But years later I’m 29 and I know his connects, his promoters, I’ve dabbled with bouncing/clubing in the club scene I know a dj or two. Promoters blow up my phone to come through on the reg, DC is a small world.Then again I’m all over DC, I’m not regulated to any one set. The point is the real reason why we do this is for more choice and leverage with girls, “Owners Son Game”. It’s a symbiont relationship based on everyone using one another. The chick your with wants to go to get dressed up and go to the hottest night club and the line is around the corner but there’s two people inside sipping on $16 drinks, fuck that noise you know the bouncer, give him the fist pound. It takes forever to get a drink from the coked up bartender with the too big striation marks breast implants, sheiiiiiiit, you or one of your boys banged her back when she was an A cup with a phat ass, give her the head nod she knows what’s up, drinks served. Your girl needs some help making table reservations at wherever for her birthday, you know the promoter and helped him out putting bodies at that lame club opening in SE where the police don’t even bother patrolling, send him a text, your taken care of.

You use that world to your player advantage but you fully understand that you are never really part of that world, not past that night. The only reason your there, the only reason you’re allowed to be included is that the establishment needs your money but doesn’t love you. Like a “horny” stripper on the first and fifteenth. It’s easy to forget this fact and be seduced by the life.

“Yeah girl take that take that”

Now this dude I don’t like that much is damn near close to 34 and he’s still bragging about doing the same shit he’s been doing since I got out of college. It would be like me bragging about the turtle I smashed at the Thursday night late night party at the Sig Ep house at 30. Because of his “extracurricular” activities he’s had some health issues needing corrective surgery. On his Facebook page there’s pictures of him wearing the same clothes from stores I’ve decided to ban from my wardrobe because I’m almost 30 and feel a little too grown, on the scene of EVERY club scene, Monday through Sunday.

But here’s the ultimate that gets me, these dudes think they’re rock stars because they were in the same building as a rock star or celebrity. Essentially turning into certified dick riders. I had to listen to this guy today talk about how awesome it was to party with David Guetta on Tuesday night at Fur. Now did he speak with, drink with double team with David Guetta? Um Nope! He bought a table that was in the same “VIP section” as David Guetta, and by the way David Guetta blows. Same dude loves to talk about chilling with Tiesto, bitch please! If you don’t have said celebrities phone number on speed dial you guys aren’t chill, and having the same coke supplier on speed dial doesn’t count! The only reason you’re there is because they have groupies but those groupies are their to fuck said rock star/ world famous DJ. You’re just hoping they’re too drunk and have dropped enough X pills not to notice you’re not said celebrity. But some how these guys actually think that the girls at their table are really there to hangout with them.

I could go on ragging on this guy but honestly I feel bad for him and use him as a reminder of what can happen when you get sucked into a comfort zone. This town more than other is built on connections, net working, and social climbing. Nothing wrong with that. But never forget that those connects should be beneficial both ways. If you have to buy a table every time you go to the club, if you have to roll up to a club on a Tuesday to be scene with some B list DJ, if all your pictures on Facebook have some promotion companies water mark on the bottom of the pic AND YOUR OVER 30…. you just might be a scenester.

Like a wise man once said

Let’s just cut to thug life trying to get loud with what and telling Santa to move to the front of the bus…. “There’s so much Irony here it’s just too deep to get into”

Santa for some reason chooses to do so and talks trash as he’s changing seats. At this point Thug Life should have taken the small victory and left it at that, Santa walking away. But like many men his age, now that everyone is looking he feels the need to push the situation further. When he gets up we notice that Santa is probably four inches taller, and 30 lbs heavier than thug life.

Thug life walks all the way up to the front of the bus where Santa is sitting and challenges him to get up. Santa refuses. Again Thug Life should have taken this small victory.

Thug LIfe goes back for the third and last time and half heartedly throws a punch, thinking that’s all it will take to shut up the 67 year old Santa who is sitting down stil. Little did he know that Santa is Krav Maga expert. Thug Life learns one of the most important lessons in life about fighting. If you’re going to throw one punch you better keep punching till you know you’ve won the fight.

