Props to you if you can steal my drink without me noticing. My mind must’ve been elsewhere to not give a damn about the product of my hard labor. But if I catch you stealing my drink, and you double down, then we have a problem.

There is a bar in Rio called Ovelha Negra (Black Sheep) that doesn’t sell beer, wine, or spirits—just champagne. It was embarrassing for my Danish roommate when we went the first time and he asked for Skol, a cheap Brazilian beer you can get for $1.50 on the street. He realized the type of establishment he was at and quickly adjusted, adopting more of a nouveu rich accent that would have the King of Denmark proud.

The bar has only one room in the shape of a long rectangle. There are little tables on one side and then a big table in the middle where most of the action happens. Starting at 6pm the place packs with the professional happy hour crowd. Almost everyone speaks English and $1,000 jailbroken iPhones make constant appearances.

It can be challenging to pickup here because everyone is in large groups, but really it’s not because those guys with the girls are usually coworkers. Girls are looking to flirt, and Danish and I have done well enough that we’ve become regulars. The young bartender with the moppy haircut greets us with a thumbs up whenever we come in but I keep forgetting his name. I think it’s Thiago.

It was so packed one night that we ordered two bottles to ride out until closing. A lot of people go to a place like this and get the second cheapest bottle of champagne, or at least something that’s not the absolute cheapest, but we always get the cheapest (R$ 37). We don’t know the difference between a champagne and sparkling cider and we’re not going to pretend like we do. Is it making us burp? Are we feeling tipsy? Garçon this is great champagne!

My roommate likes to start his approaches with a cigarette angle. If we’re outside he asks for a light and if we’re inside he asks to bum a cigarette. He did this on one girl and she walked out with him to find smokes from a street vendor, leaving me with the bucket of two open champagne bottles. By now we had finished one and was about to get started on the other. As usual the bartender put a salt solution in our bucket, ensuring the second would be near freezing temperature when we were ready for it.

The bucket was on the communal table and I stood in front of it behind a high bar chair. To my right was a girl that looked cute from the back—I was working on getting facial confirmation—and to her right was an obviously drunk girl in a white dress. Sitting next to her was a guy petting her back, her boyfriend maybe, or at least trying to be for the night. Across the table were three more of their friends.

I’m standing there with my champagne glass, trying to act cool, when I see the drunk girl in the white dress reach over and grab the neck of our full bottle. Good thing I was watching it, I thought.

“No no no excuse me that’s our bottle.” I said it very loud, almost shouting, because I know how drunk people can be hard of hearing when it comes to things that hint at possibly limiting their alcohol intake. My face had not a hint of humor or generosity or kindness or anything to suggest I wasn’t serious. I was a father scolding his little girl.

The bottle was now out of the bucket, dripping with icy water as it very slowly traveled past the girl next to me and directly in front of white dress. It approached her glass. There was no time to think about specific actions. No time to devise a battle plan. The autopilot light in the cockpit burns bright orange and your belief system take over.

“Hey hey no, that’s mine and I’m sorry but you can’t have any.”

From the side of her face I could see a quick frown, but she kept going. Her right hand began tilting the bottle towards her glass. She looked at me, squinted her eyes, and then made the “just a little bit” sign with her left hand. She didn’t care what I said and was going to take whatever she wanted.

Slow motion. I’m moving. The weight of my body shifts to my left foot and then I take a big step with my right. I’m next to her friend now, touching the side of her body. My hand shoots like a rocket from my hip. It’s flying through the air across the table. I’m leaning. The back of my right shoulder hits the chin of the girl next to me. She scrunches her face and flinches backwards. White dress is beginning to pour, an entitled, upper-class smirk on her face. I make contact with the neck of the bottle. My hand muscles tighten. Death grip. My knuckles are white. I tilt it upwards. I’ve stopped breathing. Now I’m snatching and pulling. Pulling away. It’s raining champagne like New Years on my arm, on the drunk girl, on the girl who got sidearmed, on the guy who wants to get laid. Cheap champagne on the dark wood table, on professional work clothes. I’m pulling still, and bring it safely back to my side. I step back. Less than a second.

“WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU THINK YOU’RE DOING YOU DON’T JUST STEAL SOMEONE’S FUCKING BOTTLE LIKE THAT WITHOUT ASKING WHO THE FUCK DO YOU THINK YOU ARE I DON’T BELIEVE THIS SHIT!”

I’m flailing my left arm in the air like an excited monkey. My right hand is still squeezing on tight to the cheap bottle of champagne. My arm and hand is wet and cold. Then silence.

White dress is beginning to cry. Her five friends are staring at me with their mouths gaped open. Half of the bar is looking at me. I’m the bad guy, the arrogant, angry gringo who doesn’t know the capitals of European countries and comes to Brazil only to bang prostitutes and do cheap drugs.

Fuck you all I don’t care what you think.

All her friends gave me the “calm down” sign, apologizing. I pursed my lips and nodded my head up and down. I took a deep breath then put the champagne bottle back in the ice bucket.

I looked at her glass. Only a few drops made it in.

I was in a Brazilian club recently with a group of Brazilian guys. Most of them were in college, around 22-years-old, and I thought of myself as the wise elder of the group. To foster conversation and build rapport I asked them questions about Brazilian women that I already knew, pretending that I was learning information that was completely new.

A couple hours into the night the group scattered and I found myself with only one of them, a short but muscular engineering major at the local university. He overdrank a bit but overall I found him to be a good, fun kid.

Following him through the club, he opened a group of five girls, a tough approach in any country. Instead of dealing with the entire group he focused on the girl closest near him, a logical move since the music was too loud to attempt to engage everyone. About fifteen seconds into his approach, the ugliest girl of the group raises her hand into his face and makes a goodbye motion, telling him in so many words to fuck off and die.

Now if she did that to me then I’d accept it and move on because I almost deserve it for all the women I’ve used and abused over the years, but this guy was harmless. He only tried to have a conversation instead of going for cheap feel. He didn’t say anything sexist or mean. The ugly girl had no reason to treat him like trash.

I saw the ugly girl’s hand hanging in the air and my vision focused on her chubby fingers going back and forth in an undulating wave pattern. That bitch… who the fuck does she think she is? Does she think she’s better than him? I became enraged. I couldn’t believe that this undesirable human being would disrupt the normal flow of nature and prevent an attractive person from getting with another attractive person. Just because she can’t stop stuffing her face with Hot Pockets doesn’t mean she should interrupt the game of someone who can.

In one quick motion I put my hand on top of her wrist and pushed down.

You could only see the shock on her face for less than half a second. She quickly glanced at a far off spot in the club and started to dance again with a forced grin as if nothing happened. She didn’t look in my direction again. Of course the approach was over but I taught that bitch a lesson: do not disrespect a man who didn’t disrespect you. I guarantee you that for the rest of her life she will never do that again. Part of being a real man is teaching lessons to those who sorely need it.

Now imagine if all men would stand up to disrespectful women, whether it be cockblocking or just general bad behavior. Most of the problems that we bitch about would eventually disappear, all because we stopped accepting it. If we don’t punish what deserves to be punished, it will merely continue.

I have no sympathy for guys who always whine about getting cockblocked, because they’d remain silent if I ask them what they’ve done to stop it. Have you called out cockblockers? Have you made it uncomfortable for girls to continue cockblocking? Have you put the nasty fat bitches of the group in their place? Have you ruined her night by teaching her a lesson she’ll never forget? If not then as far as I’m concerned you’re part of the problem. You have done nothing to stop it so you don’t deserve for the problem to stop affecting you.

One night at a time, one girl at a time, we can change the world.

The first time I did it I was in Las Vegas. I lost all my money on the blackjack table and didn’t have enough cash for a drink. I was too proud to ask my friend for a loan until we got back to the room. I saw a bottle of Stella standing on the casino’s bar all alone, completely full. I looked around, grabbed it, and took a sip. It tasted fine, not warm but not cold either. I finished it quickly and placed the empty bottle back on the bar. What a rush! Mostly from the thrill of the crime but also from drinking on another man’s labor.

