Pyro~ and Kimball: A year in the game

Ah, the epic night that was March 23, 2008. Pyro and Kimball embarking on what was to be one hell of a journey and a wicked friendship.

The Normanby, now more affectionately referred to as the Whoremanby, witnessed the two of us with stars in our eyes, eager as we would ever be, gallavant around the place talking to strangers, running trains, collecting numbers and overgaming causing female brain-fry. The common mindset throughout the night was “Holy fuck, THIS SHIT IS WORKING!!!”. Suddenly a whole new world had opened up, and for me the last 9 or so months spent doing jack shit and worrying about girls seemed so retarded. The high generated on that night ran for an entire week.

One week later, in which we had more adventures then our 6 months previous, we meet Tone. The Briscrew had begun to form. That same weekend, we dedicate to a 30-day challenge. For me this also included replacing 5 nights a week on the booze to a few glasses of water a night.

Those 30 days were the wildest mix of ecstasy, pain, fun, extreme tiredness and ego destruction that I have and will probably ever experience in a similar time period. All the while trying to balance my 8-5 Engineering job. Less than 5 hours sleep a night.

In the next thirty days, we well overuse the cyclone, discover the lime squeeze, become approach machines and meet Storm~ who gets his first club makeout. I start an awesome open relationship with an amazing girl who has since become my “one who got away”. We make idiots of ourselves in countless public places in the name of indifference. The Briscrew is extended to include Shift, Red Leader and J-Rad. We experiment with nights of extreme high energy chaos, and nights of low energy chilling. Kim almost gets punched and I have a run in with my girl’s psycho stalker ex-boyfriend. I get my first sub 30 minute pull. We travel 1000 kilometers to see Jeffy in Sydney, have our heads blown off by Cieran’s intro speech, and meet up with a ton of the Aussie RSD presence. I snake an ex-stripper waitress out from under literally about one hundred guys hitting on her at an engineering convention. And most of all we had our realities ripped to fucking shreds.

That first month outdid everything I had done in the 21 years prior.

The next month is Mission Fearless Warrior. Fear becomes our compass. If it scares you, it gets done. Period. Mega sets? Done. Mixed sets with angry guys? Done. You get the drift. We round out the month in bootcamp style. Kimball in Sydney with Ozzie one week, and me on the Gold Coast with Alex and Saad the next. Yet another 30 days of bullshit high levels of improvement and mind fuckery.

They often say that after bootcamp, a lot of guys experience a massive slump as you rearrange your identity and start coming at this from a different place. You can throw me into that pile.

This manifested as three months of drought. Ya, some guy who’s supposedly ‘good with girls’ can’t get a shag to save his life. It got to the point where I just surrendered to not getting laid. Intent therefore suffered, and I ended up in a shithouse downward spiral. I still went out, good (fun) nights were still had and life went on, I just wasn’t doing very well with the girls. All the while, Kimball WAS.

Comparison with other guys is something that will royally fuck your shit up. I learned this big time. I’d be lying to say I wasn’t jealous as FUCK, and mega pissed at my situation. Oddly enough, as soon as I simply recognised that this comparison was the source of my worries, after a bit of analysis and re-framing, I was back to feeling awesome again.

The downturn is understandable though. Bootcamp teaches you to operate from a completely different place then what I was beforehand. You start out pushing buttons to get silly reactions that pump your state, and afterwards you are struggling to come to terms with “you are enough”. Once again, it’s persistence and determination that seperates winners and losers. I digress.

Anyway, no fucking way was I giving up.

A 30 day numbers ban was launched, as I was always the guy who took digits, dated and went the slow way about getting laid. This would also get girls into a cherish/girlfriend frame, which fucked me on MANY occasions.

So, I was going on 3 months no sex, sad as fuck, confused as hell, zero intent. On returning from a no-girls snowboarding holiday with some time for head clearing, within a few weeks I’ve got more girls then I know what to do with. You just don’t appreciate times like these without having gone through the bad. “Without the bitter baby, the sweet aint as sweet”

Next the internationals start rolling over and joining the crew, albeit temporarily. Herman and caveman86, you fuckers rock.

Then came Jimmy’s Eurotour of Desire. If you’re thinking of travelling, just do it. And not some piss ass one or two week thing, I’m talking pulling yourself out of your normal life for at least a couple of months. Fuck your shit up. Anyone that knew me well before and after my two months in Euroland will attest to how much I changed. Night and fucking day. Realising your insignificance and how much awesome shit there is to do out there without getting laid, girls aren’t so important anymore

—–

Having an awesome wing really shines out in the low times. Hour long chats on the phone at 2am discussing the random adventures, mischief or destruction of the night. Up to two hour debriefs going over everything from life to fucked up mind patterns to girls. It’s invaluable to have honest, unfront feedback from someone who seems everything you do in social interactions. Figuring out each other sticking points is the second best thing about having a good wing. No doubt I would not be where I am having not met KB. Fuck, I’d probably have less then 50 lifetime approaches.

On the flip side, there’s still shit bits. Accidental, subtle out-alphaing in set and messing with each others states through subconscious comparison with each other. If one guy is having an epic night while the other is throwing a sad, the gap can oftentimes be amplified. But I think that shit helps with learning the way your mind operates and in turn fixing it.

It’s also good to have a couple of perspectives on things. Everything new we learned we would try to implement at the same time, coming from two different angles ie. Kim being naturally more dominant versus myself as the fun cool guy. It shows you anything can work. The super physically phase after bootcamp had bitches getting thrown around left and right for a few months before we toned it town a bit. There was the ridiculous opener phase, the obnoxious cunt phase and the ‘total belief’ phase where we would skip lines and get into venues by walking straight past bouncers.

Then there’s the stories.

