Pop Quiz

You’ve flown to Jakarta for a four day break. You have three evenings: Thursday, Friday and Saturday. You’re tired on your first night but force yourself to go out anyway. The first bar you’re in you get chatting to a girl who seems to not be a whore. A low 7. She’s 29 but looks a little older. One kid, pumped out when she was twenty and up in her hometown with her parents. Average body, slim. Seems very friendly with a GSOH. You look round the club and it’s half empty, just a few men on their own with haunted, unhappy expressions and a few tables of super-cliquey asians squealing round a bottle of whiskey.

You bounce to another club and get her to show you where it is. It’s bigger and a little bit busier. It’s midnight. You take stock of the situation:

The girl you’re with is a low 7. However you realize now she really fancies you. You kiss her anyway just for escalation practice and she’s mega into it. You’re sure now she’s not a whore and you’re sure she’s DTF. She suggests leaving “to go back to her place to eat” and starts getting a sex-look in her eyes.

You excuse yourself for five minutes “to look at the club”. You walk around. It’s midnight and it’s half empty but clubs here get busy by 3am. The club is around 70% men 30% women. There are lots of CRAZY HOT, 20-year old 8s. I’m talking super hot… Drop-dead gorgeous. Stunning bodies and tiny, belt-wide skirts. They’d stop traffic in London. Part of you feels very let down, as this is what you really want and your stuck with average. However they are nearly all in large, cliquey sets with asian guys in them, generally on sofas clustered around bottles of whiskey. You scan the total available sets in the club:

1. 2-set. High 8 and old low 5. Chinese. Probably rude mainlanders or whores.
2. 2-set. Young high 8’s.
3. 6-set of crazy-hot 20-year old Indonesian girls, high 8’s/9’s. Super hot. Possibly not whores, just normal rich girls.

Those are the cards. What do you do….

A) Take the low hanging fruit?

B) Reject the low hanging fruit and open the available sets, hoping more available sets turn up later as well?

nb: you can’t open the other sets without the fruit noticing and leaving.

 

“Man 2.0” review

This is an important book but a weird book. There’s a lot of hype around it… is it just another fitness book? Is it just another paleo book? Is it a manosphere book? Certainly on the latter I was skeptical given it’s on the New York Times bestseller and can be found in any bookshop.

If you read it you’ll think ‘what is this?’. It’s obviously about diet and physique but the authors start talking about mythology and weaving in Joseph Cambell’s “monomyth” theory, then there are even chapters talking about ‘alpha’ and trying to define what ‘alpha’ is. Then they try and blend it all together in an exercise and diet program and talk about how following this program can change men’s lives. Weird. And the authors have obviously been deeply into Game at some point as there are plenty of game references and Neil Strauss is even thanked in the acknowledgments list!

Man 2.0 is another exercise and physqiue book but a unique one. It’s the first book I’ve seen which cuts through all the fluff about nutrition and squats and talks about the dark heart of exercise, the thing which will dictate your success or failure more than anything else and which most books never even mention….

Your hormones.

Man 2.0 is to the large part concerned with hormonal balance and how hormones affect men. They do something very bold in this anti-male day and age: they make the very real case that correct testosterone and oestrogen levels are incredibly important for men and affect more than their physiques: they affect their whole lives.

And this is where it becomes more than just an exercise book. The authors feel very deeply that men are suffering from low tesosterone and the terrible effects that that brings: reduced libido, poor sexual performance, low motivation, low energy levels. They set out a passionate case for increasing your tesosterone and HgH levels and reaping the rewards in your life.

And this is where it gets interesting. The authors believe that correcting hormone levels can make such a difference to a man’s life that they believe achieving this is an epic and life-changing journey for a man. They have chosen to try and embed this belief in their readers by weaving this journey into a Campbell-like monomyth story. Joseph Cambell wrote a book called “The Hero with a Thousand Faces” and he argued that across literature, drama and mythologies there really was one generic hero’s journey story with very similar phases. In other words Luke Skywalker and Star Wars bears resemblances to Homer and the Odyssey. The authors have tried to use this monomyth to engage their readers in this transformation and get them to view themselves as the hero of their own life story. They describe how the average joe, plodding away in the gym in confusion is living in “The Ordinary World”. Then this guy meets a mentor (the authors of the Man 2.0 book) and goes on a challenging journey (the program) and eventually reaps his reward.

It’s a very unsual approach and I couldn’t help but thinking it bears a resemblance to most guys’ journeys through game. I wondered if the authors had gone on game journeys, found some success and were then basing their structure around those game journeys. Does it work? If you’re into game it’s redundant. It’s just hundreds of pages, some of it admittedly quite interesting, talking about the monomyth and various evangelical stories of personal change. It’s just not neccessary. If you’re not into game: it could work. You’ve probably never been on an ego-shattering journey of personal development where you’ve had to abandon all your cherished beliefs and try a new path. Viewing yourself as the hero in the monomyth is a nifty trick that just might work.

And ego-shattering it could be. Because what the authors say is what I witness with my own eyes: people cling to their own little exercise beliefs and routines just like blue-pill guys cling to their own little anti-game systems which don’t get them laid. Guys will do the same thing in the gym for years and never make real progress and they won’t change because they’ve convinced themselves that it works, just like the fawning hipster chode that crawls round women agreeing with them and finally gets laid after four years and thinks…. “it worked!”.

Man 2.0 talks a lot about Alpha males. And it gets quite weird. The authors state that a man’s goal should be to become alpha, but then spend a long time defining, or ‘redefining’ as they put it, what Alpha means. And it’s sugar-coated. Their definition pretty much boils down to “being confident but not being a dick”. It read to me like the mid-phase in someone’s game journey where they start realising that all this trying to be alpha stuff wasn’t for them, then sit and decide who they want to be. I ultimately found it all unneccessary for the book. I mean.. why bother? It’s just redundant. It made me wonder if this part of the book was in fact a massive sugar-coating for daring to suggest that men need to increase their testosteron levels to become more manly. Is this the anti-backlash protection that they inserted?

And I can’t deny that they need it because they do something very bold for the fem-centric mainstream these days. The authors outright say that sex is important for men, they define themselves by their sexual potency and they are unhappy when they feel less virile. More testosterone = better sex and they say for men that is a good thing. Pretty obvious to all the Manosphere but let’s not forget this is sitting on the shelf in high-street bookshops and in this anti-male, anti-testosterone world that is a pretty bold thing to say, sadly. I have massive respect for the authors in being straightforward in making this case.

Now let’s move onto the meat of the book. First, as I said, the whole program is about controlling your hormone levels. What you will get from this book is a basic understanding of what the following hormones do and how they are affected by your actions:

1. Testosterone
2. Oestrogen
3. Insulin
4. Cortisol
5. Hgh
6. Ghrelin
7. Leptin

This information alone makes the book worth ten times its cover price. If you ignore all of the book bar this it’s worth buying as this information is absolutely priceless.

