conversation. They lightly shit-tested me for my "prettier than those bitches" line but I maintained frame. I wasn't looking and they weren't my type. Running tight game with girls you're not interested in is easy.

Complimented a nubian model on her walk.
Complimented a Latina on her shoes as she sat blithely on a couch killing time.
The coma people were out and about. The clique people were out and about. The out to be seen by others and take pictures for facebook people were out and about.

Good luck and happy hunting my faithful readers. Hoist the black flag.
-With Greatest Affection

The Truth Will Set You Free

Found out I'll be moving in with a buddy in a week.

Some humor for your day, you ask? I've been living with my momz on and off for the past couple years with some temporary respites at various subleased places which functioned more as flophouses than actual places of residence. My mom left the state for awhile and I helped pay part of the mortgage once my 'rents decided to go ahead with the divorce. Then my momz moved back after that fell through and I've been helping her out with bills and such b/c it took awhile to find a job given the current economy.

This blog has come at a steep personal price. It has remained a bastion of truth in my double life. If there was room for the truth in daily life this blog would not exist. This blog is perhaps hyperbole at times, a diary open for the world to see, written anonymously. But then, as always, the mask slips and those not meant to see it have read the words.

Since I got back together with my girl I've actually behaved. Shocking, I know. My past is littered with indiscretions and poorly made choices and mistakes. I was giving it a go. I was spending nights playing on my computer and jerking off. I was behaving. I was being one of those normal people I hear about on television.

--
It's like the woman told me last weekend as I sat with her son.
"Men make mistakes."
She said it not judging, but one who had seen, been privy to, and been let down by men but knew this was just the road men must tow.

Allegedly, there are guys who don't slip. There are guys devoid of vice(s). I guess. At least, that's the image they do a better job than yours truly of maintaining for the world to see. I doubt there's many good looking, intelligent, charismatic, and confident guys that don't slip from time to time. If you find one, let me know.

Let me know how exciting that is.
Women need a good reason to cry. A reason to get worked up, to shout, to scream.....if nothing else, the fact that her man is "too nice" will become the reason for the above. How many times have you heard chicks bemoan the fact that "he's too nice," or "he's nice, but....."??

Last night: I told some blonde girl she had toilet paper on her shoe. Her friend waxed poetic about how nice I was. In the midst of this bullshit 5 minutes, my girl called. I didn't answer b/c I wasn't up for a needlessly drawn out conversation where I had to qualify why I wanted to hang out with my guy friends and that "no" I wasn't picking up chicks. Typically, I only see my friends on the weekends b/c y'know, like, I train to fight and stay in shape and like, I have a job, and my buddies are not in school anymore. At any rate, I inadvertently hit the answer button on my phone at some point, and apparently she overheard my talking to a girl.

Alert the media. Someone call the news station. Breaking news.
Like every night she's out I haven't heard from guys I know who work downtown about guys chatting her and her friends up. Her friends literally go to places they know that have more guys than girls. At any rate.....

What followed were vociferous texts and hurtful things. All over some blonde girl not even my fucking type chatting me up out of politeness b/c I told her she had toilet paper on her shoe.

Chris Rock said it best: Jump to 3:15 for the truth


From Kinowear: "confidence is built on the belief that no matter what happens, they can trust that they’ll handle it and take immediate correct(?) action. "

It is what it is

Doesn't seem to matter if I behave. I'm accused just the same. I can be a housecat for however long, but an unanswered phone call, a night out with my buddies and none of that matters. It still ends in accusation.

The truth shoppe may be shutting down, folks. I'll email my longtime readers if this blog shuts down and I start a new one.


"Every disappointment and mistake, summer's ebbing from a one night heartbreak....."
-She Wants Revenge

(Un)Tangled Webs We Weave

File under: the ever increasing arms race that is seduction/men & women relationships

For awhile I got bogged down in the whole "who's too cool for whom" tip I was running into while out and about/socializing. Between slagz shit testing over my choice in Argyle/tie/flaking after them giving me their number unprompted......I was going through one of those "negative feedback" phases one gets into, otherwise known as a slump.

Been reading a lot of VK's and the Rookie's blogs as of late.
It's refreshing due to the respective analogies and admittance of failures/obstacles/the unforseen.

Much value can be gleamed from the mis-steps in pursuit of tail as well as a couple perspectives on the same situation/411.