Making out with the same girls without realising it, destorying entire sections of clubs, my hooking up with an engaged deaconess, Kim developing a knack for sex in public areas, finding out a girl was 16 after a box rub makeout session, drunken afterparties with Alex~, failed double pulls, our first double pull featuring Pyro cherry ripe, Amogging by hitting the bloke with your dick, Kim copping BJ’s in clubs, pulling promo girls, major league dance team girls, it goes on and on. Coming from two different places, our adventures were usually so different. While Kimball was railing girls in alleyways, I’d be dating two or three girls.

A year on, we both destroyed our original goals of 12 girls in 12 months, have had the biggest fucking rollercoaster of highs and lows, pissed off a lot of people but made some awesome mates, and completly evolved as people.

These days, I’ve got myself a girlfriend and am putting a shitload more focus into making life head the way I want it. Getting SAF (sexy as fuck), taking up new hobbies, working in areas that I like and planning my move to Canada for a year. As for Kim you’d have to ask, I don’t think he’s knows what he’s doing. Hopefully he ends up in Canada too though.

So that’s my last year in the game. Morals of the story: it’s possible, get a wing and get motivated. Chances are you are completely underestimating the amount of shit you are capable of, cause I sure as fuck did, and still do to a lesser extent.

There really is no excuses.

To the South East Queensland crew

Manndingo, Kimball, shift, Red Leader, Matt_, J-Rad, SeanT, Syncoast, Achilles, Storm~, Juba, caveman86 and Herman

Love you cunts.

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It’s all part of the journey – My Comeback

Sorry guys, I’ve been busy as hell of late so articles have been coming a lot slower. Plus this one is pretty big.

In a few weeks I’m off to Europe so it may stay like this for a while, but at least there will be plenty of shit to report about

—————

It’s all part of the journey

I hadn’t even realised until now. Looking back over the past few weeks, they have been a rollercoaster of crazy nights, coitus sessions and some of the most intense fun I have had, ever. Welcome to the life.

I was appraoching what we had deemed in my social circle to be a level 4 drought (3 months), and by fuck did it have me feeling down. I mean how does a dude who has spent so much time working towards something, striving to become a better bloke and strip away everything that holds him back, go almost three months without a girl. It’s hard to stay positive in times like this, but doing so is the shit that makes you stronger. Positivity during the shit times.

Progress always comes in bursts. Everything will be going great for a while, then you have a plateau and nothing seems to improve. You may even regress, but sticking with it is the most crucial thing, because plateaus will always end with a little perseverance. Plus, there’s nothing like an extended dry spell to brutalise any pimp ego you may have had.

For those who don’t know, pimp ego is the mindset you can find yourself in after a big bout of success, identifing yourself as “one who is good with girls”. This leads you to make conscious and subconscious decisions in the aid of protecting said ego. For example “I didn’t pick up tonight because I only approached 1 girl”. Without that pimp ego, you wouldn’t give a fuck about getting blown out, and would have approached like a machine. It also has the potential to turn you into a full dickhead in your interactions, as your communication and behaviour is filtered through the layer of ego you have built up. I digress.

As I was saying, the plateaus and regressions seem to be what build you as an indivdual operating through self esteem. I was watching Vanilla Sky recently, and now have a new quote to add to my list

“Without the bitter baby, the sweet ain’t as sweet”

Without the shit times, the regressions and the times when nothing goes right, the glory times just would not seem as amazing. The following few weeks are what I would defintely call the glory times.

————–

The weekend in the report “Alcoholism, gallipoli and unintersting drought breakers” was a huge turning point. The Thursday prior, I had met a cool girl, had epic hook ups and an alleyway finger bang with plans to meet up in the future. Saturday night saw a shit ton of some of the hardest blowouts to date. There’s nothing like getting slammed by a bunch of drug fuelled party sluts to deliver a royal ass fucking to any remnants of ego remaining after the two and three-quarter month dry spell. Sunday, I finally broke the drought. Despite it being a dud-root, as least the chode part of my ego had been satisfied. I was no longer a bloke who hadn’t been laid in ages.

Week One – The Rise

Something had tripped in my mind. It was time to make shit happen, get this handled. No more hiding behind any ego. It was time to get say what I want, when I want, 100% authenticity and risk having the real me blown the fuck out. I spend the week dedicating the different nights to sticking points. I start clawing again. I start telling girls they are straight up fucking adorable again. I focuss on slowing down, and being <b>loud</b>. While I had no results, I was already feeling a <b>lot</b> better. The weekend was capped off off by an epic sexual text exchange between alley girl and I. The result? A date for Monday.

Week Two – The Explosion

The date started fucking terribly. It was a long drive from her place back into the city and I had to continually cut threads and change topics to find some common ground we could talk about freely. It turned out this girl had a ridiculous amount of shit in common with me. She was a female version of me minus 3.5 years. Oh, plus she’s hot.

We end up on a terribly cliche ferris wheel overlooking the city and resort to McDonalds because everything else is closed. It didn’t matter, cause it ended in glory with Ace Ventura playing in the background.

Unfortunately, AlleyGirl had to leave the country that Friday, and it eventuated that we could not meet up again before she left. Sad.

That Thursday night is the report “Persistence and Turning your night around”. A night that started out incredibly shitty was turned around by forcefully pushing through comfort zones. Great times were had, and the number of an incredibly hot American girl was pulled.

The following night, American begins texting me. They start out as “what are you doing tonight” and slowly de(up?)grade to “i’m drunk and horny, come find me!”. At the time I was standing around with some lair guys, so the decision of what to do wasn’t all that difficult. When I find her, my eyes are blown out of their sockets. By fuck is she glorious. She’s in a tight electric blue dress (my absolute favourite colour) with no bra that doesn’t leave much to the imagination. And her voice is so fucking sweet. We alternate between chats and makeouts in Chinatown, and just when she “really has to go find her friends”, I take her into a random back room where the door just happened to be ajar and set to work. Shortly thereafter we are interrupted by a googly eyed security guard. Alas, no glory for me that night.

Saturday night stands as one of the biggest nights of my life. Drinking starts at midday, with attendance to various parties, a footy match, and a pub packed to the hilt with law students. I take it on as my duty to relieve said law buddies of their standard uptightness. I waltz up to the bar, make two nearby girls my temporary girlfriends and convince the bartendress that I deserve more then the maximum two drinks at a time due to my superiority and ninja like greatness.