Next, the authors will brutally chop down some of the tropes that the exercise industry spews. First, they go at great length to explain how if you’re not conscious of your hormones you’re probably never going to achieve your goals. This alone is a sacred cow. Go look at all the men’s fitness magazines out there. How many of them have “Five moves for big biceps” compared to “five things you can do to regulate your insulin sensitivity”? Probably none. And that’s because hormones are difficult and complex and these magazines just spew the same thing they’ve always done.

Hormones are where it’s at. Have you never had the friend who goes to the gym with you, does half what you do, eats half as well, yet has half the body fat and is jacked to fuck? I have. Read some of the stuff written by Charles Poliquin, one of the world’s foremost trainers. His entire “Biosignature Modulation” program concerns reading and adjusting the trainee’s hormonal profile.

Beyond this the authors get busy slaughtering some sacred cows of the exercise industry. This chapter again made the book worth its weight in gold for me as it was a wake up call to accept what I’d had the niggling doubts about anyway for years. Here are some of the cows that get killed:

1. Breakfast is the most important meal of the day
2. You need to eat more small meals than less bigger meals
3. Eating late at night makes you fat.
4. You can only absorb a small amount of protein at once.
5. You need to eat before working out.
6. Fasting hurts you.
7. You need to eat three times a day.

This is the stuff people’d been ramming down my throat for years and I assumed had to be true. Yet finally someone comes along and says “that’s horseshit” and it just clicks with me that, yes, it is. Take the first one. That single trick alone has suddenly made me DRASTICALLY more able to tolerate calorific reduction that ever before.

Whenever I was operating at a calorific defecit I’d try and have a good, big breakfast, a smaller lunch and a smaller dinner. The result: I starved all day and was dying by night. After reading Man 2.0 I did the very simple trick they suggested: skip breakfast. And they were dead right. It’s easy to prolong your night fast until at least twelve noon. Easy. But once you start eating it is so much harder to stop. In the last six weeks I’ve lost eight pounds through a few simple steps and the one that has been the single greatest help to me is this one. Now I get up and just fast till noon. I eat a 600 calorie breakfast then don’t eat again till after training. And by the time I finish training, which is early evening and then joy, oh joy! I still have well over a thousand calories left to eat! It’s EASY. It’s SO EASY to live with calorific defecit if you do it this way.

I spoke to my step-mother on the phone and was mentioning my new program. She said to me “you know… when I worked I used to be slim because I’d jus get up and rush to work and have a coffee and not even bother eating till twelve or one and just eat something small..then go through till evening and have a good dinner. Then I retired and joined Weight Watchers and they said ‘you have to eat good breakfast’ and I did and now I’m bastard-well starving all day”. She’s now instantly dropped breakfast and is going back to eating twice a day.

The authors talk about fasting a lot as well and its effects on HgH production. Did you know that by fasting you can naturally increase your HgH levels by 2,000% percent? I didn’t. Fasting is working for me as well and I’m following the simplest procedure they describe: the 8/16 split. I try and eat all my food each day in an eight hour window so I get sixteen hours of fasting per day.

Paleo

Ultimately the book does prescribe a low-carb approach and it’s fair to say that it falls into the ‘paleo-ish’ camp. In the program they outline the first phase, which is four weeks is designed to ‘hard reset’ your insulin levels and the first two weeks of this are zero carb, with carbs then being slowly reintroduced as required by exercise. I’m still not convinced on the low carb stuff, especially after listening to Danger And Play’s podcast. For me I always just feel shit when not eating enough carbs and I get really hungry. I also don’t buy the whole paleo argument anyway. Cavemen didn’t live off tons of meat: that’s just pure bullshit and another form of faddery.

Conclusion

So what you’ll get if you buy Man 2.0 is the following:

1. A refreshingly man-centric pro-testosterone argument
2. A primer on hormones
3. Lots of weird mythology and game stuff
4. A section slaughtering all the sacred cows of the exercise mainstream
5. A fully planned three-part sixteen week program with diets and workout charts

This book isn’t perfect, but it’s a start and it’s worth its weight in gold. It’s fostered an interest in hormones to me and to be perfectly honest I’m now very curious about researching TrT and going down that route… but that’s a whole different journey.

If you liked this review, click here to buy on Amazon:

Solo club game!

Singapore has been fairly low key. I’ve banged four birds but not done a huge amount of work or been out a lot. I should say ‘lot’ because I guess I’ve had ten or so dates so far but in terms of gamey trips abroad this is nothing. Singapore just isn’t that good for game; not that I’m whining, I’m just stating it. I actually didn’t come here to do game: I came here to have a break somewhere hot and civilized, train some Muay Thai and visit my friends who live here. Game was a side-concern.

So I’m talking to my mate and he mentions that he has friends “who pull in bars and clubs”. I’m curious and skeptical. Nearly every time I’ve heard stories about mythical ladies-men “getting laid a lot” it’s turned out to be a youngish, smart guy with natural game who’s banging maybe a 7 his own age once or twice a month, tops. It’s never average guys fucking a couple dozen or so girls more than ten years their junior every year.

Still I have the niggling worry that perhaps I’m missing a trick here. Perhaps the clubs are where it’s all at. Perhaps I’m missing Pussy Paradise? I use the anti-laziness trick of imagining what guys with greater success than me would do: they’d go out. That’s half the secret of those more successful than yourself: greater work ethic.

It’s Friday evening, I have no wing, I’m dog-tired from Muay Thai but I decide to give it a bash anyway. My friend tells me to try Attika as it’s central and well known and it’s nickname is “sluttika”. I get changed and head to the subway. En route I buy a can of cold Nescafe coffee from the 7-11 and drink it. I don’t know what they put in this stuff but it should be made illegal. My hands start shaking with the caffeine and I feel like I’m going to throw up. The high lasts fifteen hours and I can barely sleep that night. The next morning I wake up feeling just as wired as the night before. Finally it wears off the next afternoon and it feels like a tidal wave of fatigue hitting me. I’m out hiking and just collapse on the ground and fall asleep. Never again.

Anyhow we’re still on the evening before and I’m on the way into town. I use the time to list my expectations, making my bets about what I’ll find:

• It will not be pussy paradise
• It will be a sausage-fest of asian chodes buying bottles of whiskey
• There will be lots of hot asian girls jealously guarded by chodes
• There will be other expats, thus ruining the novelty factor

A short primer on Asian clubs

It has been brought to my attention that a lot of people are not familiar with the set up in the average asian club. It’s important to note the omnipresecence of The Bottle Of Whiskey. Asians in asian clubs in asia seem to believe that the be all and end all of having ‘made it’ is to buy a bottle of whiskey, usually a ridiculously overpriced bottle of fake Chivas Regal. There’s a blatant snobbery involved as well: if you buy a bottle of whiskey you get whisked straight past the plebs and given your own table. Only those who buy bottles or are friends are allowed to sit down in the club, anywhere. Chodes usually save up and buy a bottle of Chivas for a few hundred quid and delight in getting their own table, and usually they get allocated their own female attendant to pour the drinks for them, not realizing the attendants job is to empty the bottle of liquor as fast as humanely possible. Now what chodes can do is try and throw needy IOIs out to skirting, liquor-hungry girls and invite them onto their table. Suddenly they’re surrounded by girls! They revel in this until the liquor runs out, at which point the girls promptly bugger off. Then the chodes are kicked off their table.