Best part of this video is at the end when whoever is filming says, “ewwww, he leaking” LOL ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha!!!!!!!!!!

This was a no win situation from the start, I mean what if Thug Life had won the fight, can you get street cred for beating up a 67 year old senior? What’s next bitch slapping the racist grandma who every Thanksgiving asks if your friend is a Jew?

Now before the hating starts do you know who complains the most about CLT girls weight? They do. Guys like to lie to ourselves often and maybe even trick ourselves into letting the 10 slide especially if the face is extra nice. But sooner or later the girl will slip up and say something like, “God, if I could just lose these last ten pounds…” or something along those lines. As soon as those words are uttered we know we can never “date date” that girl. I mean we can “date” her, bang her and be seen in public even holding hands or making out ( I mean the face is nice) but she’s not meeting the moms… ever. This is why they’re tweeners ten more pounds and technically they’d be official fatties. And we all know the rules to that, you can’t be seen in public with a fatty, ever, no daylight, not before 1:45am especially if your BAC is under a .15.

But back to the main point of discovery. Tweeners usually share some common traits. Again they’ll be the first person to let you know they could stand to lose “a few” pounds, over and over and over again. But it’s as if these women hover in the tween world almost on purpose. If they go too far over the ten, they’ll straighten up, crash diet, try a new “cleanse” and go to a couple of spin classes to get back into fighting tween size. Once there they’ll claim that they’re not obsessed with their weight and luv their body just the way it is and even though it’s not doing them any favors, pledge allegiance to the lifestyle choices that will make it impossible to lose the finale ten. Until she complains about needing to lose ten pounds… again.

CLT are funny, they feel superior to fat girls because they’re not fat but then put down fit/ tight body mommies for being “too obsessed” with their weight. They assume because there are still guys who want to fuck them and that it’s all good. But every now and then they’ll meet a guy, things will go extremely well with a positive connection. Then the guy will disappear without warning giving her the Irish Goodbye. In the back of her head there’ll be that wondering is it because I’m a CLT girl? Of course being in great shape doesn’t equal automatic relationship happiness, but I’d be pissed at myself to find out I got nexted because I couldn’t control my late night cravings for ham and grill cheese bacon sandwiches with a side of rocky road.

On the day of the date, everything was running smoothly. I showed up at the foreign restaurant 15 minutes late to find her dabbling away on her iPhone. She reminded me that the food was gassy, and asked if I was ready. Let’s get this show on the road.

Eating brunch is about as eventful as you can imagine. We discussed the usual boring shit before I suggested we go downtown for a bit. She was cool with that, as long as she made dinner, where some friend was taking her out. Hmmmmm. *Bubble bubble* Oh God, that food really IS gassy! Whatever, I’ll be fine. Famous last words. The gas steadily built up as the date went on, with me holding it all in.

We went downtown to hang out for a bit. I wanted to buy a new hoodie, and hopefully make good use of the restroom. “Sorry, there’s no restroom here. There’s a Starbucks across the street.” So I held it in. We went to a museum. Perfect, a restroom! But for some reason I just couldn’t let it out in there. There were people, kids, in that restroom. I couldn’t bring myself to punish them. I’d have to hold it in, for the children.

I survived the metro ride back to her neighborhood. I don’t remember what happened on this ride, except for my mind being focused on one thing: getting outside. Even the ride up the escalator felt like an eternity, but I could see the light at the end of the tunnel. Relief would come as we stepped outside. Great, we’re outside, I can create some space and let a little out. Wrong. It started to rain lightly, and we had to go get an umbrella from CVS to share. The Gas Gut kept growing.

We made it back to her place and started burning some CDs. I immediately made quick use of her bathroom, struggling to prolong the pissing while letting some air out, in the most discrete manner possible. It’s a delicate balance: letting it seep out slowly would provide only minimal long-term relief (read: 1 minute) while letting it all out would lead to a sonic boom. Disaster of American Pie proportions. I’m not gonna let THAT happen. So I stayed in there a little longer than normal, and sprayed the air freshner that every girl has at her place.