The following two months were especially rough. I had little money coming in. I wanted to go out but I couldn’t afford it. I remembered what I did in Las Vegas, and reluctantly went with it, perfecting the skill. I stole microbrew pints and brightly colored cocktails. I stole screwdrivers and champagne with lipstick imprinted on the glass. I enjoyed it more than I should have. It was addictive—the plotting and planning, the positioning of my accomplices, the feeling of my heart beat race from the fear of getting caught and pounded upon, and finally the confident grab. It’s all in the grab! Like an eagle swooping down on a defenseless squirrel, gone before you know what happened. The rush of stealing drinks was so great that one of my friends got addicted to it even though he was gainfully employed. Unfortunately he contracted a mysterious virus and had to stop.

I preferred the cocktail drinks with the skinny little straws. Not much backwash. I tossed the straws and drank from the glass. The more colorful the drink, the more it glows in the dark, the faster it went down my throat. Beer bottles are for amateurs. The rim is coated in another person’s mouth, perhaps a girl who just got finished sucking a dick in the bathroom. If it’s not full then forget it. The martinis are the real score. There is no fast getaway like that clear drink, only one-third consumed, its owner turned around trying to get into a beastly girl’s pants. Thick green lime wedge. Another gin & tonic. Not my first choice but I’ll take it. The liquid touches my tongue five feet away from the crime, and what a beautiful surprise—a gimlet! Perfect for the summer. Refreshing. I slam the empty glass on the bar and a satisfying burp erupts from my belly. The guy looks around for his drink.

I wanted to get good. I wanted to steal a drink in front of a man face and he will think it was mine all along. I wanted him to doubt himself, his being. I wanted him to be in disbelief that another man would perform such an act. But I already did it. It’s gone. Replaced by an empty glass. Buy another drink old man, this time not something so sweet. Then I got a job (bartending, ironically). I couldn’t live like that anymore. It was too dangerous, too shameful and pitiful. But sometimes I see a full drink, sitting unguarded, and my heart skips a beat, and I squint my eyes through the darkness, and I notice my friend’s glass is almost empty, and I take a deep breath, and…

“This wine is too good for toast-drinking, my dear. You don’t want to mix emotions up with a wine like that. You lose the taste.”
—The Sun Also Rises by Ernest Hemingway

After a decade or so of drinking, I have settled on a strategy which lessens the negative effects of alcohol while maximizing the amount of pussy I get, and I’d like to share that with you right now.

First, let’s take a night that I drink heavily on—at least five liquor beverages in a short amount of time. After the fourth drink in less than two hours, there comes a point where I feel absolutely invincible, like I can hit on any girl in the universe with the tightest of tight game. Unfortunately it’s an illusion. I think my game is great but it’s actually not proven by the results: I rarely pull when drunk. Just like how a drunk guy thinks the girl he’s talking to is hotter than she really is, when heavily intoxicated I think my game is better than it is. Plus, that feeling of invincibility fades very quickly as the depressant side of alcohol takes effect and all I want to do is lean against the bar or sit down.

You’re probably thinking, “Wait, I’ve gotten laid when drunk many times.” If you go back to those nights, I believe what happens is you interest a girl while merely buzzed, and then continue drinking with her until you’re both drunk. So the drunkenness comes after you already lock in your prospect, and is very rarely the direct cause of sex.

Second, research has shown that binge drinking messes with your dendrites (neural connectors). I like my dendrites and don’t want to damage them.

Third, it takes a while for alcohol to work its way through your body. If you’re feeling fucked up and then buy a sixth drink, you’re going to feel really fucked in a couple hours since the fifth drink hasn’t even taken effect yet. This is why police officers don’t mind waiting an hour or two until testing your blood for alcohol at the station (the lowest you’ll blow is when they pull you over). It’s a waste of money to be done partying but still processing the last couple drinks you bought.

Keeping the above points in mind, while also wanting the favorable of alcohol’s loosening effects, my strategy is as follows:

Consume no more than three scotch drinks or five light beers per night.

You get the buzzing effects of the alcohol while still retaining that pimp game ability. You avoid the effects of hangover. You kill very few brain cells. You don’t hurt your wallet. You’re disciplined and rely on your abilities instead of drink, since three drinks will not give you stupendous courage. It puts you on a similar level playing field as 80% of the girls who are drinking, and very rarely will you be drunker than her, which is death when it comes to pick up.