I’m nervous heading in. I never do bar or club game. I’m not inured to it. I don’t really know how it goes down.

I make conversation in the queue for the club. I’ve read Roosh’s article and have a rough idea of what to do. I’ve also decided that my entire goal for the night is:

Wander round, scan for IOIs from yes-girls, do ten approaches to check for yes-girls. Go home.

I chat to a couple in the queue ahead of me. They’re both Singaporean and are good fun. They are CONVINCED that all clubs are literally rammed with asian girls desperate to find white boyfriends. The guy tells me I have it made, I’ll be fighting them off with a stick. I’m skeptical. I’ve seen this before.

I chat to the girls behind me. They’re white, students and quite drunk. One is a pretty but chubby girl from Amsterdam. She looks at me and I know it’s on. Like that. A yes-girl. She’s well on the porky side but I think ‘fuck it’ that’s an easy lay and decide to just take what’s in front of me, bird in the hand and all that. I squeeze her neck a bit, tease her then fondle her tits a bit. Job done. I can find her later inside.

I go inside and wander about. I experiment with standing at the bar, locking in and looking cool. I start opening sets and chatting. I wander about to different parts of the club. I’m people-watching: I’m curious. I want to decipher the matrix of the club, to see what’s really happening there.

I talk to some different girls: Korean, Chinese, Singaporean, Thai. I talk to some mixed sets. I’m not picking up any IOIs. There are plenty of Westerners here and plenty of them are better looking than I am. Unfortunately a good 70% of the guys in the club seem to be absolutely thirsty for women and showing it. Women are sitting and standing like royalty while a constant stream of chodes buzzes around like flies in front of them.

I do some proper night-game opens. I open multiple two sets and hook and talk to them for… oh ten minutes each. Each set goes the same. I open. I hook. They indicate they want to talk to me. We talk: I lead, I joke, I tease, I play them off against each other. They laugh. They like it. Neither of them fancies me. They girl code then ever so politely find a reason to leave.  I’m struggling to create attraction. In daygame I can do it. I know how to. I know as clear as A,B, C what I have to do to literally make a girl fancy me. However in night-game it’s a mystery to me. The dynamic is different. I wonder how much of it can be influenced and how much is just pure physicality. Dunno.

I run into the Dutch girl. I push her on the dancefloor and start grinding her. She loves it. I pull her hair, bite her neck and start chewing her ear lobe. She’s moaning and clawing at me. I push her round then we grossly make out. She’s a great kisser and very passionate. I don’t mind it at all. It’s too early to extract and we both know it. There’s that ‘lull’. We mutually agree to ‘meet up later’ and split up. Fine by me: try and get something better.

I chat to some more people. I observe. I’m not drinking too much. Around 1am I run into the Dutch girl again but her and her friend are now paralytic and can barely speak. They drool and moan they are too drunk and stumble out the club to go home. Heh.

I run into the couple from the queue. We start talking and joking. They’re adamant that the place is full of western-loving sluts. I enlighten them about relative value. The guy looks crestfallen. The girl starts secretly kino’ing me where her boyfriend can’t see, then brushing her tits against me. I can see she’s into me. It’s too weird and I’m shocked she’s doing this beside her boyfriend so I leave.

It’s just after 1am and my research is ending. I’ve reached my conclusions about the club. I run the final ‘Bodi Club Test’ to make sure. This is simple. You walk round a club at 1am and you count how many people are actually making out. Lots? Or one or two. In this club, packed with maybe a thousand people, I counted two couples making out. Two. In the whole club.

Yup. It’s a dead club.

The problem was that criticial sausage-level had been surpassed. The volume of men had just passed that point when suddenly the whole place became nothing but a validation machine for women and NOBODY was pulling. This excludes couples that are already dating, or where it’s been on the cards for ages that they fancy each other and this is the night that their friends arrange for them to hit it off. Or perhaps number closes. But if in a club of a thousand only one or two couples are copping off after a few hours of drink and booze… forget it.

The best club I ever went to was, suprisingly, one of the poshest. It was called Mahiki and is in Mayfair in London and charged £20 or something to get into. Drinks were very expensive. The critical thing I noticed there was that the ratio of women to men was far, far higher than in the average chavvy club like Tiger Tiger. It was around 50%, which is extraordinarly for a club. Also, there were large numbers of extremely hot girls there, which lowered their overall value. By 1am the place was like a university disco. There were couples copping off everywhere. Every sofa and dark corner had a writhing couple in it making out… and more. It was unreal. I saw high 8s, stunning girls, immaculately dressed, writhing round in booths with guys fingering them. I’ve never seen anything like it. And it’s all because of ratios and quality

So.. in conclusion… my findings after a night in a club:

• I’d have more success in bar rather than club game, where I can use my conversational game to get number closes which I then follow up.
• I wasn’t shiny enough to get any easy IOIs due to the numbers of other caucasians there, plenty of whom were better looking than me. And younger than me!
• Once the club reaches that tipping point of the male to female ratio it turns into a sausage-fest and very few people hook up. The number of women and their quality in the club is the single biggest factor affecting your likelihood of hooking up. It’s not about the men and how hot they are, it’s about the women and how many of them there are compared to the men
• Club game is draining and tiring and certainly in europe daygame produces far better long term results for me
• I have good state control, managing to do club game alone and sober and with virtually no experience and not wig out
• I don’t really understand the mechanics of club game and how to create attraction in that setting. I suspect club game is very ‘compressed’ and if I played back my conversations I’d find evidence of trying too hard, or not being smooth enough, or not teasing enough, all due to my newness to club game.
• If you dont take club game too seriously you can still have fun on your own and meet new people
• The clubs people list as “full of sluts” are often the worst places to try and pull in. As I said, in my opinion you’d be three times more likely to pull in a posh, expensive Mayfair club than say Tiger Tiger at Piccaddilly.

Step by Step: The American Tourist (part Two)

Continuing from Part One…

We leave and walk up the road. I again force her to walk behind me but of course with a smirk and a half-jokey manner. Then I then offer her my arm. She links it. Compliance test passed. I now know exactly where I am in the Pick Up. I have a girl who is available, probably wants a sport-fuck and likes me. It’s mine to take and to take it I have to escalate. I am minutes away from Venue Two and as soon as we’re in there and sat down I will begin the escalation process with The Questions Game.

