View from my kitchen

I live on the edge of Favela Dona Marta, a “pacified” slum where police operations two years ago have removed all drug gangs. There is a police outpost inside the favela and also one right outside, and it’s not uncommon to see them traveling to and from the posts with guns drawn. Once I saw a officer walking alone with a gun in each hand as if he’s seen too many Hollywood action movies, but not once did I hear a single gunshot for the first six weeks I lived there.

One night I was trying to fall asleep around 3am when an explosion went off. It seemed similar to the fireworks that the teenage boys usually set off so I thought little of it and went to sleep.

Six hours later I woke up to the sound of a helicopter circling overhead. I’ve seen helicopters before but it was so close to the ground that it felt like something out of a Vietnam war movie. The blades made a very intimidating and ominous sound, suggesting that any attempt at escape would be impossible. I looked outside my window and saw a black helicopter with the word “Policia” written on the side. It climbed up the hill and then there was a quick burst of gunfire followed by small explosions that created big balls of smoke. Then silence.

On the other side of my window in front of the building there was a tank with the BOPE insignia and fifty officers mingling nearby with their M-16 rifles. BOPE is the elite special forces of Rio that is basically a war arm of the police. They get called for special protection missions and also to extract suspected gang members. They’re so efficient at killing people, including innocents, that human rights organizations have complained about their “shoot first, ask questions later” policy and alleged use of torture during interrogations. Basically if BOPE gets called there will be loss of human life.

A plains-clothes man with shorts and a wife beater seemed to be directing the officers. He had a walkie-talkie in his hand. Maybe an informant? Then the helicopter began firing again. The soldiers started up the tank, made a terrifying war cry, and started running up the hill behind it. The helicopter continued to circle overhead. Here’s the exciting footage I managed to catch before I hid in my closet and curled into a fetal position:

The guys came back down, regrouped, and then went in again an hour later. I didn’t understand why they repeated the same procedure. Was it a training exercise or an enemy they simply could not take out? I got a little excited about living in the middle of an urban combat zone and imagined how many panties I’d make wet by the telling of this story if I somehow survived. Then my Brazilian roommate came home and I asked him what the fuck was going on. “Oh, they’re filming a movie.”

Damn.

I wasn’t the only person who missed the memo as there was a big dustup about everyone thinking it was the real thing.

For the next day I heard the sound of helicopters everywhere. My ceiling fan was a helicopter. The running shower was a helicopter. The airplane flying overhead was a helicopter. And when I thought of the helicopter I thought of gunfire. I now have a better understanding now of how post-traumatic stress syndrome works. If I am exposed to the brutalities of war for an extended period of time I’m certain I would be permanently damaged. Someone slammed a car door… fire in the hole!

Turns out they were filming Tropa Elite 2, a follow-up to an excellent movie. “I saw the filming of Tropa de Elite 2 because it was right outside my place.” I’ll take it. At the end of the shoot they took a crew picture right in front of my gate. My humble shack is famous.

POSTSCRIPT: I got body searched by the regular cops two nights ago while walking home (second time it’s happened to me in Brazil). It included a very rough crotch inspection. As much talk as there is about America being Big Brother, I’ve never been searched in the States. On the bright side, Brazilians don’t have tazers—if you give them lip they merely beat you with batons.

PREVIOUSLY: Part One

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

When I arrived in Rio I stayed with a friend for a few days then moved to a hostel until I could find a suitable rental. There in my six bed dorm room was a 24-year-old girl from Mexico with a pretty face but a body I’d say was bordering on sloppy. She spoke fluent English and for all intents and purposes she was American.

Excited at the opportunity to game in English, I ran cool guy game until I was reasonably sure that I had her interest. Then I gathered my Portuguese books and said, “Cool well I’m going to study downstairs now.” At first she pretended she didn’t hear me and kept talking, but I cut her off and said that I really needed to catch up on my studies.

When you’re gaming a girl in a bar or club, leaving on top is an ill-advised move. Simply stay put, build attraction, and go for the kiss. But when you’re stuck with the girl for hours on end like in the hostel environment, you don’t want to drag on conversations for too long if you’re unable to immediately escalate when the iron gets hot. You must be scarce to keep things from going stale.

On our second meeting a few hours later she started asking me questions interview-style. I didn’t answer directly to any of them, mentioning at one point that my job was operating a porn site, until she said, “Okay I’m curious now, stop lying to me.” Then suddenly I felt the immediate urge to take a shower. I grabbed a towel, excused myself, and she said, “You’re always leaving!” I was pleased that my technique was receiving positive feedback.

After my shower and shave she invited me to join her with three other gringos at a nearby bar. I accepted. There we sat next to each and chatted for a short while, when I noticed the nails on her left hand. Two nails weren’t colored, and the rest was a mixture of fading purple, teal, and green, while on the other hand they were faded red. It almost looked like a prank her friends pulled on her while she was asleep, and I believe it would have looked better if she simply had no nails. This bothered me and I asked her about it.

“Why are your nails different colors? Do you have a fungus?”

“Haha fungus, no. Actually today I bought some remover but didn’t get a chance to do it.”

“Well it looks bad,” I said, matter-of-factly.

“You’re mean!”

Two minutes later she begged me to travel with her the next day to a nearby island (Ilha Grande). I politely declined.

I was dressed in jeans, a t-shirt without any holes in it, and a pair of shoes. As already mentioned I had showered and shaved. She was wearing some cheap sandals bought in a handicraft market, a fraying jean skirt, and some 80’s style top that didn’t do it for me.