I bounce between the bar and my table several times until I have built up a sufficient horde of alcomohol for the night.

This is where my night goes blank for the next 3 to 4 hours. Complete level 5 memory loss. Here is a summary of what I did over the next few hours in the order I found out, and the source of that information.

• Met a whole lot of girls, sharing my sombrero around (which I still had from the mexican party). Source: My camera. How I didn’t lose the thing is beyond me.
• Took numbers and facebooks of at least five girls. Source: My phone.
• Called Kimball and flipped the fuck out. Told him that I wanted to cry because I had made out with girls and couldn’t remember who, had lost my friends and didn’t know where the fuck I was. Source: Kimball.
• Told at least 4 girls they were my temporary girlfriend. Source: My housemate.
• Spent a whole hour chatting to (hitting on) one of my good mates girlfriends and her best friend: Source: My good mate.
• Made out with a girl within 5 minutes, took her into a back room and wallslammed her, and got kicked out by some random member of staff. Source: The same girl, 2 weeks later.
• Made out with a friend of a friend. Source: The friend, while trying to set us up.

As told by Kimball, eventually he found me and we walked to our final destination for the night. We stopped over at another bar, stole some shit and hit on promo girls on the way. All of which have been deleted from my memory courtesy of mister Smirnhoff.

The night starts to come back into focus once we are inside the next venue. This is probably due to the fact that any more alcohol would have probably killed me, hence started drinking water. A lot of alcohol seems to provide the illusion of teleportation. Awesome. We chat to some girls, meet up with Alexander~ of RSD and break some things. Some bar skank gets angry at me for repeatedly leaning over the bar taking ice, limes, straws and whatever else looked like it would fit down a girls top. Shoving shit down girls tops is definitely (not quite) my A game. Didn’t matter though, they loved it.

By now, American Girl is looking for me. We meet up, move into a corner for some make outs, introduce her to the boys, get some tequilla and high tail. People in the cab line are angry. I tell them to chill the fuck out. It’s hard to be negative when you have a glory girl on your arm.

At about 3am she calls a cab to head home. A while later my phone buzzes.

“Thanks for the fuck australia. Good night”

I love Americans.

On Sunday, I decide that the best way to go about repairing the destruction to my body which had been inflicted on Saturday is more beer. It’s me, Kimball, Alexander~, Red Leader and shift for chill times at the local. It doesn’t take long before “chill with the boys” is dogged for “beer and bitches”. Kimball’s already found a girl and is doing his thing, and I spend my night getting blown out a metric fuck ton, chatting to Alex, and watching him pull out a girls boobs at the bar while her hands are in his pants.

A girl who previously tried to cut me down appraoches me. I told her that her friend is a bitch and we chat about anal, lube and other assorted crap despite her 2.5 year boyfriend. Red Leader, Alex and I sit and chat with the friends, who are all up in our grill. The Pyro Abuse Cannon was out in force, but the girles ate it up.

Over come to bouncers to tell us to get the fuck out, due to closing time. We are all standing around out the front when I yell “AFFFTTEEERRRPARRRTYYY”, completely disregading the fact I have two sleeping housemates at home. The boyfriend girl starts whinging about not wanting to go back to a randoms house. I throw her over my shoulder and march down the street to the cab. You think she’d get angry? Her friends all crack the fuck up and and she latches onto me. Physical always wins.

An hour later, however, i decide against homewrecking even though it seemed so on. I think she sensed it too, as she freaked the fuck out after she almost pulled me into the bathroom. She calls her boy to pick her up.

So I get with her friend instead. After a whole half hour of sleep, I wake up snuggled with three girls, my car is covered in cheeseburgers, there are half empty beers everywhere, a girl sleeping on the patio and a passed out Alex on the couch.

Week Three – Bootcamp

Alex invites both Kimball and I to apply for instructor assistant positions with RSD. I am interviewed on Thursday and am told I have the job on Thursday, with bootcamp to start on Friday.

Holy shit.

You know those “A-Ha!” or “Ahhhhh” moments we all get from time to time in our journey to master the tactical insertion of penis? This weekend was not one of those. It was more of a fireworks display of neurons and cerebral matter cutting in random directions as they detached from most of what I thought I knew.

In other words, an Alexander~ bootcamp.

I may write up more on this weekend in the future.

Week Four and Five – Riding the Wave

Wednesday is a biannual wine and cheese night for a high achievers society. Here I am known for being the drunkest idiot every time, when I’m not even part of their silly club. I gots a reputation to uphold.

Hit on ubernerds. The only pretty ones had boyfriends.

Hit on ubernerds anyway.

Friday Night is the night of LR: Welshy.

Week Five is spent mostly in chill times with the boys. I am well and truly fucked from the last few weeks. We decide to make Friday a big one, though.

Manndingo, Kimball and I hit the hardest club in town. Bitches here will eat you alive for being born. Motivation levels are at their lowest, but we stick it out a little anyway. SportGirl, from Monday’s day2 ends up downstairs so I go say hi. We chat about dominance and guys who probably have vaginas. Makeout times. We make plans to meet up later as I “wanna hang out with my mates for a bit”. Cutting the story short, I text her at 3am and tell her to meet me. She calls and says shes on her way home but I am “welcome to come over”. Done. She gives me the address and I head over. It’s rare I get with a girl older then me, but I think I should do it more often. She’s only got just over a year on me at 23, but fucking hell she knew what she was doing. Good girl.

Saturday. I have never experienced such a burning desire for women. It was equivalent to my normal intent, times about 5. Then throw in some woo, a little less then my normal high energy style. If it was like this every night, all girls in a 10 foot radius would be in danger. I can’t really recount all of what happened, but many girls were approached, many dudes were befriended and an 18yr old girl was bounced around the club repeatedly between games of tonsil hockey.