Venue Two

Venue Two is a pub five minutes walk up the road. I sit us at *adjacent* high stools at a small table and get in a couple of alcoholic drinks. She’s drinking freely, so this is great. I happily get in a couple of drinks. She asks for rum and cock  coke  so of course when I’m out of sight at the bar I order her a double. In hindsight I’d now say this:

When you have a girl on a date that wants to drink then indulge her. Do a few shooters. It’s all about her self-corroding her own LMR with alcohol and simultaneously giving herself plausible deniability.

I start with simple stuff, asking her about her childhood: her most embarrassing moments. Asking her if she was close to her father.  Her eyes sparkle. She loves rapport questions. She likes the game and asks me things I’d hoped for. I tell a side-splitting true story about accidentally shitting myself in a swimming pool age 9. Truly. I love telling this story and even though it’s extremely disgusting girls never fail to laugh at it and I… er.. suppose it shows honesty. I also think at some deeper level it shows them you know they are normal squalid humans who eat, shit and piss and like to fuck just like everyone else. I’ve actually told hot girls on dates before “don’t worry, even though losers put you on a pedestal I know you shit and piss and fart just like everyone else”. I ask her about her past boyfriend. We banter a bit. The questions become more overtly about attraction and sex. I ask her when she last kissed someone. I ask when her last boyfriend was. I ask when she last had sex. She’s got very sparkly eyes now and despite sitting down is kind of lolling round on her stool. Good sign. She wants to be escalated.

Around this time I go for a piss and when I come back the three faux east-end wideboys (hipsters in disguise) who were playing darts are clustering near her trying to run their patter. I size them up and immediately make the decision I’ll use extreme violence on them if they try fuck with me. They’re small and look like fronters and I’m starting to feel like this girl is maybe just waiting for me to fuck her. I walk up and look at them without saying a word. They turn around and leave immediately. I guess I subcommunicated notch-protection violence.

I decide to Make My Move. I like to make it official. I like to crystallize the move-making into a single point in time. It helps stop you weaseling and coming up with bullshit like “the right moment never happened”. You have to make the moment. I have a little system for doing this. It’s simply a set of three questions in succession with greater and greater overt intent shown. Plus I run through a set of physical compliance tests. If the physical compliance goes ok and the questions go ok then I simply say some cheesy shit like “I have a question… have you realised yet that we’re going to kiss?” then grab her and pull her in. It really doesn’t need anything super-suave. It can be clumsy and cheesy. The important things are:

• you do it
• you are unreactive if she rebuffs it
• you try again, up to five more times at least

I’m serious. A good frame to go on a date with is to know that you will try to snog the girl at least six times. This may seem quite shocking to some but if you want to be *that guy* then you need to cast away the chode comfort provider shit and start forcing yourself to move towards being more of a tough, cool guy player. Players kiss and fuck girls on first dates.

I say the cheesy crap and pull her in for a kiss. She’s standing up at this point and I’m sitting on a stool and she just literally flops completely against me, her entire body pressing into me and we kiss. This is good. This is Tom Torero’s “Floppy Test” passed with flying colours. She’s a good kisser and it’s quite sexual. I pull her hair a bit. I remember to break away first then she turns round on the spot and wiggles inbetween my legs (I’m sitting on a stool remember) and lies her back against me and gathers my arms and puts them round her. This is super-good. This is a really sexual, submissive position that she’s just put herself into. She absolutely wants to fuck.

I decide this girl is ripe for fucking and I need to extract. Again, nowadays I’d just seed some movie bullshit and go straight to a taxi but at this point I decided I still needed a Venue Three. I’m suggesting we go to the Hawley Arms, Amy Winehouse’s old local, and her phone beeps. It’s the myserious friend, and guess where she is… The Hawley Arms. FUCK! I’m horrified but hide it. We leave and walk up the road.

As we reach the pub I’ve decided that I must acknowledge the flighty nature of my target and the ability of girls to cockblock each other. My deepest fear is not losing the notch but getting tooled for an evening then losing the notch. I draw my internal boundary in the sand then outside the pub I stop her, look at her, smile and say: “Look. I’m enjoying spending time with you and it would be cool to meet your friend, maybe have one drink so you guys can catch up, but I’m talking like twenty minutes. I have to let you know: I have no intent sitting watching you and your friend talk all evening. This is about you and me now, not you and her. Got it?”. It’s not done pompously, but with a smile and a look of authenticity. She listens, digests, nods then says “ok”.

We go in and sit on a bench. I get drinks. I have my arm round her and am telling silly stories. She’s playing with my fingers and I’m playing with her hair. Suddenly her friend appears from upstairs. She says ‘hi’, takes one look at us and excuses herself and disappears back upstairs, apparently to sit on her own. I’m amazed. The girl-coding must have said “I’m going to fuck this guy, do not cockblock”. Later on I have a piss and am amazed to see it’s true, the friend is sitting upstairs in the corner, alone, watching something on her ipad.

I’ve already seeded something about my house to my target so I pull the trigger and suggest we leave. She agrees. Then she says she needs the loo so off she goes. Five minutes pass. Then ten. Then fifteen. This is odd. To my horror I wonder if in fact for some weird reason she’s run off. The thought chills me.  My notch! But it wouldn’t suprise me. Really, after a few years in game nothing about the rudeness of women’s behaviour suprises me. I check the rest of the pub. I look outside. I go upstairs thinking maybe she’s sneakily joined her friend but the friend is still alone. I check with the friend: nope she hasn’t seen her. Then just for lulz I Facebook-close the friend as she’s quite hot with big tits and is new to London. I go downstairs. Twenty minutes have now passed. I try calling but no answer. I’m in two minds whether to just go home. Twenty five minutes. By this point I’m sure she’s run off. I’m shocked and enraged. I go downstairs and just push open the door to the ladies and look in. There she is, standing there in the middle of the ladies with a dappy, distracted look on her face and photographing the ceiling. She giggles. “I thought you’d fucking died or something” I say. “Oh yeah sorry… I got distracted. This toilet is awesome!”. Jesus. The toilet is awesome? I swallow my rage and we leave. This was Derailment. Classic Derailment: retarded shit girls do at the last minute to fuck it up and stop themselves getting fucked.

During the taxi ride I keep her talking about her plans for next week to keep her mind out of the present. We get to my house. It’s a big, weird place, so I give her the mini-tour and she thinks it’s cool. We head to my room.

At this point I haven’t got any concept of ‘Bedroom Escalation’ so it’s all very clumsy and with a girl less eager to fuck I could have still lost the lay. All I do is after taking our shoes off show her some of my pictures then try to grab her. She skips out of the way and stands, literally, stands on my bed looking at the pictures and burbling on about them. She’s staying out of my way but isn’t leaving. Of course now I’ve read Nick’s book and had him explain his part of the model so I’d do things differently now. All she wanted was for the final stages of the seduction to be done correctly and smoothly. Far better would have been to even do something cheesy and simple: shoes off then sit together on a beanbag and watch some silly cartoons for five minutes until she feels comfortable enough to nuzzle in. That’s it. However at this point I didn’t know so I bludgen it. I jump on the bed and grab her. We kiss. I push her down. We’re making out. I pull out her perfect tits and start sucking them. She’s moaning then asking me to turn out the lights. I comply. I stick it in. +1.