Somewhat relieved, I rejoined Tall Blondie. I have no idea what we talked about. My focus was on the apparent failure of my strategy. The grumblings were back in full force. It was as if letting off a little pressure renewed my stomach’s goal of fucking up my fucking plans and sabotaging my sexual drive. I couldn’t let it win. So I quickly returned to the bathroom for another round of pressure release. Whincing in pain while trying to hold back the flood, I let a little more out. It was quite loud. Fuck. I hope she didn’t hear it. I couldn’t tell if she had or not when I returned.

She said I could join her on the bed, which I did, rather nervously. The pain began to increase. Suddenly, my clear visions of pounding this tall blonde became cloudy. Murky. Could I hold it all in for the amount of time I needed? What if she heard? Or smelled? Would that ruin everything?? My visions of beating it up doggy style, with her groaning loudly with each powerful thrust, were changing. Instead, I heard high-pitched farts with each powerful thrust. Perhaps it wouldn’t be that bad. I started to wonder. Who knows. Maybe she’s down for some of that stinky-inky-inky? No. This is stupid. I’ve got to get out of here. Will these CDs ever finish burning?

I could no longer take it. The Gas Gut was now protruding from under my polo, which for some reason was shorter than normal, or my pants were on the ground. Either way, I felt ridiculous. As soon as the CDs finished burning, I made my way towards the exit.

I took one last look at her before she closed the door. I could see surprise on her face. And a look that told me I missed my chance. I was disappointed. But as I took my time walking to metro, my bowels let out several huge sighs of relief.

**************************

One of the basic piece of advice I’d give any guy trying to pick up women is to redefine your goal. It’s ok if you want it to be sex or end in sex thats cool. But you have to break it all down in fragments. First realize your biggest obstacle and your best ally is time. If you’re with a group of friends you’ll be at a location for a few hours and someone is going to want to go to another place. If you’re by yourself you’ll still never have enough time to hit on every girl in the bar. Regardless depending on what state you’re in last call is always going to be at a certain time. Knowing this kind of changes who you decide to waste it on.

This brings us to prey selection. Picking the right girl to game is tricky because it something you have spend years learning to do…… from approaching tons of women. Yes, I know at first this seems counter productive to my first point about timing but stay with me. When I first started hanging out with Roosh in the early years, we turned it into a game. A simple goal of approaching ten women in one night that lead to approaching ten women in one location before we went to the next. This lead to the game of getting three numbers in one weekend which escalated to numbers per night which morphed into something on a whole other level today involving mother daughter combos in a year. But what this did was permanently keep a Sylar like ticking clock sound in the back of your head reminding you of how much time you’re spending on a girl.

But how did this help prey selection, the more women you approach in this manner teaches you to pay attention to all the subtle signs women give off that want to be gamed. You start walking into rooms and you quickly notice the women who break necks and look a second or two too long. You’re looking for wedding bands. You’re paying attention to outfits, you’re noticing how fast drinks are going down. There’s a million little things that will subconsciously start pulling you towards a certain girl to talk to rather than before when you’d waste all night talking with a girl only to find out at the end she’s a lesbian… and not the cool kind that will let you watch.

The prey selection becomes a double edge sword because not only do you learn what kind of women to go after, you’ll quickly learn what type of women are attracted to you. If you’re approaching 10-20 women a night out, you’ll quickly start noticing the ones that respond best to you will usually share the same traits in some way. This part can get complicated but the thing is to try and find out is how women really see you not how you assume they see your or how you see yourself (got that). It’s like that one assignment you had in sociology or psychology class where you sit at the quad or cafeteria and your partner hands out a sheet with a list of different words describing a mood, a career, sexuality or whatever. The words are in rows repeated over and over again and no matter if it’s 50 or 100 after you add up all the check marks there’s a great percentile that thinks you’re a future homosexual, republican, cowboy. Oh nobody else got that… um let’s move on!

Of course you never ever do things like having a one night stand but after telling a group of friends you find out that the guy you hooked up with has a reputation for seducing women into bed often in the same night! A sudden wave of panic and shock comes over you as you realize that you’ve just got got.