These last 5-6 weeks have been the craziest yet. Almost every night is becoming an adventure. Monday night usually leaves me wondering… “I wonder what random shit I’m going to get up to this week”. Live a life of stories. This is what it’s all about. To think that a little over nine months ago I was hoping to reach double digits for the number of girls I had kissed. When I would worry about how much pain I was going to subject myself to by going out. When any story worthy adventures would be spaced out once every few weeks. When making a move on a girl was still a big deal.

—————–

It took the downtime to force me to really take a look at my situation and figure out what was wrong. As it turns out, alignment with your purpose really is as important as they say. Once that is in order, other things, including girls, just happen.

This community CAN NOT be just about girls. Getting laid isn’t going to fill any voids, as much as you think it will. I sure as fuck thought it would. This couldn’t be further from the truth.

Cherish the bad times and get the rest of your life in order.

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LR: Welshy

Ok so last night was intense. Around march I cut my drinking from 5 nights a week to twice a month. Lately I’ve been a booze hound practically every weekend. Ehhh, why the fuck not.

I went to a lair party. Yep, you read that right. Bunch of dudes drinking and talking about chicks. It wasn’t bad at all, it turned out they were a bunch of cool guys. Plus acting like an obnoxious fool makes it more entertaining for me.

I’m sufficiently “I do not give any fuck” by the time I’ve hit the valley. It’s been good like that this week, hopefully I can transfer it to when I’m not boozed.

First set, I’m in full talk shit mode deluxe

“Hmm you’re the first girl i saw. Code dictates that I must talk to you. Plus, youre fucking adorable”

She doesn’t seem to like me much and trails off. Whatever.

Dance floor, tap tap

“Oi, youre cute as fuck”

She gives me the ‘thanks but no thanks’ look, and says something about having to dance with her friends. I turn to friends

“Hey I think your friend is adorable, can I borrow her for a second”

Expecting to be told to fuck off….

The friends start pushing us off together

“yeah!!! GO! GO WITH HIM!”

Fuck yeah, cheerleaders! The girl still ran away a minute later. Bugger.

I’m outside chattin to the boys about gravity and lording, when Red Leader brings over a cutie. Fuck ya, its the bitch who blew me off earlier. But now shes all smiles and waves at me.

Not wanting to steal Red’s girl I back off a little, which probably inadvertently gets her chasing harder. Sorry dude. As soon as Red gives me the all clear, I take her to the side. She’s crapping on about how she doesn’t look her best tonight.

“Err, whatever. I still wanna make out with you”

Cheek turn. Back off. She comes in for it instead. She kisses like a fish.

She’s from Wales. My first UK chick

I don’t know if it helps me, but I love eating lollipops when I’m in the club. Mid talking to a girl, I’ll pull it out of my mouth and offer it to her. When she takes it I find it hot as fuck, and it usually means its ON.

The rest of the night is a blur of moving her EVERYWHERE. Dance floor, couches, smokers area, bar, booth, dance floor, outside to a 7-11 for lollipops, a random outside dance floor in the mall, cab.

From a combination of alcohol and ‘other assistance’, we have quite the lack of performance from a certain body part. Fuck.

All good, I banged her in the morning. She fucks like a fish. Don’t know if I’ll see her again, she’s only here for a couple of months.

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FR: Persistence and Turning Your Night Around

I’m posting up this report because it shows that an absolutley shit night can be turned aronud no worries. There is no excuse for submitting to the downward spiral. It also shows some serious persistence to the point where the girl was physically trying to pull away from me.

By building up the night so much, having a 2 hour nap and a red bull, I accidentally drummed up a stupidly hyperactive state.

Doesn’t matter, we explode the fuck up anyway. We walk past the biggest line we have yet, the bouncers look at us for a split second, and we walk straight in. Waiting is for the non glorious.

The latest craze is telling girls exactly what you’re doing to them.

“Hi, I have to talk to the first girl I see. Thats you!”
“This is what we call the claw. You are being clawed.”
“Oi! Reject me as hard as you can to blow my ego to pieces for the rest of the night!”
“We are lording the club, and I am going to suck you in.”

Kinda funny, since it doesn’t matter what the hell you say.

The lot of us decide we’d rather pretend to be chodes and start marching around the city looking for ‘better venues’. Never mind the horde of hotties at the place we just left.

A few bounces later we end up back there. We line up.

Non glorious we have become.

More choding…..

FUCK this. If anything tonight, the aim is to turn this bullshit around into a happy state.

I chat to some dudes who look sad, and absolutely pump their night. Semi-social circle chats. Random bar chats. Whats that? Oh yes, I’ve cracked a smile. Time to shine.

A tanned bombshell waits for me to squeeze past her through the crowd, looks up with perfect blowjob eyes and smiles. My arms have already grabbed her shoulders and squared her up to me. How did that happen?

“Whoa, shit. I’m not letting you go past without saying Hi, you’re adorable.” Dammit this is starting to feel routine.

Insta sparkle motion. My 8 ball is being gay again, so chodeversation occurs. Fuck that.

“You’re my girlfriend for the night”
“Oi, I wanna dance”

I grab her hand and lead her through the intense crowd to the dance floor.

She’s the perfect grinder. My god. I grab her cheeks for a slow level 1 makeout. But wait what? A friend comes in and won’t go away. Fuck. Keep smiling, pull her in for three way grind. She loves it, friend conquered. She still isn’t leaving though.

“Oi, bar!”

I get some water and chat to the friend. I turn back and some dude is up on the girl. The orbiter kind. I run into K and they all trail off, whatever.

…….

After half an hour of more random chats and disgusting verbals I see her again near the dance floor. This time there’s at least 5 friends. Fuck it. Lift and spin (absolute golden). Cheers from all the friends, so I dance with all of them and they are laughing and cheering and loving it. She has run away again, fuck!

…….

Later on just walking around, there she is! Claw. Smiles from both of us.

“I have to go!”

She tries to leave and I pull her back. Tug o’ war. Fuck it, I guess it’s a loss. Even Kimball indicates so.