Two other gringos in the group were guys and they were wearing t-shirts, shorts, and flip flops. The remaining gringa girl looked like a farmer’s wife with greasy face, frizzy hair, and some cheap dress ensemble that went down below her knees. Her footwear was also flip flops.

The Mexican girl is pushing me to drink but I’m still nursing my first beer. I know how to get some in this case: simply drink with her for a couple hours, wait for the lame gringos to drop out since they had to go hiking or something the next day, and then make my move while pushing for a visit to a motel to just “relax” or “take a nap.”

But I’m staring at this girl’s nails, and I’m thinking, “This girl now wants me to put that full effort into banging her while she’s looking like trash?” Her genetic appearance was agreeable but because she didn’t feature her best qualities all I could focus on were her negative ones. They were glaring, insulting me and questioning why I was even out with her.

Before Rio I had been traveling through points north for five weeks, enjoying the views of Brazilian women who are obsessed with their appearance. Even during the day, even to class, and even to the dive bar (called “dirty feet” bars here), they put care into how they look with no less than crazy high heels, stylish outfits, makeup, luxuriously flowing hair, and a sensual walk that I really can’t fault gringas for lacking. And these Brazilian women have been rewarded with my attempts to make sex with them. A Brazilian woman looks in the mirror and asks, “How can I make myself look even better?” A gringa does the same and says, “How can I show that I don’t need a man?”

I can’t respect myself if I try to fuck a girl who doesn’t respect herself. I used to be able to, but I can’t anymore. After one beer I threw away my chance at a Mexican flag by leaving.

CONTINUED: Part Two

My screening process malfunctioned on a mentally unstable American girl I had a one night stand with and then banged a few more times after, including once on a bus where I ejaculated inside her (she insisted). I dumped her when I got bored and got to pay the price by being stalked on the street and harassed via phone and email.

I will keep her identity secret since it would be a serious dick move to destroy her life, but I will say that she is taking steps to out herself through her blog, such as trying to brag like a groupie how she “personally” knows me and has met Virgle Kent and Roissy. There is a 25% chance she’ll end up posting a hilarious confessional after reading this post and be known forever in D.C. as one of “Roosh’s pump and dumps… who he came inside of.” God knows what exotic disease(s) she has now!

The background to this story is long and boring but all you have to do is grab a drink and read this unedited email that came a few days after I told her never to contact me again. I promise that you will not be disappointed.

to: roosh@rooshv.com
date: Thu, Sep 10, 2009 at 5:38 PM
subject: what’s up sand nigger?

dearest roosh fucking v,

hello pussy, how goes it? you get your say and me not mine? don’t think so.

you waste my time, insult me with lame ass, un-funny humor delivered from an awkwardly skinny, ridiculously hairy body and weak persona…

the nice act that feels pity for all things kind and soft and snugly…nope, not me. an act. I’m from New York, remember? I was raised on harder shit than you could ever throw. but your throwing regurgitated, unoriginal shit stolen from bigger and better apes than yourself did not spur me to be inspired to toss sarcasm and wit your way. why waste this body and brain with my best game, eh?

you’re a child-man. I chuckled nightly to myself with how you had to launch into a character of Borat to exchange words with a girl like me. you’re also a complete idiot because I would have fucked your brains out. free tip: sometimes it will be in your best interest to let the girl lead in bed. I have been fucked hard and right for many years and give the best head this side of the mason-dixie line for sure. we northern girls keep our boyfriend’s cocks warm at night as The Beach Boys sang about. ’tis true.

my answer to your unimaginative, pathetically structured robot hate mode was to be soft and sweet to counterbalance. they say to hug a bully.

you don’t know the first thing about me and you never went deep enough for my pleasure. but I kept quiet as to not scar your tiny manhood that proves itself to be deeply insecure due to the overcompensation of such a large, fake ego. I knew boys like you in high school and they and you reeked of dorky, sweaty, limp-nervous dick and they salivated as I walked by their lockers. I winked and said hi anyway but always dated much older guys because I had already been fucked, pinned down, slapped, spanked and rode up against a wall by real men and could only muster a yawn at the thought of potential sex with those boys. I slow danced with them sometimes and it always took them point two seconds to engorge with just a drift of fermions from my delicate, feminine, graceful neck.

I present myself humbly, quietly, chicly and cross my slender yet shapely legs so that my toe points with elegance to the floor. I am never loud or vulgar but have been unsuccessful in breaking my habit of cussing. I love to swear. It brings me oral satisfaction. I expose just enough skin in my tight clothing to elude to the potential of my sounds in bed and let my gaze linger on those whom I may find interesting. Every detail in the way in which I sit, stand and slither through the crowds is taken from the study of the Geisha, ballet and models.

I get approached so often I am a professional at turning guys down kindly, yet firmly. I am not the prettiest I know, nor am I the most curvy I know, but when watched by men (and I am watched…I can feel eyes on me in every bar, every country, and every public place) long enough they sense the signals of what lays underneath my outer shell. This weeds out the dopes, dorks, boys and tools because they don’t stand a chance. I’ve landed a structural engineer, a financial annalist, an architect/signed musician and a political economist who was published and on television for his work done at Duke University. I play in the big leagues, period. I have high standards. A girl like me doesn’t fuck around because I don’t have to. They come to me. Like I said, my confidence comes from my amazing experiences throughout my life of which I sought out and made happen and from the fact that I’m naturally gifted at singing, dancing, drawing, sports and style. I was not the average girl in school or anywhere for that matter, ever. I graduated with honors, played first singles position on the varsity tennis team and went to state play-offs, was a principle dancer in theatre, headed up the popular click but never followed anyone but myself. I did it with originality and with an artists edge, always. people copied me and they continue to.