It’s like Bruce Willis at the end of Sixth Sense, It’s like the end of Book of Eli when the major plot twist is revealed. It’s like when Ray J finds out that “Luscious, she smashed the homie” just like Danger smashed the homie in season 1. It’s like me watching the end of the movie Doubt,

Meryl Streep: (on park bench in Garden), Oh Sister James, I don’t know for sure if Father Brendan actually infiltrated that young boy’s bum hole…. I have so much… DOUBT! Roll Credits

VK: Are you fucking kidding me, that’s it! Awww hell no!

At this moment you feel ashamed, taken advantage of, vulnerable, and if the sex was done right even a little dirty. But this is exactly the time you need to keep your head and not do anything dare I say… “crazy”. Take a few minutes to realize some things.

First many women today and through out history have got got now and then by players. Women way better than you. Jacqueline Kennedy Onassis, Jennifer Aniston, Hillary Clinton and even Mother Teresa back in the day. Hell even I eat a dick sandwich from a girl once or twice a year. It happens to everybody. One time I was on the fourth date with this girl I was working on, FOURTH. At a nice little restaurant we’re having a great time and that’s when she decides to tell me she’s just wants to be friends… after she ordered the lobster. YOINK! So again you are not alone, everybody plays the fool.

Another thing to consider is with all things being equal would you have hooked up with the guy anyway? When you think about it all a player/PUA did was pick up on the subtle signs you were giving out that you wanted to be picked up. Got that? Nothing more nothing less. Let’s be honest if another guy came along that was attractive and kept his mouth shut, you probably would have gone home with that guy too. Bottom line you wanted to get banged the PUA banged you, it’s all pretty simple when you think about it.

This leads to my third point, don’t try to justify the bang. After hooking up with a player many women will try to tell themselves and their friends reasons to why the hook up happened. I was in a vulnerable place emotionally, my cat just died, I was bored, I was on ecstasy, he tricked me into thinking he was a nice guy, alcohol aka The Jamie Foxx excuse. Before you found out he was gamer you thought he was ok and the hook up with him. After, all of a sudden he “tricked” you or there was some crazy circumstance that was behind the two of you hooking up?

Finally, the last ditch effort of any scorned female who hooks up with a player will be to discredit his sexual performance and more specifically talk shit about the size of his dick. I understand that this is some weird female self defense mechanism and it’s something girls do to feel better about themselves. But publically even in the company of each other it’s become cliché. If truth be told most of you girls wouldn’t know a big dick if it literally smacked you in the face. If we’re talking about people and not sex toys some girls run their mouths like they only sleep with NBA players. Some girls use the small dick line so much one must wonder if it’s a small dick problem or a really big vagina problem. And by now it’s become common knowledge that if you’ve hooked up with this guy more than once or in the morning after the first hook, this claim is automatically discredited. What did you think his dick would get bigger than the last time or he was holding out secret moves on you he didn’t do the first time?

Like I said this happens to everybody, no exception to the rules. Guys date girls that seem nice and then you find out that she smashed half the homies. Girls meet nice guys and find out that he’s a player known for running tight game. Nothing either side can do to erase the fact that you both hooked up and made a quick connection. When it’s over bitch to your small close friends but then get over it and move on. Obsessing over the why’s and how’s of the matter does nothing. Trying to stalk and talk shit about the guy results in the blow back of, “yeah, but you’re the one who fucked him, so what does that say about you”.

Besides the, “Hey remember me”, “hope all is well”, three out of the seven girls have also texted, “Do you hate me”. Are you serious? Clearly most girls don’t really understand the art of the weasel back. So instead of making fun and pointing out the obvious, this time I’ll try to give some advice and help out the ladies. Cause I’m nice like that.

“Hey remember me”

If you’ve made it clear you’re not going to let a guy “beat it up” and the guy has made it clear that he’s not going to be some beta who hangs out with you because he has nothing better to do, then the normal thing a guy will do is delete your number. So no, we don’t remember you. Don’t put us in an awkward position of trying to remember who the hell you are by playing some weird guessing game. If you’re the one who faded out or stopped returning calls then your first text should include your name, where you guys first met and when.