I get my scotch with two or three rocks and then sip sip for about hour, enjoying the effects as they take hold in a comfortable manner. My third scotch is done by 1am but I continue to feel a light buzz until 3am closing time. The next day I wake up refreshed, whether in my bed or in a girl’s. Best of all I only spend a maximum of $35 a night of drinking the finest of spirits. I can be dirt poor but still do this.

I have accidentally discovered the logical progression to a female wingman. Remember the Saudi groupie chick who was pawing at me in a bar? It got the attention from a few girls, including one who kept bringing it up on our first date. “I have never seen anything like it,” she said.

Instead of a female friend, what you want is a female sponge who smothers you in public. Go to Craigslist and pay a cute woman to throw herself at you in a crowded bar. You only need her services for one hour (estimated cost: $20-40, lower is she’s unemployed). Act indifferent during her affections and let the numbers roll in after she leaves. It’s best if she’s not too hot, or else it won’t be believable, especially if you have no game and are a loser. I’m a special case so it’d be best for me to enlist the services of the hottest chick possible, since the sight of a dime piece throwing herself on me is very natural.

To save some money I have forwarded my entire nightlife itinerary to the Saudi chick.

Turf is power when it comes to approaching girls in bars. You want your first interaction with her to be in your house, not hers, because if she suspects she has the least bit of upper hand she will take advantage of that to feed her low self-esteem.

(Disclaimer: If you’re new to the game then you should be approaching girls in every type of situation imaginable to get that experience, but when it comes to refinement you can choose approaches carefully to get the most amounts of sex with the least amount of work.)

Before I approach a girl, I ask myself who has to move or turn away if the approach doesn’t go well. If the answer is me then most of the time I don’t do the approach. I wait until positions change and she is the one who has to walk away if the conversation doesn’t catch. If the girl knows she is the one who can stay put, like in situations where she is leaning against a wall or sitting down on a stool while I’m standing, she will be a bigger bitch than if it was her who had to do the walk. She, or more commonly her beastly friend, will abuse that positional power to make me feel weak. It’s human nature to take advantage of perceived strength, and female bar-goers are no exception.

What I do is stake out a spot and stick there. Like a commercial fisherman I wait for girls to come into my net. If a girl is sitting with her large group of ugly friends, I take note and wait until she has to go to the bar or use the bathroom, then pull her into my circle and spit game until things go well or she has to walk away. This is the same strategy I use in a coffee shop, where I wait for a girl at a faraway table to cross my path instead of awkwardly walking up to her. If it doesn’t go well I don’t have to do anything.

The way I see it is why should I have to do the walk of shame in the likely chance there is no connection? I’m already taking 100% of the risk by doing the approach, the least she can do is fuck off if she’s not feeling me.

Almost a month ago I started talking to a girl who stood a few feet away from me. I had to take only one-and-a-half steps to get within conversation range. I put the obligatory face time with the fat friend, who told me her mom was from Chile. Without thinking I said, “Yeah I’ve been to Chile. Man the people there are so fat.” I forgot that she was fat, but I was respectful and tried to recover by quickly changing the subject.

Surprisingly she gets upset anyway and says, “It was nice talking to you,” which is code for “Go away.”

I said, “I’m going to stand right here. What, I’m going to walk away because you told me too?” Sure, I was probably in the wrong due to my inconsiderate observation, but that doesn’t mean I have to obey her command. (Here’s a thought for your noodle: if a man takes orders from a woman, is he still a man?)

She looks at me, realizes I’m not moving, and then storms off. Her friend stays and apologizes for her fat friend’s behavior. Then I walked away, because I wasn’t really interested in her anyway.

You’re probably thinking if having to do the walk of shame really matters or not. Isn’t it just pride? No, because whoever has to do the walk of shame has less hand. That fat girl who I wasn’t even hitting on me tried to use her position to make me feel small, and in this case it backfired. If she was sitting down far from the crowd then I would definitely have to do the walk, and she would have gotten satisfaction from that and repeated it on guys such as yourself.

With turf in mind, even if I fuck up an approach pretty bad there are no repercussions. She walks away and it’s over. I can have a laugh and continue as I was with my buddies. That’s how it should be: the man shouldn’t have to move his body because a girl didn’t like him. Now of course I have walked up to girls and gotten numbers and gotten bangs, and that can work very well, but I prefer to have an edge before I open my mouth.