Afterwards there’s a palbable sense of relief. She got her rebound holiday-fuck and I got my lay. We lie there, sweaty and chatting. She’s got a fabulous body: petite, curvy, very firm and with a ripped stomach, bubble-butt and firm, perky tits. I tell her so and she’s ecstatic. She’s delighted to let me photograph her tits for posterity. Nice aren’t they?

Step by Step: The American Tourist

It was the height of summer. London was thronged with tourists and me and Nick had whiled away a few pleasant hours on a Sunday sauntering through the parks and tourists sights, chatting to a number of particularly attractive younger ladies.

The day was drawing to a close and we were in Trafalgar Square. I was sitting on one of the fountains, laughing at Korean tourists trying to take selfies. Hustle and bustle everywhere. Gaggles of giggling wop tourists, all with skinny legs and wearing Converse. Street performers. Throngs of people. Sunny. Wonderful for daygame. I spot a girl over to the side by the steps. This is what I immediately notice:

• She’s well under 30, hot and slim
• She’s dressed in a slightly unusal crochet-style sort of middle eastern skirt
• She has a wheelie suitcase with her
• She’s clumsily trying to take selfies with her ipad

Perfect. I wander over and she catches my eye.

“Please tell me you are not trying to take a selfie of yourself with a gigantic blue cock in the background are you?”

Note: for the sake of modern art there’s actually a statue of a gigantic blue cock on the empty plinth in Trafalgar Square. Ellsworth Toohey would be proud.

She giggles and admits she is. I quickly follow up:

“Your skirt’s unusual, kind of Turkish style, makes me think of those Arabian nights stories”.

She looks quite flattered and jabbers something. I hear she’s American and I see she has

SLUT EYES

This is good. I start to make small talk and she immediately busts me as a PUA

Her: Haaaannng on… you’re like talkin to me just here? are you like one of those pickup guys ya know?

Me: God no. But I know some guys that do that. I’ve read The Game though. I think everyone has

Her: Yeah I have. My ex boyfriend was a PUA

[I rejoice at her mentioning an ‘ex’]

Her: yeah he did all that stuff. That’s how he got me. Well we kind of split up.. that’s kind of why I’m here.. just to get some time

I try not to come in my pants with excitement. She may as well hold a sign saying “need a random fuck”. We chat a bit more and I notice Nick skulking nearby, ear-wigging it all. Something starts to go wrong. I feel it. The set just starts to feel ropey. I feel like the ground is shifting under my feet. In hindsight I realize two things happened. Firstly my entitlement took a flutter half way and I started to have feelings of self doubt about my entitlement to such a hot girl and what I was doing. Secondly I believe her spidey-sense picked up on this with my subcommunication and she started to flip the script on me. Before I knew it SHE was asking ME questions and I was answering them. It was a horrible feeling. It can happen as easy as pie, all it takes is a gobby Anglosphere girl:

Non-anglosphere version

Me: So.. you’re from X?

French girl: Yes.. it is very beautiful

[waits for man to take control]

Anglosphere version

Me: So.. you’re from X?

This set: Yeah! Well Jersey actually. Have you been?

Me: No, but I went to New York

Her: Oh, did you like it? Did you stay in Manhattan?

You see how easy you can lose the frame? Never lose the frame.

As I said, I felt something going wrong but I’d also done a lot right. I decided to cash in my chips, hope I’d done enough work already and then bail. I outright re-spike by telling her she’s cute and saying I want to take her for a drink during the week. She agrees but mentions she is ‘with a friend’… ugh… date-kryptonite. She then even starts thinking aloud whether I can come out with her and her friend that very night, if I can find a double-date for her friend. This sound juicy and I’m most pleased. It sounds like a classic holiday-slut double date fuck fest.

I number-close and thank god she has a UK sim. As she totters off Nick drifts over. ‘She flipped the script’ he says straight away. I tell him it’s a strong lead and we’re up for a double date but then with despair realize he already has a date booked in for that night and there’s nobody else I can get to wing me. I can’t go solo tonight: it would be pointless and I’d lose value. I’d rather just not go than be a dancing, drinks-buying monkey. Shudder…

From then on my objective is to simply get her on a date on her own and try and SNL her. I’d probed logistics during the set and it all looked good:

• She’s American and fancied me
• She’s on the rebound
• She’s here for one week
• She’s dappy (i.e. a moron)
• She has whore eyes

It’d have to be SNL as I simply didn’t have time for more dates. It had been a fairly early set so I send the feeler that same evening:

Sun

3:49 Me

Hey cool to meet you earlier… hope yr having a fun night. j

[short. non-needy]

5.40 Her

Having dinner now, then we’re hopgin to hit a pub or three ;p where are you, did your friend join you?

6.12 Me

Hey sorry change of plans, can’t make it… have a great night… don’ get too drunk!

[turn down the date. shows non-neediness]

6.20 Her

awww ok, enjoy your night… maybe we can meet up for drinks during the week 🙂

[and produces a swift reply and a counter-offer. good]

Mon

4.50 Me

I’m eating a massive steak drenched in gravy… how r u?

[Re-initiate the text game. The steak stuff sounds alpha]

6.15 Her

just left big ben &  westminster etc. I’m in trafalgar sq now:)

9.42 Me

Could do a beer tomorrow night if you know any Jersey girls that can hold their drink?

[no need to fuck about, straight to date invite]

23.57 Her

I think I may know just the right girl lol… I will hang out in camden soon

[agrees and covertly asks me to come to meet her in camden. she seems determined to get fucked on this holiday. i weigh the odds of her meeting a guy with enough game to do it versus me apocalypically losing value by taxiing out to camden past midnight and decide not to. thus i just snip and leave it.]

Tues

2.21

Camden eh! Anyone tried to sell you meth yet?

[humorous re-initiation. i do NOT try to set up the date immediately]

3.41

Haha one can only hope (not) I’m at the savoy right now actually, drinking the best absinthe of my life

[nice reply]

4.00

Hey trouble what did u do to the weather?!;-( Nevermind.. let’s get that drink tonight. Meet u at Camden tube at 7. j

[direct]

4.15

Trouble indeed, see ya later 😉

I’m at Camden tube station just before seven and she’s not there. I then get this text:

19.00

Do you have a friend for my French friend tonight? Oui? ;p

I’m incensed. I can’t see her, so she appears to be either late or still in her hotel and tooling me. I call Nick and rage for a minute. We come up with a plan:

• If the friend is there be nice, work them both, double-tease them and work the set. See how it goes
• Accept no tooling whatsoever
• At the right moment bounce to venue 2 and if neccessary just directly say the friend has to head home now. If they refuse turn and walk away.

I proceed:

19.01

Youre bringing a friend?

