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

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

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

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

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

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

Damn.

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

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

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

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

P.S. My second book is called A Dead Bat In Paraguay and is now out in paperback or eBook. Described as "honest," "fearless," and "inspiring," it's a 262 page fast-paced memoir of when I quit my job and tried to bang my way across South America. Check out its home page for a video introduction.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

P.S. My second book is called A Dead Bat In Paraguay and is now out in paperback or eBook. Described as "honest," "fearless," and "inspiring," it's a 262 page fast-paced memoir of when I quit my job and tried to bang my way across South America. Check out its home page for a video introduction.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You’re mean!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

CONTINUED: Part Two

P.S. My second book is called A Dead Bat In Paraguay and is now out in paperback or eBook. Described as "honest," "fearless," and "inspiring," it's a 262 page fast-paced memoir of when I quit my job and tried to bang my way across South America. Check out its home page for a video introduction.

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

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

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

dearest roosh fucking v,

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

delete and done.

XXXXX

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

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

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

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

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

Bunny boiler alert!

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

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

P.S. My second book is called A Dead Bat In Paraguay and is now out in paperback or eBook. Described as "honest," "fearless," and "inspiring," it's a 262 page fast-paced memoir of when I quit my job and tried to bang my way across South America. Check out its home page for a video introduction.

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

4. Vinny

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

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

3. Ronnie

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

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

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

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

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

2. Pauly D

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

“I’m just trying to roll with it.”

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

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

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

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

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

1. Mike “The Situation”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

P.S. My second book is called A Dead Bat In Paraguay and is now out in paperback or eBook. Described as "honest," "fearless," and "inspiring," it's a 262 page fast-paced memoir of when I quit my job and tried to bang my way across South America. Check out its home page for a video introduction.

PROS & CONS:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

FLYING SOLO HOW-TO:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

THE EXECUTION:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

P.S. My second book is called A Dead Bat In Paraguay and is now out in paperback or eBook. Described as "honest," "fearless," and "inspiring," it's a 262 page fast-paced memoir of when I quit my job and tried to bang my way across South America. Check out its home page for a video introduction.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

P.S. My second book is called A Dead Bat In Paraguay and is now out in paperback or eBook. Described as "honest," "fearless," and "inspiring," it's a 262 page fast-paced memoir of when I quit my job and tried to bang my way across South America. Check out its home page for a video introduction.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

There’s a lesson in that one somewhere.

P.S. My second book is called A Dead Bat In Paraguay and is now out in paperback or eBook. Described as "honest," "fearless," and "inspiring," it's a 262 page fast-paced memoir of when I quit my job and tried to bang my way across South America. Check out its home page for a video introduction.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

P.S. My second book is called A Dead Bat In Paraguay and is now out in paperback or eBook. Described as "honest," "fearless," and "inspiring," it's a 262 page fast-paced memoir of when I quit my job and tried to bang my way across South America. Check out its home page for a video introduction.

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

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

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

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

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

P.S. My second book is called A Dead Bat In Paraguay and is now out in paperback or eBook. Described as "honest," "fearless," and "inspiring," it's a 262 page fast-paced memoir of when I quit my job and tried to bang my way across South America. Check out its home page for a video introduction.

—

“Everyone keeps asking me that and I wish I had a quick, powerful answer, but it comes down to two things: wanting to explore, something I think most men want to do, and wanting to get away from the American way of life. I really can’t say which one motivates me more to be here.

“In America you go to college, which you’re told is supposed to be the most fun years of life, and then you get a job taking orders from some pencil dick in this grand mission to chase money and accumulate stuff. I don’t need stuff—all I need in life is a laptop and good speakers. I’ll be happy anywhere because it’ll keep me busy. I can write, read, listen to music, stay in touch with friends and family… I don’t need more than that. Now I date girls young enough who think that type of lifestyle is ‘cool,’ but if I ever want to have a family some day I’ll probably have to make some changes.

“I don’t want to work 40 hours a week doing the same thing to be insulted with a 3% raise and a pat on the head every year. I don’t want to count down the days to the weekend where I punish my liver because my week was so lifeless. I don’t want to wait until Saturday to take a book to a coffee shop and lose track of time. In college they should sit you down on your first day and say: ‘Ladies and gentleman, your mission in life is to make the days of the week irrelevant.’ What day is today? I don’t know. Days of the week are bar and club names for me now, places I know are good. Sunday: Casa Rosa. Wednesday: Casa da Matriz. Thursday: Democratica. Saturday: Rio Scenarium. I feel like I’ve made it because I don’t care what day it is.