My entire game is becoming increasingly structured around the fact that a girl almost never has the upper hand when she’s talking to me.

It took eleven days until I could put forth my contribution to ending cockblocking as we know it. In case you missed it, here are the words which I know will accomplish this goal:

“Did you really just do that? I’m being friendly and respectful to your friend and you rudely interrupt. Did your parents teach you to be anti-social like that?”

My friend was basically castrated. I was doing something when I look over and he has this shell-shocked look on his face. He said, “I don’t believe how badly I just got cockblocked. Jesus Christ.” It’s like he saw a ghost.

“WHO? WHO DID IT?!” I yelled.

He glanced at a short blonde nearby. Next to her were two girls, including a brunette that I know from experience is probably the one he was going for.

I tapped the blonde on the shoulder and said, “Excuse me, my friend was being respectful and you rudely interrupted him.” She looked away from me, but I wasn’t done. “Did your mom and dad teach you to be anti-social like that?”

I gave a disgusted look and walked back to my friend. I kept an eye on her and the best way I can describe her facial expression was someone who felt like they were unjustly accused. If I could read her brain I would say she thought this: “What the fuck I always do that, why are you picking on me. I don’t understand.”

That’s what I expect. Girls are so used to cockblocking and never getting challenged on it that it doesn’t feel right when they are called out for being the psychopathic cunts that they really are.

A minute later and the cockblocker still looked extremely upset. I don’t think she cried but if I kept pushing that’s what would have happened. Making her cry though is not my goal, and notice how I didn’t use foul language or make fun of her appearance. She couldn’t write me off as a drunk asshole. I was 100% reasonable with my comments, which is why it bothered her.

I put my hand on my friend’s shoulder and said, “Bro, I ruined her night.” He thanked me and we laughed.

I wonder if any other guy out there has defended their honor against a cockblocker yet, but I don’t mind changing the world on my own if I have to. This coming weekend there is going to be one guy out there who doesn’t get cockblocked because of what I did. And I sincerely believe that.

I have taught three day game workshops, including a dry run with Roissy. Let’s start with his thoughts:

Recently, I participated in a “dry run” day game workshop with Roosh to help him streamline operations. Since my day game is underdeveloped, I happily volunteered to be a guinea pig.

We covered the major types of daytime approaches, including coffeeshop (my favorite), retail, book store, metro, grocery store, and the toughest, street game. Roosh was methodical and detail oriented in explaining how the approaches should go, so there was very little guesswork I had to do. I was pleased that his openers and followups were short, sweet and easy to deliver. A big problem with some pickup material is how cumbersome it sounds when you use it in real life. You want openers and comversational gambits that sound as cool and natural as possible, and only take a second or two to deliver.

Roosh timed the interactions with a stopwatch, which had a surprisingly positive effect. As guys, we relish a challenge, and beating the clock (or, in this case, talking with the girl as long as possible) is a great motivator. Roosh broke a land speed record with a 1.47 second pickup attempt. As for the rest, I won’t give away too much here, except to mention a couple things.

Roosh emphasizes a “bait” concept which helps extend a conversation with a girl through the use of open-ended questions and hooks. I asked a girl for directions like a regular guy would do, and she answered, and then… the conversation died. When you bait a girl, you might ask where the metro goes, instead of directions to a specific location. Then you might drop a leading followup like “It’s a shame. Public transportation isn’t as convenient in this country.”

The other major concept discussed was day versus night game. If you think you can seamlessly bring your night game into the daytime, forget it. The two are separate animals. I ran my cocky night game on a girl walking down the sidewalk, making fun of her oversized “homemade” ring, and it bombed. I was reprimanded for deviating from the day game script.

On a final note, approaching a group of girls on the sidewalk is less likely to succeed than approaching one or two girls. It’s counterintuitive, because you’d think that a lone girl would be more suspicious of strange men coming up to her in a non-bar environment where approaches are expected, but in fact the opposite is true. The lone girls walking slowly were the most open to the pickup, while the big groups of girls quickly closed ranks and followed the alpha female’s lead like sheep.

Day game is the new night game.