I am one part elegant, one part down-to-earth, one part blue-collar raised, one part fashion-ista, one part boho, one part tom-boy, one part sally home-maker, one part girl who fucks you in the bathroom stall, one part girl who makes love to you at a five star hotel soft, sweet and slow with only your pleasure in mind, one part adventurer, one part ballet dancer, one part salsa/ hip shaker, one part mosh-pit jumper, one part punk rocker, one part jazz listener, one part wino, one part club goer, one part take home to meet your mother (while I dirty my knees in your former teenage bedroom behind the door closed), one part analytical, one part emotionally impulsive, one part spontaneous trip taker, one part drug doer, one part health nut, one part yoga instructor, one part older sister, one part faithful girlfriend, one part curious cat, one part explorer, one part designer, one part artist, one part lounge singer, one part care taker…..and always adding to my parts.

you see roosh, we are alike. we are geminis. I can’t stay in one place or with one person due to my inner spirit that calls to grow, evolve and seek. we’ve got one life. that’s why I preach quality. one life so bullshit doesn’t fit into my schedule or plans or time. I seek the best, most complicated and interesting people because I myself have formed me this way. I am a contradiction with passion, heart, mind and body and am searching for the same.

this will be the only time in which I will show an ego. mine is not fake because I truly am fucking cool. always have been too…was born with an inner something that was ripe for the sculpting. I don’t have to carry it on the outside because my quality is real. that’s why the boys stay with me for years. duh.

you’re a clown. you wasted my time and nothing offends me more. grow the fuck up and have real, adult friendships. our trip was a waste. I hate waste. you’re a drama queen and your inner loser leaks out at times. I saw it but gave you the grace of looking away so you could morph back into the actor you are. I bow and all the while I am the higher being. your loss. you live loss and will continue to. so go fuck YOURSELF. I know you have a callused right hand and you only get forgettable, typical and unintelligent girls. I would never claim or brag about the girls you get. you fucking failure.

if you try to pull anything with my personal information I will have you beaten. In all seriousness, I have someone waiting for my check (and I will pay) to hunt you down in Medellin and kick the living shit out of you. I have instructed them to focus on your dick and balls mostly so that you may never reproduce. also: given my group of nerdy friends your blog may come down with a virus that would cause it’s demise. if you go away quietly then noting will happen. my ex is 6′4″ (no kidding, seriously) and out-weighs you by 50lbs and will gladly whoop you mercilessly when you return to DC. I have your mom’s address and I will copy and mail your lovely e-mails along with my sob story to her and beg her to get you psychological help. I will post your photo all over DC and Jorge will post it all over Medellin saying you put drugs in girls drinks and to stay away from you. you are known by the owner now of La Octava and they will be watching you. Jorge’s whole crown including Clara ( who laughed hard at and shared yur line of “I’m 30, doesn’t that scare you?” in which she replied; “my ex boyfriend is 32″ ) know you’re a tool and are laughing hard at your ridiculous blog. you want hate…you got it bitch.

this wasn’t for the last word, you’re more power hungry than I…it was for the truth because your dumb ass never got it.

delete and done.

XXXXX

p.s. I faked my one and only orgasm because I felt sorry for you

She’s a real catch no? That last sentence was like a dagger in my heart!

Just one correction to her email: my line is a tongue-in-cheek “Are you intimidated by older men?” and not “I’m 30, doesn’t that scare you?”

I didn’t respond to this email or others but she continued to write me daily from new email accounts, usually excerpting poetry or quotations from Ayn Rand. (I’ve saved them all in case I need to file a restraining order against her when I return home.) One of her last emails stated:

My love for you knows no boundaries or limitations and I wish to help you find your soul again.

Bunny boiler alert!

Eventually she stopped because my forwarding of her emails must’ve made its way around D.C. and to her friends. I’m guessing they ran a “He’s no good for you girl!” type of intervention, and just like that my daily ego boosts were over. In the end I hold absolutely no ill will towards her and sincerely hope that the psychotic bitch gets the help she needs.

POSTSCRIPT: It has been brought to my attention from a friend that in the comments of her blog she is talking shit about my parents in an attempt to psychoanalyze why I dumped her. I may have to destroy her now. Let me see how my mood is later, but first I have to hit the gym, sunbathe, and then do some laundry.

Jersey Shore is a brilliant anthropological look at modern game because it puts together a bunch of shallow, horny people who love to go out and hook up. Compare this to the typical Real World snoozefest where you have more “balanced” characters like the emo doofus who couldn’t pick up a girl if his life depended on it and the angry black man who is more interested in debating than getting laid.

I would like to rate the game of the four guys who are on the show, from worst to best.

4. Vinny

This guy added very little value. No one hated him, no one loved him, and he merely existed to make an occasional comment that got token laughter, feeding off the others instead of getting his own vibe pushed into the storyline. His energy wasn’t bad and I actually didn’t mind his fist pumps in the club but he never seemed to make a play on any decent girl. The first girl he hooked up with was his boss’ girl and then he tried to go for his roommate’s sister. This is what guys with no game do—shit where they eat. And then his Atlantic City bitch gets embarrassingly ganked by Mike, who shouldn’t be faulted for it because he knew like I knew that Vinny had zero hope of sealing the deal. His main purpose is to fill up space.

Bottom Line: Vinny has no game. He needs to take a workshop or something, but then again he’s only 21. I’m sure he’ll be fine in a few years.

3. Ronnie

Ronnie was almost as boring as Vinny. He lacked Mike’s charm and wit and was always logical, complaining about nonsense or calling out someone for trivial matters instead of playing the diplomat. His cackle laugh is obnoxious and fake but he does have the ability to crack a decent joke every now and then. The basic strategy of his game is to show up looking “fresh,” do that crunk dance he learned from watching Rize, and then not open his mouth too much.