19.02

I’m outisde Cameden Town statio nnow, i can meet her later or she might meet me

So it’s ambiguous. I walk round the corner and she’s there. Alone.

She’s not done up, no obvious jewellery or slut clothes. Mmmm. We shall see. I greet her, don’t try and touch her and we start walking to the first bar. She immediately starts jabbering on trying to dominate the conversation. I simply say “Shush” and put my hand over her mouth. She looks shocked. The Frame Crush begins. She starts babbling again and I tell her to just be quiet, enjoy London. She looks amazed but turned on. Her eyes sparkle. I then force her to walk behind me. I tell her she can use the lines on the paving stones to help her gauge distance. I laugh at her expression.

Venue One

We’re in a blues bar. It’s spacious and open. We get drinks and I deliberately sit across from her at a table, but I turn myself away at an angle, to get that shitty dimissive body language she’ll need to feel attracted to me. We chat. It’s certainly easy to get this girl talking as she talks a lot. I find it easy. It’s just like guiding a frenetic toddler along a pavement. I ask her comfort questions and guide the conversation. I stop her and talk over her deliberately at certain points. Which happens a lot. This girl is American and despite being unable to form a logical conclusion from a given set of arguments believes she is smart. This girl, master-engineered by nature to coo to babies, grind corn and grub in the dirt for roots while the men did everything else actually believes she’s really smart. I swallow my outrage. I’m constantly amazed when I meet American women how incredibly ignorant and stupid they are yet what glowing educations and high-level jobs they manage to achieve. I can only surmise that the American education system is by and large utterly poisoned by feminism and mediocrity. In a free market this girl would be one of three things:

1. a housewife
2. a prostitute
3. working in a pie shop

Anyway.. back to trying to fuck her. So the key elements at play her are to nudge and direct the conversation. To get her talking about what I want in order to produce the required psychological effect, but then to snip and stop her blabbering on endlessly. I plant seeds and she takes them and asks me about myself and I answer honestly but it just makes me more mysterious and slightly aloof. I crack a few jokes. I use contrast game and move between polar opposites: one minute I’m obscenely arrogant, the next vulnerable. One minute I pretend I’m stupid, the next I show intellectual insight in a certain domain. Sometimes I’m silly, sometimes serious. Sometimes alpha, sometimes vulnerable. Towards the end I hold eye contact and give her some eye mesmer. It feels tingly. I run a compliance test and take her hand to look at her rings. There’s no resistance at all and her hand feels soft and floppy.

After about 45 minutes I decide to run The Toilet Check. I excuse myself and head downstairs, take a pee and splash some cold water on my face. I relax and empty my mind and ask myself.

Is it on?

And my intutition says:

Yes.

Ok. Time to change gear. Proceed to venue two. Bounce…..

Part Two….

Daygame Singapore

I did a little daygame in downtown Singapore last weekend. From what I could see I was the ONLY person doing so, although from a quick Gooling there do appear to be a couple of bootcamps running now and again.

Singapore is not easy for daygame and here’s why: targets. I spotted very few girls, VERY few that had an approachable vibe to them. Having put my time in in London I can now calibrate pretty well and my spidey-sense screams when I see a girl with a particular ambling walk, particular fashion, particular look and sometimes nothing in particular…. except my brain screaming “she want’s to be opened!”. I’m usually right, and this is a skill which has taken well over a thousand sets of daygame to acquire.

Drifting round the busy shopping streets and malls of Singapore I saw none of this. There were plenty of girls alone, and plenty of these girls were on paper hot. Pleasant faces, pleasant bodies but just no…. sex. It’s almost like these little asian girls are riding in stolen cars. Their genes make them small, keep the fat off and give them soft, buttery skin and glossy hair. Yet they have no real sexiness to them. They’re absolutely not feminine at all. Real femininity is like an aura; it’s wonderful to bask in its glow. There’s absolutely nothing like being in set with a truly feminine girl and being alpha as fuck: the electricity is crackling.

And Singaporeans are very insular. People all seem to be wrapped up in their own little worlds and to be quite frank, to be socially retarded. To start filling in my calibration jigsaw as quickly as possible I made a point of repeatedly asking for directions, the time, where the MRT (underground) station was etc and in general I was right: Singaporeans are simply not used to social interaction on the street and half of them seemed virtually incapable of responding.

Now and again I picked a good looking girl, solo, who did not give me the approachable vibe then approached her anyway. My calibration was correct: it tanked.

Nevertheless I enjoyed my time. I walked around, got a chilled Earl Grey ice tea and started exploring. Chuckling to myself I imagined myself a sleek (cough cough) shark amongst shoals of minnows. All of Singapore… all for me and my daygame!

Daygamer at work… notice the wry smile.

But alas.. no girls with a good vibe. I called my friend for a chat then suddenly a pure HB8 walked past. She stood out like a sore thumb: beautiful face, hair and body, with unusual fashion, tight clothes and a gorgeous sashaying walk. I ‘krausered’ the phone conversation by screaming “gotta go bye callubacklater!” then my feet were already carrying me straight for the girl.

Opened well. Hooked. Good set. Went for a number and got an email (which she has since responded to). Calibration working well.

I jumped on the MRT and went to a new area: the so called ‘hipster’ area. The streets were pretty empty. I spot a cute girl walking her ridiculous toy dog. She has unusual fashion and a carefree walk. I open. It’s a great set. Plenty of teasing. Easy number close.

It’s getting late and the heat is making me tired. I head home. In the 7-11 I spot a short girl, possibly Filipino, good looking but with quite a sexual face: glossy eyes, makeup and juicy lips. She has a cute little blazer on and a tight top showing her decent cleavage and tight leggings showing her big, round ass. I perv at her for a second, catch her eye, don’t look away then just ignore her. I’m tired and my timing is off. In hindsight, replaying the movie of my mind, my peripheral vision picks her looking back at me twice.

I leave and am now really tired. Too tired to at the time notice the girl and her friend fall in step beside me: they’ve obviously waited. I finally realize and open with something inane. Straight away she’s on it. She’s giddy and star-struck. I realize it’s SUPER ON. She chunters away: she’s Filipino and has a decent job. I’m chatting to her and politely acknowledging her friend. As I said on a recent Tweet, once your value is 3 points above the girls then it’s their ‘movie star’ moment and their friends facilitate, not cockblock. The obstacle drifts away quietly and keeps herself to herself. We chat a bit more and I realize this needs to be done super quick. I ask her if I’d embarass her by taking her number in front of her friend, then I ask the friend’s permission. She can’t give me the number quick enough. By now I’ve had a good clock of her tits and realize they’re quite juicy and substantial and although she’s short and with an ass verging on the slightly too big I’d quite happily drill her. I fluff and run comfort and DHV until we reach the MRT then I split.

All three leads are now active.