“Americans are lazy but they’re not. When it comes to money they’ll work like fucking mules. You’ll never see someone put in as many hours as an American, kiss ass like an American. They’ll do anything to make that extra dollar to get that plasma television or dine in some frou-frou restaurant that got a good review by some idiot on the internet. They’ll grin and take it in the ass when the boss asks them to stay in on Saturday morning a month before performance reviews are due. They will work and barely complain when you tell them they can’t take a long vacation. Hell, even if you give them a lot of time off they wouldn’t know what to do with it. They’ll take a trip to the Caribbean or some pre-programmed cruise to be trapped with a bunch of whales, one handshake from projectile diarrhea.

“When it comes to anything else Americans don’t want to lift a finger. I mean look at heath care. Americans think it’s pills and MRIs. Why aren’t many people connecting the dots between the American diet and health care? Americans eat like pigs, look like pigs, get sick with diabetes, heart disease, god knows what else, and then complain that health care is too expensive. Their lifestyle makes it expensive. Don’t get me wrong I believe the government should provide free health care for its citizens, but exercising four times a week is my health care. Eating vegetables, cooking all my meals, avoiding junk food, drugs, stress—that’s my health care. I probably spend more hours a week on my health than on making money. Americans don’t cook or simply take care of themselves because they’re too tired from making money. They want to pop pills with side effects to keep eating ‘comfort’ food and sit on their asses. After putting in a tough eight hours or more with the man that’s all they have the energy to do.

“And the women… ‘I don’t need a man. I’m independent. I don’t need a man, I got my own money, my own job. I don’t need a man.’ The result is that an American girl thinks it’s weakness to show a man how much she needs him. I don’t know if you had a corporate job in Denmark, but dating an American woman is like dealing with coworkers. They’re very careful with what they say. Every laugh is meticulously orchestrated—she must’ve laugh too hard now or you may think she thinks you’re funny. Every word’s use was analyzed and judged—she mustn’t show too much interest because that’s weakness. ‘Shit I just showed too much interest I have to be cold now—let me make fun of him about something.’ I’m lucky I’ve spent enough time down here to know that that simply isn’t real. That’s not how women, as in women of the human race, really are. Those American girls are basically programmed to be more distant than their nature. And they wonder why they’re so unhappy. Nature is a powerful thing, and you’ll always lose when you go against it.

“The other night I went out with this Brazilian girl. Very cute girl, a few years younger than me. It was our second date and we went out to some gringo bar and after our first drink she looks at me and says, ‘If you were leaving back to America right now, I’d come with you. I’d take a chance and do it.’ Other Brazilian girls have done and said similar ‘weak’ things, and Colombian girls as well. And that’s real, because the nature of a woman is she needs a man. These girls here understand that. They don’t hide it, and I don’t punish them for it. A girl that knows she needs a man, that that’s the point of her existence, will treat men very well. She’ll pleasure him, make him happy, hold onto him a little tighter at night. You think an American girl will ever say something like that?! If I tell an American girl some of the things that the girls down here have said to me, she’ll be shocked, ‘But but that goes against the book! They’re showing too much interest! They’re showing weakness!’

“You remember that American girl I brought back a couple weeks ago? Okay I know I’m in Brazil and fucking an American girl looks bad, but truth is American girls have become perfectly designed for easy, meaningless sex. It’s like one step above jerking off… no emotions, just business—like getting with a prostitute. It takes just three hours to get them in bed, and you’re fucking her for the first time and she says cunt this, cock that, like she’s in a porno movie, because she watches that too. I just met the bitch and she’s moaning that she likes how much I’m beating her pussy up! Look that’s fun, like how jerking off with your left hand is fun, but it’s not normal. A normal girl will be quiet the first time, will be self-conscious, will wonder if she’s pleasing you properly or not.

“The Western culture has broken the women. A girl wakes up and she’s 30 and has no man and no hope for a man, yet she already passed on several who didn’t give her the tinglies or butterflies in her stomach or whatever the fuck term she uses. Because of course the culture gave them this sense of entitlement as well, to think that with mediocre looks and ten extra pounds they can get a hot stud like they see in the magazines in line at the grocery store. And then they get old and have to compete with younger and prettier girls. They can’t win. They won’t. So what do they do? They throw themselves on young guys who still value older women as ‘experienced’ and ‘mature.’ But those guys age and get a clue, and then you see the woman going on 40, working hard at the gym, desperately trying to fight the sag, bragging that she fucked this college guy. What a miserable existence.