Roissy’s game was at an advanced level so we were able to breeze through the instructional portion of the workshop and dive straight into approaching with the openers and followups. Even though he was spitting completely fresh lines, his delivery was smooth and natural. His only problem, if you want to call it that, is being picky and not getting numbers when he could’ve. He still did very well and I’ll leave it up to him to share specific results.

After working out some logistical issues, I was ready for my four students, two on Saturday and two on Sunday. They came with very different abilities, and the challenge was teaching the basics to those who needed it while allowing the most experienced student to practice closing.

My advanced student had experience hitting on girls in bars. He was also very talkative, the hallmark trait of a successful pick up artist. I pushed him to approach a girl in coffee shop with an opener and follow-up related to what she was doing (typing on a laptop). Fourteen minutes later he got her number.

Two other students were in the beginner to intermediate range. For them I worked on their tonality, body language, and what I call “ramble,” the ability to keep talking while tossing out pieces of bait that allow the conversation to continue.

The last student was a young guy, only 22-years-old, with just about no pick up experience. It was like working with a clean canvas. I’ll never forget the look on his face after his first approach attempt on a very pretty girl in a coffee shop (2 minutes, 15 seconds), which for day game feels like quite a while. Afterwards he remarked how friendly she was. “Welcome to day game,” I said. I don’t think this young man will be spending a lot of time in bars anytime soon.

We didn’t talk to any ugly girls (range was 6-8, since 9’s don’t exist in DC), though I did make one student deliver the subway opener to an old man because we couldn’t find any girls around. I told them never to “practice” on ugly girls. From day one they will only go after girls they want to have sex with.

One flaw of the workshop is that it was hard to focus on what will be their day game bread and butter: coffee shops. Each student could only do one or two approaches there, even though it will be where they get most of their numbers. For example they did just as many approaches in the retail store as in the coffee shop even though they barely go shopping. I still think that that retail practice was useful because daygame approaches have the same framework and experience in one will no doubt help with other venues.

Here’s a quick view of the workshop from a student…

I thought the Daygame workshop was great. I don’t think me or the other guy would have gotten nearly the kind of individual attention or the quality instruction from any other PUA company costing a ton more money.

And another…

I’ve never done a workshop before, but I’ve read a couple books and websites. This was appealing because it wasn’t going to break the bank, and neither will day game, really. Only two students was nice as well. I appreciate getting the day game packet, something to refer to and study. I don’t have much else to say, because results will take more time afterwards. Personally it was helpful for me to declare to someone besides myself that this is something I need to work on. It got me in an approaching mood, and I hope I can build upon it. I think the workshop was planned well because it was during Christmas shopping season, but by chance there weren’t as many people shopping/walking around as anticipated. What are you going to do… Roosh made the best of it.

And from the advanced student who got the number…

I thought the day game workshop was a great workshop. I would divide the workshop into four sections: (1) A discussion of the philosophy of day game. (2) A walk-through of specific day game strategies and lines. (3) Day game practice. (4) Review of your performance.

Here are my thoughts on the sections: #1 is a sound philosophy, and was explained well. #2 has clearly been honed over the years by Roosh. #3 was obviously the critical portion, and was great because Roosh provided on-the-fly guidance and motivation. #4 was helpful, especially because feedback was provided throughout. All in all, Roosh is a great teacher, and it’s clear that his motivation with this workshop (just like with Bang) is to help others. There’s no doubt that this workshop will help my (previously non-existent) day game to become a useful tool in my pick-up arsenal… and I already got a date out of it

I must say I don’t think getting a date from the day of the workshop will be common since you’ll be testing out all-new material, but it’s nice he’s already seeing results.

While I can’t completely change a man’s game in a few hours, I’m confident that if one of my students sees a girl they like in the coffee shop, street, grocery store, etc., they know what to say and how to say it, and how to get her number if the conversation goes well. They did enough approaches (average of 8 per guy) that they know it’s not a big deal to talk to girls during the day.

My first four students got a good deal because the workshop is actually at least six hours, not four. (One went eight hours.) But keeping in mind the economy is in the shitter and I want guys walking away from this feeling like they got a great deal, I would like to do some more workshops in January for $165. The per hour cost of the workshop remains the same. For a run down of what the workshop is about, check here.