If these assumptions about Singapore continue to hold true then I’d say it’s a difficult place for the average Joe to daygame in. I’ve cut my teeth in London and already built up my calibration, I’m over The Hump. Trying to do that here would be almost impossible: so far the only daygameable girls are literally the hottest girls you see, and this is terrifying for chodes. Daygame here is do-able, as I’ve already shown, but you need razor sharp calibration. The IOI’s here are so much more nuanced than in Europe. Just yesterday a girl walked past me on a pedestrian crossing and because I was tired and daydreaming it took me 20 seconds for my hindbrain to pass the information to my forebrain that the particular angle of her head and way she looked at the traffic were indeed an incredibly subtle IOI to me. Too late. There will be more though…

Learning points from all this:

• I need to approach more girls who don’t give me the vibe just to make sure my calibration is correct
• It’s not number of sets, it’s the quality of the girl.
• The hotter the girl the greater chance of success
• Approach any hot girl I see even when not ‘doing daygame’ as leads will be thin on the ground here and I can’t get an appreciable volume done on a dedicated daygame session
• My calibration is getting really good

Sabbatical Day 18

Disclaimer

I am going to use this blog to discuss the time I’m taking out from my normal career. These posts don’t really cover game and will read more like journal entries.

Sabbatical Day 18

I am now on day 18 of my (possibly ephemeral) early retirement from the corporate rat race. So far I’ve been back in my hometown to see my family, then spent a long weekend with friends in the middle east and have now been in Singapore a week.

I had an unsatisfying day today. I pontificated grotsequely all morning and didn’t leave the house till 2pm. I couldn’t settle in Starbucks and couldn’t concentrate: the mall was too noisy and cold (they turn the air con up to hypothermia-inducing levels in Asian malls). I decided to just go home and then walking home felt an awful feeling of claustrophobia and anxiety. Claustrophobia as I was heading back to the same apartment. Dread that I was losing control of my schedule and structure and not going to enjoy my sabbatical. I kept asking myself..”Am I having FUN? Why am I not having fun? Am I happy? Happier than in the office at least?”. I didn’t feel like I was having fun. I didn’t feel miserable, but I didn’t feel full of joy. I felt…normal, but with a slight feeling of anxiety, which is sadly, for me, pretty normal. I started to wonder, would I every be happy? Can men really ever be content and happy?

First off I’m reframing these worries as a good sign. I’m really only on the first productive ‘day’ of my sabbatical as I had always planned to take the first 2 weeks as pure chilling and jetlag recovery. Even then I actually achieved quite a lot last week:

• Got 20 new game leads
• Did daygame and got 3 solid leads
• Researched Muay Thai gyms and visited 4
• Did first gruelling session at gym of choice
• Went on a few day trips

I’m pretty pleased that I’m already concerned about woppery on day one; it means I’m likely to address and counter it. By writing this post, plus my personal journal (which I don’t publish) I take measures to examine my mindset and self improve.

Structure
I’m not so much as a fool to think that the purpose of stopping the career job was to simply laze about. I’d be miserable very quickly doing that. I’ve already talked about the embarrasingly named concept of ‘self carroting’ but I do believe that you need to have a few projects and passions to work on to give yourself structure and goals. I also believe that relaxation is relative and comes as a contrast to the work you do. Sometimes happiness is a chemical by-product of the satisfaction that achievement brings. Has anyone ever seen a movie called “The Pursuit of Happyness” (sic)? It’s the best thing I’ve ever seen Will Smith in: an actual serious movie, and it’s superb. It’s the life of a guy that struggles, and at one point he achieves a goal before having to plunge back into struggle and he says “there! right there! that. THAT was happiness. that moment”. I urge you to watch this film. Shout-out to whomsoever first recommended it to me in the distant past… I forget.

Thus the irony is that in some ways career jobs are a very effective mechanism for some people in achieving relaxation and happiness. My problem with career jobs is that the negatives outweigh the positives:

• I hate working with gammas and betas and women
• I cannot get enough sleep and am permanently exhausted
• I cannot get enough time to exercise and counteract the physically detremental effects of an office job and my body deteriorates terribly
• My career was in something I had no interest in and every day became a kind of mental torture
• The effect on my vibe became so great that I struggled to enjoy my time outside of work

On the other hand, as a previous commentor noted, you have to be careful to not get too goal addicted and become too hard on yourself.. but I will worry about that when I get there.

It’s funny but as I write this I feel all worry and stress draining from my body. Writing a journal is incredibly therapeutic. It’s a blissful, meditative feeling. The joy of putting one’s thoughts in order?

Let me stop rambling here, sum up and make a few action points:

Sabbatical is a skill

I think learning to live without the structure of a career job is a skill as in itself and more so, it is a muscle that if it has not been worked out recently needs a while to get back into condition. It personally took me years and years to learn to work in a 9 to 5 job so one cannot expect to conversely learn to live the sabbatical lifestyle immediately. It will be a learning process. As I have said before I have done this before but in some ways I just made the most obvious mistakes and identified them, I now need to learn to put the solutions into practice.

Happiness

This has plagued humanity for thousands of years so I don’t intend to find the answers in this blog post.  My current thoughts are that certain types of men are not really wired to be happy and content and that is why they achieve so much for themselves and their cultures. Perhaps the normal state is discontent. Everything is relative. I think there’s a certain calm which can be achieved by stop trying to be ‘happy’ and instead just aiming to be the least unhappy. Perhaps trying to be ‘happy’ is too big a goal and one should just focus on maximizing second tier attributes, such as:

• Being healthy
• Being social
• Eating well
• Sleeping well
• Learning things
• Deep connection with other people
• Social interaction
• Achieving things
• Having structure
• Having sex

I have also accepted something as well: I’m one of life’s worriers. It seems to be my default state. Recognizing this makes it so much easier to tame.

Action points

In true journal style I’ve knocked up a quick list of action points which I think can radically reduce my sense of anxiety within days:

• Go to bed early
• Get up early
• Religiously adhere to the ‘no internet’ after 10pm rule
• Prepare a weekly timetable with training days, project work, ‘time off’ etc
• Have a hard timeline to leave the apartment x time after rising
• Make sure to leave the apartment more often: pack a bag and go find new areas to work in or explore
• Make sure to have little bits of time off to chill, look at shops, meditate, whatever..

Tinder

“Oh is this the way they say the future’s meant to feel?
Or just 20,000 people staring at a screen,
And I don’t quite understand just what this feeling is.”

Today I signed up for Tinder. I’ve heard a lot about it. Let me review my prior knowledge for you.

Friend One:

Portugese, 30, swarthy, probably a 10/10 on looks (movie star), puts a pic of himself with his eight pack on a beach holding a surfboard, then writes that he’s a Portugese surfboard instructor.
Result: deluge of messages, all from 26-36 year old high 7’s.

Friend Two:

Part time model. 26 or something. A 9/10.
Result: deluge of messages, all from 20-30 year old high 7’s.

Friend Three:

Captain Strangelove. 34. Average-ish looks. Puts his lifetime best picture of himself and uses it while travelling through parts of South America that rarely get foreigners, makes a big deal of being foreign.
Result: A few lays, all from 26-36 year old high 7’s.