Most of the work in getting laid for him is indeed his muscles and hair. This was obvious when Sammi repeatedly said how “hot” he was, and initially with her it wasn’t his personality that did the heavy lifting. His energy in the club is good with his dance moves and because he’s laid back without showing too much interest I’m pretty sure he has banged a few girls in the past.

Unfortunately there is heavy degradation to his game once he gets into a relationship. He kept saying gag-on-a-spoon things stitched together from bad movies like, “I thought the shore was the best thing to happen to me….. but you are,” and “I don’t know what it is about you, but I could kiss you all day.” But since these dumb lines come after sex, I wonder how much it really affects his pussy-getting ability.

Even though I’m sure Ronnie would demolish me in a fight, he came across as a needy little bitch, chasing around Sammi who’s only somewhat decent after fixing herself up for three hours. She had the ham arms, a lackluster buddy, and the most annoying personality on the show.

Bottom Line: His game is only looks, and with that he can only get stupid girls who are less pretty than he is handsome.

2. Pauly D

Pauly has the elements of tight game simmering somewhere underneath. There is no reason he shouldn’t pull every night but frankly he was unable to live up to his potential. He needs to look alive, lower his standards a bit, and approach more instead of waiting for Mike to get shit going. In fact for most of the show he basically rode Mike’s coattails. Otherwise he’s cool, aloof, knows how to dance, has interesting hobbies to bring up in conversation, and is cocky but not too cocky where it borders on caricature like Mike. These selected Pauly quotes reveal that his mind is in the right place:

“I’m just trying to roll with it.”

“I have a game plan… I don’t want to waste my time.”

“My girl was fucking busted… I was just trying to go with the flow.”

His constant talk about high standards is probably bullshit because he did put in a significant amount of time into the Israeli girl who was mediocre at best. I find that guys who constantly harp on standards usually use it as an excuse to not approach, as you always see them later with average girls. Mike has lower standards but with the sheer quantity of girls he’s getting with it’s a guarantee that a hot girl will slip into the rotation every now and then.

One important thing Pauly needs to do is be more persistent. He had J-Wow on his bed peeping at his cock but he didn’t even try to get her shirt off or play with her boobs. I know she had a boyfriend at the time and probably wouldn’t fuck them that night, but his chill vibe may be a little too chill, and he needs to give a damn when it’s time to close the deal.

Bottom Line: Pauly has the right mindset and some good moves but he needs to step up in order to realize his true potential.

1. Mike “The Situation”

You gotta admit that Mike has personality and charm. Sure he’s cheesy and over-the-top, but behind his outrageous cockiness there is a wink and a nod that it’s a tough guy act and he’s an alright cat behind that. Now while he is very good at building attraction, it’s obvious that he has a tough time closing the deal. One of the reasons it that he was way too obsessed with that fucking jacuzzi. Bro you use the jacuzzi to get them to your house but once there say it’s broken. Man has gotten laid well before the jacuzzi and will continue to do so if jacuzzis cease to exist. There was also the big late-game mistake he made when he ordered greasy pizza with the sluts he brought home, an amateur move usually played by guys who just graduated from college.

For some reason he counts his chickens before they hatch, having a “I’ll fuck her when I want” mindset that obviously doesn’t work. Still, I think he has the right attitude with girls that he just wants to sleep with as he even admitted many times that it’s a numbers game. He probably did get rejected the most on the show (let’s give him a pass on that embarrassing bitterness business with Sammi), but then again he kissed the most girls and had the most bangs. In the end it’s the results that matter as there are no style points in fucking.

The fact that he banged that cute girl raw dog in the jacuzzi should leave no doubt that he’s a true player. Gotta get that notch no matter what!

Bottom Line: Mike is charismatic, fun, and has the right game mindset, though he could tighten up his deal-sealing technique. Despite his gay stripper vibe he was the most consistent and therefore has the best game.

Note how the guys had a “whatever” attitude towards phone numbers. They’re all about the same night and if you want to fuck a lot of girls then that’s how it’s done.

One of the reasons I enjoyed this show is because it reminded me of how Virgle Kent and I run game in D.C. While the background and people are different, the elements are the same: same-night pulls, grenade jumping, street game, muscles, random make-outs, alcohol-fueled drama, fights, stalking, cockblocking, and so on. I especially enjoyed the scenes where the guys extracted girls back to the house because it’s there I could identify a lot of mistakes they were making when it came time to close, a couple of which I mentioned above.

In a bar you can have a dozen girls thinking about banging you but if you don’t have a plan to ease just one away from the friends into a bedroom then you won’t get a lot of bangs. The first part of learning game is about building attraction, but then you have to master logistics, of being persistent and cool in herding her to the bedroom. Otherwise you’ll just have a stack of phone numbers.

For the most part the guys on the show have the attraction part nailed, but it’s the logistics that cost them quite a few notches. Divide and conquer, isolate and bang. When building attraction becomes automatic for you, the game becomes one of timing and logistics.

Most of the time I go out now is alone. I’ve gotten so used to it that unless I meet a guy who is fun, dependable, and most importantly, cool, I still rather go out alone. In the past I used to go out with any guy who had a heartbeat, but picking up girls is challenging enough (especially in South America) that I don’t need some slapdick to make it harder for me just because I’m too insecure or too much of a pussy to fly solo.