As I let go of the girl and walk to him:

“Oi dude whoa, turn around.”

SeppoGirl looks like a deer in the headlights. She’s frozen in the exact pose I let her go in, staring at us. Wtf.

“Chase that shit!”

Chase down occurs. Some dude starts talking to her, sees me coming and runs away. ??

She keeps trying to leave, but I keep pulling back. Absolute tug of war style persistance. I don’t think I’ve EVER pushed this hard. She’s completely sparkle motion but being so flighty.

*IMPORTANT – I could tell that this girl was into me. All her friends were practically my cheerleaders. This is why I kept going. Don’t go physically assaulting girls because it’s what it sounds like I did here. That’s creepy.

“I reaaaally have to go, but take my number”
“Righto”
“Call me!”
“Will do”

I shrug it off as a courtesy on her part, and then this, over text:

Stay out of trouble u brat. Pyro
You’re the cutest australian I’ve met. Hit me up sometime

My persistance, or cause I’m sexy as fuck? Gawd, I wanna wreck that chick.

Night turned around? I’d like to think so. Fuck this downward spiral bullshit, there is no excuse.

This might not sound like a big night in the way of results, but I went on to hook up with her the next night and take her home the night after that. But thats for another post.

Anything can happen. Just go for it. I don’t care how shit you are feeling.

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FR: Alcoholism, gallipoli and uninteresting drought breakers

Phew. What a weekend. From getting hammered, having a fuck ton of fun and trying to climb churches to having soul shattering numbers of blowouts from the uberhotties of gallipoli and pissing off a lot of kiwis.

Friday night…. causing a ruccus with the social circle for birthday times at the local. Several too many beers are sunk with jager bombs for chasers. As I ramble about labelling, the defining points of relationships and sex, the only girly I don’t already know is rather sparklemotion. Fuck it, guess I’ll hit on her later. Lots of talking, yelling, biting of heads, gay photo poses, shuffling and dirty dancing occurs over the next few hours, which now only exist in my memory as a confused mess of events.

Enter master J-rad. Stories are told and beers are consumed. Miss Sparklemotion is grabbed by the wrist and led to the balcony with no real information about where we are going or why we are going there. She doesn’t seem to mind. It becomes pretty clear nothing is going to happen. Something about a boyfriend and her having being forewarned about my expected behaviour.

Wing times. Two girls standing around on their phones. With simultaneous wing claws, girls are asked if they are ready to come home with us. They are not. They would prefer to walk away, while J-rad and I put on relentless waves of awesome (Cr: Jeffy). Eventually a bouncer asks them whats going on and he wanders over to us…. We rejoice that we are going to get kicked out…. Nope, he instead tells us that they are hot, and it is unfortunate they rejected our offers.

The rest of the night becomes a blur of lost interactions, attempted church climbing, dropping several almost full beers no more than a few minutes apart, and a lot of drunken rambling overlooking the city.

Saturday…. a call from the YouSarge crew presents the option of heading to the Gold Coast for a night of drunken delight. Decision is made, tunes are cranked and accelerator is planted. Lucky I have a keen eye for speed cameras.

Yet again more beers are downed, the future of pick up is discussed and we all head to the casino. Commence ego feed deluxe from some new friends who haven’t met me but read the blog. I kindy ask them to shut the fuck up, and stop providing food for my apparently starving ego.

I get talking to a cutie, who asks if we can embarass her friend by singing happy birthday to her. So we learn it in japanese, but the silly girl won’t come over to us, and we can’t get to where she is. She looks at us funny. My weekend’s first dose of gold coast glory. And by glory I mean gut-wreching bitchiness of satan.

Into the main clubbing area, I’m still battling my stupid ego which thinks it has something to prove to these guys. Commence ego destruction mission by doing a few quick sets which blow up quickly. Cool. Now to start just having fun and talking to friendly girls right?

Wrong.

I had forgotten that during bootcamp in this very city, our Saturday night had been codenamed “Gallipoli”, and for good reason. Many ego’s have been shot, bruised and destroyed by the inferno of bitch that is Cavill Avenue.

After some claw demonstrations for the boys, some fun time injection is needed, so the pick up line game is played. Guy 1 picks a line and a girl, guy 2 must use given line on given girl. Guy 2 repeats for guy 3 and this continues back around the circle. I mean tripod.

SingleWing turns into a random creative fucker when drunk, and decides that the following would make a great line.

Oh my god, last week I baked a pie that was the exact same colour as your skirt!

Once I stopped laughing, it was used to decent effect until set was interjected with large boyfriend.

I get over the battlefury women and instead play with my new wings social circle girls for a little bit, as they slowly rebuild my hope in gold coast femmes (Read: they are actually cool).

So I use the rekindled hope to talk to some nearby girls.

Hope is removed.

New venue! Wooo this place is cool I’ve never been here before. Drink stealing mechanism is built from connected straws and put to use. This is very risky in a fisticuffs prone place like the Gold Coast, but I was getting too drunk and “I don’t give a fuck” to care. After all there was not much of my ego left free of bullet holes at this point. Nothing really came of it except a few smiles and glares from boyfriends.

Rock music clubs are abandoned in favour of shuffle friendly music at my request. Cover charges are shunned upon by young men in search of alcohol, so a free place is found.

Wow, Hotties! You look friendly! Nope, you aren’t. So do you! Wrong again, pal. Ugh. SingleWing sends me into some sets, before waiting a minute or two and entering with the same line. LOL. Start spinning and inning and informing girls of their adorableness. It didn’t take long to realise that if I do not get a makeout in less than 20 seconds out of this, I have NO idea what to do. Experimentation occurs, failure results, no answers found.

Shock and Awe on hottest girl in club. Check.
Having a dance circle formed around me. Check.
Approaching sets I already got blown out of. Check.
Going direct on girls in 2 sets. Check. (Something I haven’t done yet)
Apocalypse. Check.
Realise every potential girl in this club has been exhausted. Check.