Friend Four:

Mr X. 38. Average-ish looks. London.
Result: Zero.

Friend Five:

Mr Y. 37. Average-ish looks. London.
Result: Zero.

Of course these results should be absolutely zero suprise to any student of game or dabbler in the Manosphere.

Tinder is broken. Only a hopeless blue-pill chode, deep in his faith-based, quasi-religious belief that men and women are the same, could be confused as to why men and women enjoy differnet experiences on Tinder and also struggle to understand why Tinder is anything but:

A convenient net for hot guys to fuck a few girls a couple of points below them and not significantly younger than them.

and

everyone else to get their time wasted.

The ironic thing is that the Tinder model works just great as a means of accurately assessing men’s sexual interest in a woman, you merely need two pieces of information:

1) Her age
2) Her photo

Obviously she can still fuck it up but the hard truth is if this girl turns up and does not piss the guy off by spouting offensive garbage then most guys would happily fuck her.

What Tinder does that is truly awful is twofold.

Firstly, it magnifies societal decline. It’s a form of leverage. People are becoming superficial, iphone-gazing, zombie-like shallow creatures from sci-fi novels. They like pap, we give ’em pap, then all they ever know is pap. Here we have the whole spectrum of human interaction broken down into an app, which in itself deliberately restricts sophistication and nuance. Tinder is a glimpse into a dystopian future.

Secondly, Tinder tells an enormous lie and sours people’s lives. The lie is that women’s attraction is the same as men’s and I guarantee you it is not. Women’s sexual attraction to men is hugely affected by a men’s behaviour, we all know this, but a lot of modern women don’t.

Of course they don’t. Because the pyramid of lies that is the blue-pill world is built on a precarious, jenga-like structure of lie upon lie. If men’s personality affected a woman’s attraction to him then that would mean…. OMG. JUST WOW. That men and woman are DIFFERENT.

Rapist!

So what Tinder does is further reinforce to women that male attractiveness is in men’s looks, not personality. And it’s not just average-looking guys like me that lose out because of this lie; it’s women: they get less men in their lives that they’re attracted to. Less boyfriends. Less adventures. Less romances. Less marriages. Occasionally someone pumps and dumps them and that’s it.

So I’m in a foreign country and the reason I signed up is to wonder if my foreign-ness makes me sufficiently shiney to become that guy. Brave New World… here I come!

 

Early Retirement: Day One

I finished my job yesterday after 14 months of work. Before starting this job I thought I’d successfully brainwashed myself into being excited about my chosen vocation and that I could conduct a forebrain initiated restructuring of my satisfaction pathways and recommence an exciting career in IT.

Wrong.

A month in and I was exhausted from lack of sleep and puzzled how, given the banal, tedious and irritating nature of the job and the utter repulsiveness of most of the people in the industry I was supposed to carry out this amazing feat of mind-programming.

Two months in and I’d realised

“this is fucked. the sooner you realise you can’t have a normal office career job anymore the sooner you can find happiness”.

I’d given up trying to explain my predicament to family and I was very careful about which friends I explained it to. Family members and blue-pill friends reacted with scorn:

“what makes YOU any different? everybody else has to put up with it!”

I have two responses to this:

a)

No, not everybody does. There are a quite a few entrepreunerial, lazy, lucky (or all) people working very little in something they don’t mind and having lots of free time off. Sometimes it’s not a case of the guy who cracked affiliate selling and lives in Thailand making half a million a year; I know a plasterer who works three days a week on his own timetable, takes however much time off he feels like and earns £25k a year.

b)

I don’t GIVE A SHIT that other people have boring, miserable lives. I’m a capitalist, not a dreamer. I don’t want everybody to have a high standard of living because then who will dig holes, scrub potatoes and sweep up dirt.? I don’t care that other people have crappy jobs. I don’t feel sorry for them either; everything I have has been the direct consequence of my father’s and my own work. ALL OF IT. Feeling sorry for people in bad jobs is intellectually and morally void. It’s a brittle, stupid little frame. You get what you earn. If your parents work hard then in a capitalist society/economy they can send you to a better school and you get better grades and get a better job. THAT’S THE WHOLE POINT OF WORKING HARD: your life is better.

Each to their own I say.

I like the fact there are loads of stupid people: my life would be hell if everyone was as smart as me.

I like the fact there are lots of lazy, fat people: makes me look better.

Why would someone WANT to work hard till the day they die? Would it not be better to want the maximum with the minimum input?

Think like a winner. Free yourself from this chode programming. Dare to think ambitiously.

Let me sum this up, and this is undoubtedly going to incense some readers…

I want the best for me. The lifestyle I am seeking is unsustainable should everyone have it and I do not care. I want what is best for me, not what is best for strangers. Selfish self-interest.

Anyway let me continue with my rambling blog post.

After deciding chode-career was fucked I came up with an interim plan: save like a motherfucker, work 12-14 months then take one to two years ‘off’. And by ‘off’ I mean ENJOYING LIFE.

Towards the end of my sentence I decided on two years.

How do I feel on Day One? I still feel flat. I think my emotional spectrum has become compressed by the depressing weather of winter plus 14 months of work gradually pulling my state ever downwards. I hope that in a few months I’ll start to get the work out of my system; that my state and mood will improve and I’ll start to generally move upwards on the joy graph. During the last 14 months a certain non-working friend used to seem puzzled at my frequent flat periods of state… IT’S CALLED A 9 TO 5 JOB MATE!

I remember the last time I took time off. After 3 months off I was tootling round Chiang Mai on my scooter and just felt so…. content and calm and happy. Then I realised ‘Oh! THIS is the real me. That other thing wasn’t quite me.’. It’s a dark thought for all the office-chodes: perhaps the you you think is you is not: it’s the squashed office version. Perhaps the real you would come out in a few months of travelling.

The other thought bubbling round my head is a mild anxiety. I certainly feel that unplugging from the 9 to 5 is going to take some adjusting to. That weekly structure is gone. I’m already having mild anxiety attacks that I’ll end up an unstructured mess, sleeping way too much and achieving way too little each day and gradually becoming irritable and unhappy. I think the important thing to remember is that it’ll be a learning process: I’ll need to learn again how to manage time off and how to manage my life without the structure of work there. I’ll need to re-learn how to be disciplined, how to be productive, how not to turn into a bumblng, useless wop and also how to relax and not feel guilty about it. In short: taking effective ‘career breaks’ is in itself a skill. Incase you haven’t already guessed I think a key tool in letting me learn this is journalling, so I’ve decided to start diarising my progress to help me achieve this task.

Singapore Bootcamps

Just incase you are one of my few regulars who lives in Singapore or Malaysia or Asia… (admittedly a small chance)

Please note I have decided to do some coaching at some point this and next month when I am in Singapore. The squeeze page is here:

http://bodipua.com/singapore-bootcamp/