PROS & CONS:

There’s two big downsides to going out solo. First, it’s ten times harder to get into that amped-up social mood where approaching girls is more a natural extension of having fun. Every approach feels like a trial and something you need to push yourself towards. To combat this I put a number in my head, usually ten, and venue permitting I do that many approaches before I’m allowed to go home. If I’m getting to ten, which has happened many times I can assure you, the night was most likely a bloody massacre. (In the United States it’s been several years since I got to ten.)

But playing the numbers game is important if you’re not exactly sure what game to run, so sometimes I go over ten if the girls are nibbling. Since it usually takes me around three solo approaches to warm up (with a friend it takes one), if I stop at five then I’m stopping way too soon.

The second big downside of flying solo is you have no wingman to occupy the friend. Isolation takes much longer and sometimes never comes.

I’ve been in many situations where I knew the girl liked me but her friends wouldn’t fuck off, so I had to stick around for three hours or more until there was a moment I could finally isolate. As long as the girl loves you and you can stay awake longer than the friends, isolation is going to happen, but it doesn’t guarantee you’ll get the bang. Sometimes what it takes is having to commit your entire night (and early morning) to the girl. In fact that begets an isolation move in itself if you’re near a beach—”How about we see the sunrise?”

It’s a big problem if the friend is up in the conversation instead of lingering around in the vicinity. In that case it’s hard to get into the flirting and teasing stage with your girl because you’re forced to be the clown and engage them both at the same time. In that case the conversation remains generic, solid attraction isn’t built, and the girls walk away.

The main upside of flying solo is freedom. You can do whatever you want, wherever you want, and not have to put up with another guy’s issues, problems, embarrassing game, or passive cockblocking. Since in fact most guys will not enhance your game, you’re probably doing yourself a favor by going out solo.

There is also a certain level of purity that comes with flying solo—it makes anything you get that night much more satisfying. You went out alone, without anyone, and pulled a girl that you wanted. You prove to yourself that you can do it without any help, that for you the pursuit of pussy is a burning desire that doesn’t come and go with who you happen to be friends with or what country you’re currently in. In the end, pulling a quality girl solo in a huge foreign club is the ultimate test to your game, though even in a domestic club it’s a worthy accomplishment.

FLYING SOLO HOW-TO:

The first thing you want to do is get into a social mood well before nightfall. If I know I’m flying solo on a particular night, I do my best to make small talk with random people during the day, whether it’s with cashiers or the obese family sitting next to me in Starbucks. When I’m with a wingman I can wake up from a three hour nap and get into a social mood by exchanging a few jokes with him, but while solo the process is a full day affair. The last thing you want to do is go out alone after jerking off on the internet all day.

When it’s time to go out, get to the club or bar early by arriving at least an hour before peak time. If the club gets going at midnight, show up at 10:30 if you can. Ideally you want to get there just a little after it opens when the line is starting to develop.

Are there people in line with you? If so then you should talk to them, whether they’re guys or girls. Here are some generic questions to ask someone in the line of a club:

1. “Is this the line for everyone?” (Cocky humor follow-up: “I wish I didn’t leave my gold VIP double extra platinum card at home so I could cut up to the front.”)

2. “Do you know how much the cover is tonight?” (Self-deprecation humor follow-up: “Oh really… so I should have borrowed more money from my mom then.”)

3. “Do you know what type of music they’re playing tonight?” (Dry humor follow-up: “God I hope they’re playing salsa because I’ve been taking daily lessons the past four months and it’s the only thing I can move to.”)

Here’s what I do: I get in line and chat with the people in front of me and if they don’t bite then I turn around and ask a different question to the people who got behind me. This is actually a very good way to make friends with people who you can use as a “home base” later when you’re inside the club. In Brazil it’s generally easy to make friends with guys in line as they always ask me where I’m from when I speak in bad Portuguese.

Let me backtrack a bit and explain why it’s important to show up early. First, girls arrive before guys. I’m sure you’ve been to a club where the ratio was good and then suddenly it seems like there is cock in your face every which way you turn. (Even though girls take longer than guys to get ready, guys take even longer to pre-drink.) Secondly, you want to arrive early to settle in and pick a good spot.

I have a theory about spots. I believe every spot, whether it’s in a bar, club, coffee shop, or what have you, has a built-in average time until an opportunity presents itself. Let’s call that the magic time, or the time it takes for magic to happen. This coffee shop in D.C. I liked had a magic time of about one hour, meaning if I stayed there on average for one hour I will be able to do an approach on a cute girl. In my favorite D.C. bar, the magic time out on the patio is about 20 minutes. In this club in Rio, the upstairs bar has a magic time of just over 10 minutes because of the large turnover. Different spots in the same venue will have different magic times, which is why it’s important to find the good spots as quickly as you can. I don’t care if it’s right next to the woman’s room, but find the spot that women seem to be passing by or congregating around.

You want to stick in a spot longer than its magic time, or else you’re not allowing nature to give you the fruit it’s trying to bear. Many guys make the mistake of not only bar-hopping but spot-hopping, so they can stay in a bar for an hour and not have one good opportunity, all because they’re moving from spot to spot under the magic times.

Another reason you want to stay still is that moving around looks bad. If you’re solo, with zero friends, and you’re jumping around like a rabbit approaching girls, you’ll be quickly pegged as “that guy” in the club. You’ll be the club’s loser, even worse than the old guy in the club. When you pick a spot and only approach girls who come around you, it will not seem like you’re doing any approaches at all, and it’s likely that to an outside spectator you are the one who’s being approached.

The downside of staying in spots is that it’s hard to rack up a lot of approaches quickly. Even in crowded clubs, I average one approach every 15 or 20 minutes, but then again my standards are pretty high (early on, anyway) and I don’t waste time on girls who aren’t exactly what I’m looking for. You may or may not be past that stage where you approach girls just for the practice.