If you are interested then email roosh@rooshv.com with workshop in the subject and I’ll put you on the waiting list, which I will start going through today. Also if you live in New York City and would consider taking the workshop then email me as well because I might come up in February for a short while.

I want to give a huge thanks for the four guys who trusted me and took a chance without knowing exactly what they were getting into. And also my guinea pig.

The way to end cockblocking in the United States came to me in a dream. I woke up and immediately grabbed a pen so I wouldn’t forget something that could change the lives of millions of men.

If you get cockblocked by a girl, you need to respond by shaking her core so hard that she hesitates doing it ever again, like a mouse who hits the wrong lever and gets the shit zapped out of him. No jokes and no wit—you gotta get dirty.

This is what you must say to the cockblocker. Say it with a stern tone, like a parent scolding a child.

“Did you really just do that? I’m being friendly and respectful to your friend and you rudely interrupt. Did your parents teach you to be anti-social like that?”

Then shake your head and turn your back on her. Don’t engage her in a conversation or even act like you hear her response. She no longer exists.

This ruins her night, completely. Girls are emotional creatures and it takes them a very long time to get over getting called out like that. To top it off, girls absolutely hate it when you don’t allow them to respond. They are so used to getting in the last word in their arguments with men (they are addicted to closure, remember), that she will be thinking of what happened for a long time to come.

I was talking to a girl and mid-sentence out of nowhere this bitch rolls up between us and starts yapping her mouth. I tap her on the shoulder and she turns around. With a straight face I said, “You see we’re talking here, right?” She gave me a stunned look and immediately stormed off. Her friend gave chase to console her.

Do you think she interrupted another conversation that night? I don’t think so. She probably went home to call her beta hanger-on for support.

If every guy calls out a cockblocker just once a month, I’m confident it will cease to exist in a year or two. I’m dead serious. Girls will continue to cockblock as long as there is no punishment for doing so, and since it’s against the law to slap her upside the face, you have to use words. But it’s important you don’t use profanity or call her names because then she won’t take you seriously. Be mostly respectful so she can’t immediately write you off as an asshole. You’re a good guy who is shocked and appalled by the rudeness you were just victim to. You don’t believe what the world is coming to.

It’s our fault that girls cockblock. We’ve been letting them get away with it for so long that girls know there is absolutely no cost for them to block. We stand there with dumbfounded looks on our face while she gets satisfaction that her friend is going home alone just like her. It’s time to let them earn that cockblock.

Here are the keywords to remember: respectful, rude, interrupt, anti-social. I don’t care if I get kicked out of bars but I’m going to ruin her night, and she’s going to think twice about doing it again. Worthless bitch.

This story happened a couple months ago but I just remembered it the other night while thinking about my life.

I was at a small lounge with a couple friends when I made small chat with this alright looking girl. It went nowhere but later I got much farther with her cuter friend. The deeper the conversation got the more the original girl interrupted, until she finally squeezed me out of the conversation by making her friend dance.

One hour later I’m leaning against the bar and who is dancing in front of me but an Americanized Brazilian girl (good enough). I hit her with my gringo Portuguese and she’s curious, wondering why this gringo spent a month in her country. I mentioned a couple popular Brazilian foods for good measure, but I didn’t overdo it or else it would come across as me trying to impress her. She asked me to dance.

Apparently half the girls at the bar knew each other, including all three girls I’ve mentioned so far. While I’m getting somewhere with the Brazilian, the original cockblocker comes up to her.

“Oh, you’re talking to him. He hit on everyone tonight.”

I was doing a dry run of the day game workshop with a friend. I told him in day game girls are polite and go out of their way to be helpful even if they think the approach is a pick-up attempt. But in bars if you get a couple girls together the behavior they exhibit is anti-social and downright psychotic. Show me a man who has tons of experience meeting girls in clubs and I’ll show you a man who has generally negative views on women. Stupid. Sluts. Idiots. Worthless. Attention whores. Bitches. Mindless. Boring. Etc.

After the girl told the Brazilian that I hit on “everyone,” I knew I was done. The Brazilian’s face turned upside down and she backed away. Two people who were getting along had it cut short because of a girl who morphs into this beast whenever she walks into a bar. How unnatural.

It’s time I share with you my plan to end the cockblocking phenomenon once and for all…

Continued… How To End Cockblocking As We Know It