It’s after 4am, time for Maccas. On the food and transport-locating journey, we chat to some weed smoking kiwis, accuse girls of various atrocities and find pieces of my ego all over the ground. The girls seem to be a bit more friendly in the street. Not as hot, though. Kiwi’s don’t like it when you quote the whale clip non-stop.

Conclusion: This night reminded me how much Saturday night on the Gold Coast makes me want to hold hands and cuddle up under a blanket on a winters night. And by that I mean cut my heart out with a spoon.

Yeah, I’m pretty weird.

Sunday night…. I was absolutely fucked, feeling the sleep deprivation and didn’t want to go out. It turns out CherishGirl, Kbomb and KarateKid were at the pub down the road so I unstuck myself from the desk chair and walked down. Nothing really of note except some American bird hating on me and then swapping over to the nice side, so I’ll cut to the chase.

CherishGirl spent the night again. Except at some point during the kissy kissy I decided I was getting laid. The old trusty “Should i get a condom”. She said “I don’t know” which I took as a yes. As I’m putting it on she says “Uh uh, you’re on top first”, which I took as a definite yes.

I should be happy, cause it’s been a long time comin’. But just as I expected, it was incredibly uneventful and uninteresting. She just doesn’t love sex enough. What the fuck, who doesn’t love sex?

Girls are funny. Drought broken. Whoop whoop.

Looking forward to the next soul destroying Gold Coast mission….

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FR: Alleyway Fun

After seriously considering bailing on the night and calling CherishGirl, Mister J confirms his want to go out. Fuck it.

First venue dead. I pick some girl up for ‘late birthday hugs’ and she freaks out.

The ratio at the second venue is awesome, for Brisbane. A bunch of 4 girls are doing retarded dances around their table.

You guys…. look like more fun…. then ANYONE in this place
We are making fun of those suits!

We pull up seats and inform them that the lawnmower and the shopping trolley are back “in” as top dance moves for 2008. We teach each other a bunch of random moves before I find a buisness card for some lawyer on the table. I laugh at them for getting hit on by seedy old men.

No, No, No! It was here when we got here.
Oh, righto. Pull out phone and dial the number
Oi! Here, take this. Speak!
Who is it
Lawyer dude. Get sexy

She makes a feeble attempt at seducing the sucker on the end of the phone. Poor guy.

He calls back a few times, each time I hand it to a different girl. The last one says

Hey, I wanna add you to myspace and show you pictures of my pussy

HAHAHAHAHAHA. I fucking love this girl, absolute champion. I tell em they are the coolest girls I’ve met in a while (in all honesty). They think I’m bullshitting and I say it to all the girls. Whatever.

Two friends scurry off, leaving me, J, PussyGirl and AlleyGirl. We chat about things guys can get away with during sex (like yelling harder better faster stronger).

I drag AlleyGirl to the d-floor and try to teach her to shuffle, and J takes PussyGirl to the bar. We join up and they say they are leaving to go to the local gay bar.

Internal: Shit! Fuck how to play this. Look around. Hmm there’s a corner.

I grab her by the wrist and drag her behind the corner

You ain’t going anywhere yet

Level 4 makeout.

I tell em I might see them at the gay bar later and bail. Not before demonstarting how to ‘pick up chicks’, by throwing her over my shoulder.

Walking to the next club….

HAPPY BIRTHDAY!

The two girls headed in our direction explode and both try to claim it’s their birthday. Righto. I pick one up for birthday hugs and ask if she’s had her birthday makeout yet.

No… But I have a boyfriend. And I love him very much.

Righto. We spend the next 20 mins in search of solo targets to apocalypse to no avail.

J takes me home. On the drive, I got a text from AlleyGirl asking where her 15 calls were (I had told her I was going to call her 15 times a day until she left the country). Sitting in my room about to go to sleep and I can’t help but wonder what would happen if I went back out solo or went to the gaybar.

Sleep or adventure?

Jump in my car.

Oi we’re going to the (gaybar)!
We are going home now Sorry
Cool talk later x Stay out of trouble you brat

Fuck. Back up plan is to go into the city. As I am pulling into a city carpark:

Hey hussy im no brat. Come to the (gaybar) my friend didnt want you to come LOL

Turn that shit around and back to the gaybar.

There’s only two of them left, after some dancing the final one bails. Its ON.

Let’s get out of here

On the walk to my car she asks where we are going about 7 times. Each time I don’t answer and keep talking rubbish until I finally give in and say Club Pyro.

We get to the car and I wallslam again. She says she can’t come back to mine for a seemingly genuine reason.

Any other night I would, honestly. Worst fucking night for it, ever

I kinda believed her. Whatever.

You don’t want to know the things I’m thinking of doing to you right now
I think I do

Instead I took her to an alleyway and fingerbang her until she almost fell over. Literally. Cunts keep looking down the alleyway to see what the noise is all about, and she fucking loves it. Afterwards, she won’t embrace cock to mouth or fucky fucky. Just as we are finishing up two guys walk down the alleyway and piss a few meters away from us. Thanks dudes. Hot.

Future plans were made. Pretty sure its solid.

I need some fuckin sleep. But work doesn’t allow it.

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Opening

I thought it was about time I posted something actually applicable in field. For so many guys, opening is the hardest part. It’s ridiculously easy to do, yet people make it such a big deal. And there’s plenty of dudes who, once in conversation, already have what it takes to get the girl. So the only thing in the way is starting that conversation.

What stops people doing it? Fear of rejection. Whether its rejection from the girl, from the group for looking weird or rejection from your mates from blowing out, it all can create some anxiety. What the worst that can happen? You don’t get the girl. Isn’t that the same position you’re already in? You might even have a cool story about how she blew you out (I actually love telling some of the stories of blowouts I’ve got in the past). Your mates will probably even respect you for having a go and most importantly, you’ll respect YOURSELF for having a go.

I’ll quickly go over the basics, even though you have probably read them six million times by now.