Now while I recommended you make friends outside the club, I don’t once inside. Many times guys I made friends with inside the club—especially ones who were flying solo like me—mistook my kindness for weakness and casually cockblocked me on a girl I later approached. I’d estimate 80% of guys I meet inside the club are a total bust, and if you were in a casino then that’s a bet you don’t want to take. I’ll be friendly to guys who approach me but I won’t invite them to my approaches.

If you’re going to meet a guy inside the club, it’s better that he already have girls with him. If he has a desirable social circle, what you want to do is buy him a drink or shot after initiating small talk. It’s incredible how buying a guy a three dollar beer will motivate him to enthusiastically introduce you to every girl he knows. Otherwise be very hesitant with guys you talk to besides the staff unless you have the incredible ability to screen out idiots. As for the guys I already met outside, what I do is ditch them early, do a few approaches, and then find them later to joke around and shoot the shit, merely to keep myself in that social mood.

Another option to build some social proof is to get friendly with the bartender by tipping large or buying him shots. Don’t try to buy his friendship, but if you built up a little rapport with him while the club was empty (you went early right?), then some big tips thrown his way will make sure that he watches out for you. Don’t be cheap when you go out solo: if there is a guy who has value, let the money flow a bit and it’ll come right back to you in vaginal form.

Whether you make friends or not, all that’s left is drinking and approaching. Be careful about drinking too much. While the first couple drinks will loosen you up, subsequent drinks will actually get you into an anti-social mood if you don’t have a friend around to keep talking to. I never pre-drink more than a beer before I go out. You already see how it takes up to 20 minutes for a single approach, meaning I could be at a club for three or four hours to get to ten approaches. I still need to be close to the top of my game for those last attempts, and if I can consume a drink every forty-five minutes that’s about six drinks the entire night—way more than enough to get and maintain a buzz.

THE EXECUTION:

So you found a spot and you’re leaning against the bar with a drink. Make slow, confident movements, like you’re the owner of the club and just checking out the scene. Like always the first approach will be hardest, but if you show up early like I told you then it might very well lead to success. It’s better to be the first guy that a girl talks to than the tenth, and even if it doesn’t go well you can buddy up with her and her friends to use as flash social proof later on.

Run your normal night game. No special adjustments are needed.

Don’t lie if you’re asked “Where are you friends?” I simply say, “I don’t have any friends.” Be cool about it and don’t make excuses for why you’re alone. In South America I don’t remember the last time I was asked this but in America it may be one of the first questions she hits you with. Definitely don’t say stupid shit like, “Yeah my friend cancelled on me at the last minute and I still wanted to go out,” or, “All my friends have girlfriends.” If you feel like a “loser” when you go out alone, then it’s a self-esteem issue that you need to deal with. Personally I feel just as much of a man when I’m alone than when I’m out with a pack of guys. You either are or you aren’t, you either want it or you don’t—it shouldn’t matter who you’re with.

In fact I feel more like a man because I’m doing what other guys are too scared to do. I stand out because I’m not like every other guy and girls want to know my “deal” and why I’m there, which aids me in conversation. It’s as if the intrigue is built right into the crust. In the end girls don’t care if you’re alone or not as long as you’re a fun and interesting guy that they’re attracted to. It’s ten times better to be alone doing your thing than with a guy who lowers your social value.

A couple years ago I’d go out alone every now and then but not do very well. I didn’t have a strategy and I never managed my mood or drinking, so I’d always prefer to go out with a random guy instead. But then I noticed those random guys hurting my chances more than helping. I started going out solo, I started picking up alone, and I’ve arrived at the point where I do far better alone than with these fly-by-night wingman I randomly meet. Today there’s only four guys in the world that I would wing with.

Don’t be surprised if after a short of spitting that solo dolo game you prefer going out alone than with others.

P.S. If you liked this post then I think you will like my book Bang, a collection of simple but powerful techniques, moves, and lines that make it easier for the average 20-something man to be more successful with women. Topics in Bang include discussion of the alpha male, effective opening lines, conversation themes, getting phone numbers, detailed dating strategy, and much more.

Complimenting the book is my Game Tips Newsletter. It's free and your first newsletter will be about how to meet girls in coffee shops. Following that will be newsletters on dealing with flakes, handling cockblockers, and meeting girls in foreign countries, among others. Your email address will always remain private and you can unsubscribe at any time. To subscribe put your first name and email address below and click the button.

In Medellin I was the old guy on campus. Even when I wasn’t taking classes I’d go there on certain afternoons to study Spanish and hit on girls. Some American women may say that’s disgusting and pathetic, and who knows maybe it is (laugh), but I can assure you there is nothing disgusting or pathetic about slamming a college girl that looks 16-years-old.

I want to talk about how to deal with the intense, sometimes brutal flakiness that college girls put out when trying to get them out on a date. This post isn’t about meeting them because it’s just as easy as any other girl, perhaps easier because of their bubbly and free-spirited nature.

I’ve only dated a couple college girls in the States as an adult, and sure they were unreliable, but the flakiness exhibited by Colombian college girls (and Colombian girls in general) exceeded anything I’ve ever seen in my life. I became so accustomed to it that even if I had a date I proceeded as if I didn’t. There was a 50% chance the girls would either cut off all contact on the day of the date or send a cancellation text message a few minutes before it was supposed to start—and that’s if you’re lucky (I’ve had guys tell me the girls didn’t cancel until they were already waiting at the bar). Days go by after the cancellation until they tell you a laughable excuse on MSN Messenger.