I learned more from my fuck-up a few weeks ago than I did the last few girls that simply affirmed what I know about women/game/pick-up and were beating down my door for the rod.

The curve balls make you re-evaluate. The stumbles make you pay attention to what's going on around you, insteada' walkin' around thinking you're the flyest ***** on earth and untouchable when all that's going on is whorez ar3 throwing themselves at you.
See opportunities, not obstacles. A shit test is just a test...prove you're man enough to handle her ass.

The game evolves. Period. The landscape of desire and pursuit is not static. If it was, guys like us would get bored of it super quick anyhow. Besides, this is part of the process that weeds out the unfit. Selection bias is part of the innate design for the best genes.

If you'd told me, with the right venue selection, making sure there is dichotomy in my appearance (boyish good lucks mixed with tattoos) a few years ago that girls would open me/hit me with 20 questions and beg to make plans, I'd have balked and asked what the fuck you were talking about. If you'd told me cats would begin salting my game with lies, accusation, innuendo b/c their girl hit me up by the bathroom, I'd have laughed and shook my head.
If you'd told me I could swoop the cats with the most social proof effortlessly....well, you get the picture.

These were things I had to observe in the matrix and become aware of on my own. No amount of "telling me" was gonna do it.

I don't run a heavy conversational game. Deep rapport is something I segue into depending on the vibe I get from the girl (Game comes from a core state but must be reactionary-calibrated). Different girls require a different amount of conversation before segueing into rapport...different factors figure in: how attracted she is to you, what she's seen (who've you been talking to, if you are acquaintances with her/her coterie et cetera) and discerning if she's vicariously conversationally cheating on her man b/c he doesn't know how to dance/is out of town...is actually D.T.F. you.

I see 2 basic pick-up models:
1) craft pick-up that nets the most girls possible but does not single out a particular type
OR
2) craft a selective/signature style like VK's mentioned, and use that to filter through girls that won't be much more than an SNL/aren't really what you want anyway.

And much like VK stated...after awhile...just getting a notch becomes a pretty bland experience.
Hell, if you'd told me that a few years ago, I'd have balked. It was something I had to find for myself.

The cold reality: the last 4 girls that have opened me were beating down my door for me to come over and rail 'em but I passed.

Sifting through the dirt for the gems....it takes a lot to make me doubletake these days. A couple weeks ago was the first time in 6 months or so I saw a girl that hit me with the doubletake.

But hey....it's not like I'm a fan of predictability or easy pursuits....if I was I wouldn't be living the sporting life and I wouldn't find peace fighting in front of several hundred people.
Good luck and happy hunting my faithful readers. Hoist the black flag.

-With Greatest Affection

Obligatory Boxing Post: Styles

Soundtrack: Rakim's "Don't sweat the technique" (one of the jams I listen to when I'm warming up along with a healthy dose of B-Boy music).

"A man can be an artist... in anything, food, whatever. It depends on how good he is at it."
-Man on Fire

From a young age, I was enamored with boxing. Seeing guys get in there and move, bounce, flow, precision punching...and ultimately the balls necessary to get in there with another guy and slug it out while thousands watched....I was awestruck. As a small for my age kid growing up on the west coast seeing guys that had that courage and grace and finesse under fire always struck me as amazing. It was a place where a 147 lb man was a terror.

It was a power I desperately wanted. It's a power I've spent nearly 6 years pursuing despite increasing costs/sacrifice necessary.

In no particular order, stylistically, here are some of my favorite boxers:

Emmanuel Augustus:

Pernell Whitaker:

Salvador Sanchez:

Roberto Duran:

Marvin Hagler:

Harry Greb:
Despite having been the ONLY man to beat Gene Tunney, and logging nearly 300 professional bouts, no fight footage of Harry Greb exists.

Carmen Basilio:

And last but not least, the modern day warrior, Arturo Gatti - RIP.

Poser(s)

Woke up. Ate some Cheerios.
The day loomed before me. I called in late to work. Most people do this so they can sleep late or b/c they're hungover.
Not your humble narrator.
I had sparring time booked with 4 guys all heavier than me.
Add that I haven't done any full out sparring since my injury. Over a month of ring rust and timing lost. Fuck it.
Good way to start the day. Hoist the black flag. Bleed now to win later.