Smile – Important as hell. Otherwise you’ll look like a nervous kid or a creep. Get yourself in a happy mood beforehand, cause fake smiles are very obvious, especially to the elite ninja subcommunication reading abilities posessed by women.

Voice – Be fucking LOUD. It sucks ass to have to repeat yourself and kind of kills the vibe. Command attention with your tonality, you will not be ignored.

Body Language – You already know how cool guys stand and move. It’s not rocket surgery.

Touch – As soon as possible in the interaction. It’s OK to go in and claw two girls as you start the conversation. Physcial escalation is pretty much the most important part of pick up, so the sooner you start the better.

So I’m going to list out the evolution of openers I have used since I started out in the scene. They start at my very first approach, with a false time constraint and a ridiculous opinion opener all the way to my current style of fun and silly or full on direct. Once in the conversation it becomes a bunch of improvisation, saying anything that comes to mind. But that’s for a different article. Most of the time normal conversation happens off the back of these openers but in the case of the silly ones, after a bit of bullshitting I’ll say something like “Sorry I have no idea who you are….so who are you?”.  So far so good.

So here’s my list:

Hey, quickly before I get back to my friends, what do you reckon about guys who wear eyeliner, cause my mates brother….

Quick question, would you ever date a guy in a wheelchair?

I like lizards (or any dumb shit you can think of)

Who would you rather date, superman or garfield?

*Enter circle, hands on two peoples shoulders, big booming voice like a bouncer* HEY, I’m ganna have to ask you guys to leave. *wait for shock or WTF response, and hold it, glaring at them* Cause you guys don’t look like you’re having any fun. This is a club! *massive grin*

*After locked eye contact and a smile, plant feet and point at them* WHO are YOU!?
*Firm shoudler double tap* Who are you?
*Pull in by their arm* Who are you?

Hmmm, you’re not allowed to look that sad in here

Hey whats up, I’m Pyro
*Cyclone* Hey whats up, I’m Pyro

I lost all my friends and I’m a massive loser, I’m sad!

I’m meeting people tonight, who are you guys?

You guys look like fun/the most fun in this place, who ARE you?
Fuck you guys look fun I had to meet you

I’m cold, I’m sad, and I need a hug *exaggerated sad face*

Hey, saw ya from over there and thought you were adorable/cute as fuck, and wanted to meet you, I’m Pyro

And then there’s a million more openers to be found situationally in your surroundings.

Peace out and have fun

Pyro

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Rekindling the Love

These last couple of weeks have been a fucking shit storm of negative thoughts flying around my head. Shit as extreme as thinking of dropping out of the scene and totally hating women. For a while there, I lost all regard and sympathy for all other human beings. It’s not a good place to be. Anyways, I finally managed to flick the cold I’ve had for a few weeks and picked myself up and went out.

The last two nights have been fun as hell.

I started watching Tim’s Flawless Natural last week and he talks about opening the first girl you see in the place when you walk in and staying in set for the first 20 minutes to pump yourself up for the rest of the night. I gotta say that this is money. It gets you out of your head so quickly, easily the biggest lesson from the night. Suddenly creativity has sparked up and we are doing ridiculous things generating a crapload of attention from nearby onlookers.

The second night was the almost the same but on steroids. A three story club with multiple dance floors and heaps of bars with a Red Bull promo event, packed to the brim with eager college kids. Play time. Full enjoyment deluxe. Doing the first thing that comes into my head at all times. Somehow we end up with a half mannequin, which is introduced to girls who are then encouraged to makeout with it. ‘Bob’ ends up in a few photo shoots’, chairs are worn as hats, other broken chairs are used as bucking bulls and friends are encouraged to hook up with mingers.

You see, when you are having ridiculous amounts of fun, emotions are pumped which completely disengages the logical mind – something I’ve found incredibly hard to achieve with my lovely logical engineering background. Suddenly, there are no interrupting thoughts as you go to open, there is no worrying about responsibility for your actions and no stress. Just pure, raw, childlike fun. Awesome.

I did however notice some side effects of this state. When talking to a girl, the ADD style mode I had generated had me always looking to somewhere else to have more fun. Girls were suddenly boring as fuck. Once I was done with my fun opener, they were boring me shitless. Maybe I was just talking to the wrong girls, but I just could not lock in the bubble of love. My attention was always in the wrong place looking for the next hit of something fun. I think it may just require a bit of calibration to lock down some intent when it is required.

Either way, I have rekindled the love for going out and will hopefully be able to write up some decent reports in the coming weeks.

Peace.

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You Are Not A Special Snowflake

Every night I am witness to a blur of names, faces, glitter, booming music and flashing lights. The bartenders produce an endless stream of alcohol, emptying purses, wallets and bank accounts of hard earned cash. This intoxicating combination of carbon, oxygen and hydrogen is used by the hordes to drown their sorrows, boost an otherwise inferior self-confidence, create some plausible deniability to get their fuck on, or just because “everyone else is doing it.”

The crowd bounces to a series of doofs, zings and whirs played over the top of a once classic song. Girls stand in the middle of the dance floor trying to look sexy while the masses of men ogle and drool, wishing they had the confidence to approach them. Maybe the guys explain to their friends how much they would like to ‘fuck the shit out of that whore’, sounding very cool. Maybe they make no mention of it in case their friends tell them to approach. They don’t want to be made fun of when they bitch out.

Some bloke has spent the last 15 minutes watching the stunner in the middle of the dance floor. He can’t help but be amazed by her shiny dress, her six inch heels and her near perfect body as it sways and kicks to the beat. He finally musters up the confidence, moves closer and tries to introduce himself over the music, since he knows no better.

The girl tells him to “fuck off”, turns her back and grinds up on her girlfriend, pumping even more hormones through the veins of the non-sexworthy onlookers. The attention, the music and the candywater in hand are all she needs to feel good about herself for this night. Her emotions are running wild and she is loving it. Never mind the bloke, who is now subject to laughs and sniggers from a bunch of wankers who never had the balls to approach, and never will. But if you ask them, they “could totally get her if they really wanted her”. For a minute there, our boy let go enough to put himself on the line to appraoch the girl. He now walks back to his mates, deflated and sad, never to approach a girl again….