I’ve tried to work many different angles. Being patient with the girl doesn’t work. If you accept getting flaked she will just flake on you again (this one girl got me three fucking times). Being aggressive doesn’t work. You look desperate and scare the girl off. Being angry doesn’t work either, because why should a girl care if you, some guy she hasn’t even made out with yet, gets mad at her flakiness? There is only one option left: fighting fire with fire. You must be flakey yourself.

You don’t want to use the fire strategy on a college girl who isn’t a flake, so it’s best you get flaked on a lot to be able to identify the flake’s unique characteristics. But let me get you started: generally speaking if the college girl is hot and has a large social circle then she’s a flake. If she is a no greater than cute and has few friends, then she probably isn’t.

Now set a date like you normally would by asking her for a drink a day or two in advance. If she agrees, tell her you will call her that afternoon to set a time but are thinking around 9pm, for example. Then when the day of the date rolls around, simply don’t call or text her.

If she attempts to call or text you towards the evening that means she got anxious about going out with you and wants to ask if the date is still on for the night. Pick up the phone or text her back and set up the time as usual. (If she contacts you way early in the afternoon then it’s to cancel—don’t respond.)

If she doesn’t call or text you, that means she didn’t give a shit about you enough to see if the date was on or not. Bummer.

Only do this with flakes! This is a technique you don’t want to introduce to a girl who is going along with the river’s current, as it may fuck things up.

For flakes you need to put out a strong “I don’t give a shit” vibe, and nothing does that more than simply not confirming a date when you said you would. It’s by no means foolproof, and doesn’t prevent a premeditated flake, but it’s the best available tool I have come up with that hits her with the right aloof vibe while making her do at least some of the work.

P.S. If you liked this post then I think you will like my book Bang, a collection of simple but powerful techniques, moves, and lines that make it easier for the average 20-something man to be more successful with women. Topics in Bang include discussion of the alpha male, effective opening lines, conversation themes, getting phone numbers, detailed dating strategy, and much more.

Complimenting the book is my Game Tips Newsletter. It's free and your first newsletter will be about how to meet girls in coffee shops. Following that will be newsletters on dealing with flakes, handling cockblockers, and meeting girls in foreign countries, among others. Your email address will always remain private and you can unsubscribe at any time. To subscribe put your first name and email address below and click the button.

The following is a guest post by my partner-in-crime Virgle Kent.

Man, on Monday I haven’t seen that much heat on this blog since I told a hipster chick that the band Grizzly Bear was slightly overrated—that one didn’t end well. Roosh wrote something about American women not showing enough interest when it comes to needing men and how the western culture has broken them, and I’m just paraphrasing there but for some reason this got me thinking on my normal chicken and the egg thought process of game and gaming. Now just follow me for a second.

Let’s say you spit game to a pretty girl and she’s very receptive, touching, laughing at all your jokes and at the end she gives you her number. You call in a couple of days and she picks up on the first couple of rings (yes this is DC, shut it). After quick conversation you set up the date and she shows up without flaking or even being “fake late” (yes, still in DC). The date ends with a make out and by date two she let’s you hit (I’m sorry DC, “Beat the pussy up”). Now after that nothing really changes, she hits you right back when you text, picks up phone calls or calls back as soon as she’s available, and sticks with plans. If you want a relationship she’s down, but not too pushy about it. My question is if you had a girl who knew how to “act right” in public or when you’re alone, and was generally a nice girl, would you still use as much game on her as you do with other girls?

By now if you’ve been hitting the DC streets you already know what’s up, you know the truth is that game works best on bitter women who believe that game can’t work on them. The jaded ones who’ve survived and been through oh so much are too wise to fall for silly alpha lines as they’ve developed anti-game to combat your game. These women are the ones who are serially pumped and dumped. Since women like this are too messed up to have relationships with once you’re anti-game radar goes off, go for the notch and be out faster than Snooki’s vagina when a Tiesto beat comes on (what is that beef jerky).

Although we could blame Western culture on the bitter girl who chose the pursuit of career, education and weight gain over not settling with a reasonable guy early, understand that the first girl who responded well to all your advances without putting up much of a front is the same girl at one who is ice cold and jaded—they are just at different times in their lives.

Guys get so used to running game all the time that it almost becomes a dating crutch. A script we follow down to the exact detail. If you overgame a girl who is open and already into you you’re just making it harder for the next guy that comes along after you because now he’s going to have to game her twice as hard. It compounds and builds and by the end she hates herself for liking guys like you. Gaming never really goes away but I do think there are certain times it’s not needed as much as one thinks.

This does remind me of this one time last year back when Roosh was being stalked by this psycho poetry chick that wrote a Valerie Solanas type S.C.U.M Manifesto. At Brazilian night on a Thursday I met one of her girls—she had an Israeli vibe going on and a phatty you could see from the front. I got her phone number and the next night she invited me to stop by her coffee shop where she would be working. She brings up Roosh and goes on to start talking all this shit about him. “That guy is such an asshole, he’s so pathetic, all that game shit doesn’t work, no real girl would give him the time of day, what a loser, blah blah blah blah.” By then she already knew about his blog from poetry girl.

I sat quietly and let her run her mouth for a minute or two enjoying my free food until I smiled and asked how long she’s worked at this coffee shop. She said a couple of years. I asked if she was working here sometime back last Spring and she said yes. I told her I remembered her because Roosh and I used to come in on Saturdays and sit in her section to get some work done. The reason I remembered was because Roosh flirted with her and got her number using standard waitress game, with lines he had used many times before. Her face turned bright red as she had honestly forgot and she was so genuinely embarrassed she begged for me not to mention anything back to Roosh.

There’s a lesson in that one somewhere.