Guys: my automatic go to answer to this question is always, “I just got a new phone and don’t have all my contacts”

“Hope all is well”

What is this a Hallmark card over text? This one always comes off slightly as a condescending statement, like after you brushed the guy off and his life went to hell. At the same time though this is also a transition segment into the “what have you been up to text”. This by far is the dumbest part out of the comeback girl play book. No guy is really trying to explain what’s been going on in their lives for the past couple of months. We do understand that this is also the weird way you’re trying to find out if we’re in a relationship, dating someone else or not.

You’ve reached out, we know you’re obviously still interested because you haven’t erased our phone number after months to even a year. Woman up and say something along the lines of, “hey it’s been a while, you want to grab some drinks and catch up”. Don’t waste time testing the waters to see if the sparks are still there over text message.

“Do you hate me”

WTF? This by far is the most perplexing question from comeback girls? To be fair though the ones who’ve sent this text are the ones that things didn’t end so well with. But for a guy to really hate a girl who dated/ banged for a couple of weeks months later after the line went cold would mean the guy still has feeling for the girl or actually cared to begin with. A real man has way too much going on to actually hate a girl who’s number isn’t even in his phone. This statement does nothing but remind a guy that you did do him dirty and might bring up those feelings. More than anything else though the girl comes of looking needy and sad. I wonder how a girl would respond if a guy who pumped and dumped her texted her five months later asking if she hated him.

Some other things comeback girls should know is if a catch up date is established, don’t front. We really don’t believe the “I was really busy with life/ work” excuse. We know and understand that you were playing the field same as us and that’s cool, but we also know it didn’t work out so well for you because you’re back now aren’t you? Another thing is there’s a continuous clause on all come backs. If we had only one date then when we meet up for drinks it’s date two. If our last date was date 2 and we made out and got a hand job then this is date three. If we were beating it up on the reg and you’re the one that stopped returning calls or texts, we are expecting this night to end horizontally. If a guy was willing and trying to bang you a months ago don’t act stupid when you come back and he still wants to bang. What did you think would happen.

My perfect weasel back text is as follows,

Trapped, I noticed wingman just chillin, while her friend was dancing by herself. I looked at her friend. She had a sorta cute face, but I was quickly distracted by the widest hips i’d ever seen. Watching her walk through the crowd, it was like an aircraft carrier squeezing through the Panama Canal. “Thunder thighs” doesn’t adequately describe them. More like watching that giant pile driver at a construction site. With each step, loud booms. I felt bad for what I’d say next.

“Hey wingman, can you take care of her friend?” “Yeah no prob.” “I mean if you don’t want to, I understand.” “Nah, it’s cool.”

OK I don’t feel bad anymore. “You smell soooooo goooooood. OMG!!” She grinded as hard as she could on me, and I took advantage. Why not get some fingering action, let her know what i’m about. And she didn’t resist either. “OMG you smell soooooo goooooood!” Blame it on the grey goose. I’d say we made out, but it was more like her mouth attacking mine. It was vicious. She was biting into something delicious. Literally biting. Because I’m literally delicious.

The bar crowd was already getting thinner, and nothing else was coming in. Might as well call this a night, and get with this turtle. Who cares if she was a turtle? With VK’s turtle history, I’d knew he’d approve. “Get that turtle, Rookie! Get it!” As the Rookie, I knew it was my mission.

Outside the club, it was clear her fat friend had other ideas. “We’re going back to my place. Ya’ll can’t come.” Fatty is sayin this and that, while the turtle is begging me to come with her. Duh, I’m already outside, ready to go. It was clear what I had to do. I would fight the fatty for her friend. “Look [fatty], your friend wants me. Why would you disappoint her?” “Well, you can come, but your friend can’t. I’m having another guy come over.”

I really didn’t pay attention to what she said. Instead, I tossed my keys to wingman, who said it was cool. Fatty had another guy coming over? Yeah right. She just didn’t want to say chocolate cake was waiting.

Turtle and fatty get in fatty’s car, and I’m heading for the back seat, when… *click* she locks the door and pulls away. “Wow,” wingman remarks, “rejected by fatties.” We couldn’t help but laugh. It didn’t even matter though, because I’d be seeing tall blondie real soon.