Rejection fucking hurts at times. The thing is, it really shouldn’t matter. You’re only programmed to think that it hurts. It can be wiped and reprogrammed, through the process of desensitisation. There’s a big difference between a guy who gets brutally shot down again and again, picking himself up each time and a guy who makes one attempt every six months. Oh, but my situation is different, I feel X and Y and I can’t do it because of Z. Shut the fuck up. You are not special.

You are letting your reality, ego and self esteem be dictated by a bunch of external factors, mainly women. Oh but what if she doesn’t like me? What if she tells me to fuck off? What if she tells all her friends I’m a creep? Honestly, who the fuck cares. She is not special.

Think about these girls who you are letting dictate how you feel about yourself.

“Hi, I’m Stacy, I left my crappy job early to spend two hours in the mirror, applying 4 inches of makeup and fake tan. I redid my hair four times to get it like this. I bought this ridiculously expensive sparkly dress which helps push my boobs together because Cosmo said it was the shit. I walked straight to the front of the line tonight because last week I hit on the fatman bouncer, who remembers me because his dick gets hard every time he sees me *giggle*. I’ve also been flirting with the bartender who thinks he has a chance, so will go to the ends of the earth to provide me with cheap or free drinks to keep me happy. I’m going to get approached by a bunch of guys tonight and I’m going to reject all of them (not before using them for some free drinks), making me feel so good about myself. At the end of the night, I’m going to go home and get double teamed by the DJ and the club owner in a random hotel room as they take photos. In the morning I’ll go buy some more cigarettes and figure out which pills I’m taking the following night, after all it’s this stuff that keeps me skinny. Then I’ll go back to my shitty ass job and start all over again. Yaaaaay!”

Really? You’re going to let HER make you feel down and dejected when she turns her back on you?

Yuck. Yuck yuck yuck. Yuck. But it makes you sad? I’m sorry, but you are not special.

There’s a lot of weak people in that story. How do you think the girl feels deep down when she realises she has nothing of substance going for her? Yes, it happens. She isn’t always as happy as she seems in the club. Blokes who pretend they are the shit but under the cover of their over-inflated egos are a child desperately calling out for a little love. A normally power tripping dick boy of a bouncer who suddenly becommes putty in the hands of an attractive woman. A bartender who fails to see that the girl is simply using him. None of you are special.

I was totally blind to this kind of shit before I found the community. This is the kind of stuff I wish I didn’t know, to be honest. This and other things like learning how women are biologically wired to cheat. It makes me a little sad. It doesn’t provide a lot of hope for mankind, but it does help cultivate a big drive to rise above all of it.

It doesn’t really suprise me how a lot of community guys develop either a hate for some women or an inability to trust them ever again. It’s not new information that many community guys enjoy getting theirs back at society for the endless torture as a kid by fucking as many women as possible, not really helping with their own insecurities. I’m not going to lie, there’s a crapload of girls I’d love to degrade in some way. Maybe batting their face around with my cock before blowing a load in their eyes, denying them a hand towel or shower and sending them on their way. It’s kinda angry I know, but fuck the kind of girl I have in mind annoys the shit out of me.

But I trust that there are positives to be found somewhere. There ARE some fucking awesome girls out there. I’m beginning to think that the club is not the place to find them, though. Sure cool girls still go to the club, but I liken it to trying to find a gold ring in a sewerage treatment plant. A big one.

But where are the girls who have a life outside the veil of fake tan, drugs and make up? The girls who enjoy hanging out under a blanket watching a movie before a night of amazing sex? The girls who don’t look for validation in every corner and will have a, god help me, actual fun, interesting conversation? (No, I don’t fucking care what name Sally at work called you) The girls who will get hammered with you, cut loose and stand up and yell at a game of footy?

Where the fuck are you?

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Reflections in Time Off

I’m back from my 9 day trip where girls were off limits. Nothing like a good old break to reflect on things and carve up one of the best snow seasons Mt. Hutt has seen. Fuck yeah.

Oh and my 30 day numbers ban is almost finished.

Side note: Even though girls were off limits it didn’t stop me having a crack when the rare opportunity arose (the snow town was like 0.5% hot women). One occasion I got retardedly drunk and busted out the verbal abuse cannon when a girl said anything that slightly annoyed me. Another occasion I got retardedly drunk (seeing a trend emerge?) and smoothness level dropped to “minimum”. OTOH, I had a 4 hour convo with two cuties on the flight over to NZ so I proved to myself that my conversational skills ARE actually there, somewhere.

Anyways, some thinking made me realise I still have a truckload of ego tied up in pulling. “Oh that guys pulls more then me”, “Why is that guy getting that girl he’s a fuckhead”, “oh yes I’m getting laid now I can write a report on the internet to show off to a bunch of guys I’ve never met”.

Fuck that. No more. Who am I in this for?

I’m kinda considering getting a gf at the moment. I can’t see much wrong with having regular sex with a cool, hot girl occasionally in public locations. Why the hell do I care what # of women I’ve slept with? I’m not actively searching for a gf, but if it happens, it happens.

The second big shift I feel I have made is adding some selfishness into my personality. It may be a little dark, but I’m getting pretty frustrated with people. There’s a lot of cunts out there – male and female. If someone is acting like a fucktard early on in the interaction, why would I hang around and waste my time. If my impression of them is bad, I’m out.

Unfortunately right now I can’t do shit because I’m coughing to the tune of shotguns and constantly feel like I’ve been smacked across the head with a big brick, but it’ll pass soon enough.

Gotta get back into the field so I can actually post something potentially helpful….

Oh and also I think I’m ditching the idea of routines. Not only do I tense up at the thought of using them, but I’m way too fucking lazy to write them and figure them out. Watching some flawless natural and reading up on Alex~’s blog has pounded it into my head that routines are completely fucking unnecessary.

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