When you’re talking to a B girl and she asks for your Facebook or Orkut name before the interaction is over, the interaction will soon be over. While she is curious about you, she’s asking because she’s ready to dip and meet other people. What you gotta do is say, “Yeah sure, but let me go to the bar/bathroom real quick—hold on,” then walk away quickly before waiting for her response. Your best bet is to use scarcity to reengage later, but odds of recovery are slim.

There’s a psuedo-rock club I go to where the Brazilian guys have zero game. They don’t approach and even when a girl likes them they find a way to blow it by chasing too hard or saying something like, “If I was a girl I’d wear those pantyhose too!” So what always happens there is I’ll be talking to a B girl and I’ll hear the guys speaking English in a mocking manner near me, but never loud enough so that I can make out what they’re saying. And then I run into them and I look them in the face and I say, “Were you saying something in English earlier? I couldn’t hear it.” They put on a fake smile and ask me where I’m from, but then when they walk away they’ll again mutter something unintelligible. I don’t blame them for hating because I am taking their beautiful women out of circulation, but they should reconsider their strategy of putting so much energy into me than on the women.

Sometimes you’ll get the partial cockblock when a girl persists in hovering around and not letting you isolate her friend. If she’s cuter than the girl you want, all you gotta do is engage her instead, insinuate that her friend is nice but not your “type,” and then invite her to the bar to make out with her instead. Of course this assumes that the original girl is being occupied by someone else. The strategy of making out with the cockblocker works in cultures where the cockblocker is not automatically a disgusting pig (e.g. United States). If you’re wondering why not go for the cockblocker instead, it’s because B girls have friends scattered all over the club and you may have invested in a girl based on incomplete information.

I’ve found that talking to the ugly B girl of the group to get to the pretty one rarely works. What happens is the pretty ones will back off and let her friend “have” you. B girls don’t seem to like competing for guys like American girls do. Perhaps they take their friendships more seriously maybe.

If a B girl is super fluent in English, and hits you with sarcastic or witty jokes, then you need to ramp up the dial on your cocky game and assume she is like an American girl, because she basically is. And when she calls out one of your jokes or teases as offensive, yet still stands there talking to you, keep doing it you big stud.

There is a lot of prejudices against Americans in Brazil, not just from the millions of American guys that come for sex tourism but also our way of imperializing the world. Even though Brazilians like English and American entertainment, most will tell you without hesitation that they prefer British or Europeans more. I can see the disappointment on some girls’ faces when I say Eu sou Americano. Fuck ‘em.

A B girl asking where you’re from is like an American girl ask you what you do—it doesn’t mean she’s interested. She needs to dig deeper than that before you can say she’s into you.

I used to think that it was better to tell a girl you’re staying for many months instead of say a week, but when you’re somewhere for a short time you have a built-in urgent storyline and can get her in bed faster well before she flakes out. I used to lie and insinuate I’d stay a long time (or at least be vague about it), but now I don’t bother. Since 99% of B girls you meet in the club would never consider a long-term relationship with you, there is very little advantage is saying you’re staying if you’re not looking for a long-term relationship yourself. Some girls like it that she can have sex with a guy who is going to disappear forever. Don’t underestimate the value of semi-anonymous sex.

“Apparently, he was not totally ignorant of one of life’s great secrets: women don’t look for handsome men, they look for men with beautiful women. Having an ugly mistress is therefore a fatal error.”
—The Book Of Laughter & Forgetting by Milan Kundera

Not being needy is important because it shows girls you’re already getting what you, well, need. Girls want sex from men who are already getting sex. Despite every girl’s protest to the contrary, the more partners you’ve had the better, because each vagina you’ve demolished acts as a seal of approval of your worthiness. What better way for a girl to screen out new dick by finding out many other girls lined up to take a ride on it?

The reason I know this is fact and not mere conjecture is the large number of girls I’ve banged who knew about my blog beforehand. If you ask these girls a straight-forward question about sleeping with a guy who has had many partners, 100% would say they hate it, it’s gross, the AIDS, etc., but yet they have done it with me, and I’m certain I’m not the only “exception.” Even girls who have found out about my blog after having sex end up returning for seconds. In fact it’s a guarantee she’ll come back, even flying internationally to do so, because now she experiences a self-esteem boost knowing that she’s fucking a guy who is successful with women.

End conversations early. Cancel dates. Be late. Appear disinterested. Don’t lean in. Stop trying to kiss her all the time. Don’t tell her when you’ll contact her. Don’t say you’ve been in love. Don’t talk longingly about your exes. Don’t console her. Take days to call her back after first time sex. Don’t ask for her opinions. Be insensitive.

All these behaviors show you’re not needy, that you don’t give a fuck. They convey to the girl that you can get away with doing these things because you’re probably already banging and she better shape up if she wants her vagina to be demolished as well. There’s no shortcut to this: you can’t just tell a girl you’ve fucked a lot of girls and expect her to be turned on. Insinuate instead, and be rewarded handsomely.

When you’re in a foreign country and unable to communicate perfectly with words, or cultural differences make it hard to show value or humor, not being needy will be the cornerstone of your game.

P.S. If you liked this post then I think you will like my book Bang, a collection of simple but powerful techniques, moves, and lines that make it easier for the average 20-something man to be more successful with women. Topics in Bang include discussion of the alpha male, effective opening lines, conversation themes, getting phone numbers, detailed dating strategy, and much more.

Complimenting the book is my Game Tips Newsletter. It's free and your first newsletter will be about how to meet girls in coffee shops. Following that will be newsletters on dealing with flakes, handling cockblockers, and meeting girls in foreign countries, among others. Your email address will always remain private and you can unsubscribe at any time. To subscribe put your first name and email address below and click the button.