“My parents aren’t American but in the end I’m a product of that culture and it takes a lot of time and effort to fight the programming —to do what nature intended you to do. Unfortunately I think I’ll always be tethered to America. My family is there and I can’t even talk to my mom on the phone without her guilting me into coming back and taking care of her, even though she doesn’t need taken care of. I don’t know… I’m going to go back and the first month is going to be great with my family, and my friends, and then after that they’ll be nothing for me. I don’t fit in there, and I don’t exactly fit in anywhere else either. What am I going to do in the States—get an American girlfriend? Get a 9-5? Fuck that. I don’t know what I’m going to do.”

P.S. My second book is called A Dead Bat In Paraguay and is now out in paperback or eBook. Described as "honest," "fearless," and "inspiring," it's a 262 page fast-paced memoir of when I quit my job and tried to bang my way across South America. Check out its home page for a video introduction.

While packed in the procession dancing along with my friends, Skol beer in hand, I realized how much worse Carnival would be if I didn’t know anyone. I wouldn’t know which blocos to pick and there would no one to tell me what the Carnival songs meant. And I definitely wouldn’t know that the cloudy white liquid in plastic bags shaped like condoms were caipirinhas. For foreigners who come alone, I don’t see how Carnival can mean anything more than getting drunk with a strange crowd.

The main feature of Carnival is the street parties called blocos. It usually starts as a prosession led by either a truck full of speakers or a band in a train car. Samba is the music of choice. They stick one song on repeat (if you’re lucky they change it up after a dozen or so plays), and a crushing crowd follows the lead car. Then the car stops and everyone focuses on drinking and talking. That’s Carnival.

The result is you go to a bloco, have a few beers, pretend you’re having a great time to another culture’s song and dance, and then go to another one. Carnival is basically drinking cheap booze with the mob, to music you don’t know or understand.

The crowd is so thick that if you lose your friends you’ll have problems finding them again. It’s unbearably hot and sweaty bodies will be pressed against you like in a game of pickup street ball. While the actual blocos are free, you have to pay five times more for already crappy lodgings. Gringo gouging is common.

As for the girls, most hang out in huge groups of friends, and at the blocos they run into even more friends. While you can pick up in a bloco, they are not designed for you to do so. Do you think a quality Brazilian girl celebrating her country’s prime cultural event with a dozen friends wants to hook up with a gringo who doesn’t speak Portuguese? Most of the hooking up happens within the social circle, so if you have no Brazilian friends you’re at a huge disadvantage.

The clubs are mostly empty at night because everyone is so tired from drinking during the day. Therefore it’s actually much harder to bang a Brazilian girl during Carnival than any other time. I’ll be in Rio for my second Carnival and I’m already preparing for a week of no new poon or going out. I plan to get some writing done and it’ll probably be my most productive week of the year.

In fact I have yet to meet someone who can explain to me why Carnival is worth it, but of course no one wants to say straight-up that it blows. But it does. Besides the colorful samba parade, which is great but only a few hours long, Carnival is a steaming piles of marketing bullshit designed to part you from your money. You won’t get laid, you won’t like the music, you won’t like the crowds, and you definitely won’t like the cheap booze. I really like Brazil, but I dread another Carnival.

New Years Eve is more of the same but with a pretty fireworks display. Save your money.

P.S. My second book is called A Dead Bat In Paraguay and is now out in paperback or eBook. Described as "honest," "fearless," and "inspiring," it's a 262 page fast-paced memoir of when I quit my job and tried to bang my way across South America. Check out its home page for a video introduction.

The good: the female to male ratio here is extremely high and it was rare to be in a club with more guys than girls. The girls are beautiful and you can spend all night hitting on pretty ones without having to lower your standards (it’s continued experiences like this which make it impossible for me to permanently live in an American city besides maybe New York or Miami). It reminded me more of Cordoba, Argentina than anywhere else. Since Vitória is not a tourist destination you’ll likely be the only gringo in the club.

The bad: the girls are hard and snobby at the well-to-do clubs where attractiveness is highest. Out of six nights out I only got grimey on one, which for Brazil is not very good. The girls of Cordoba got far more excited at my gringo status than the girls here, and I’m nearly certain that Cordoba was in fact easier. Many girls here didn’t give me a chance or indulge my bad Portuguese for more than a minute. It wasn’t common to meet a girl who speaks English like I always do in Rio.

Another problem is there are no cheap accommodations—no pousadas or hostels. If you’re stopping by for only a weekend than stay at the pricey Ibis Vitoria hotel (R$125-155 a night), which is within walking distance of clubs in the posh Triangulo district. After a couple weeks of lodging in cheap pousadas the Ibis felt like a luxury penthouse.

If that’s too expensive for you then you have to head to sketchy centro a couple miles away, within walking distance of favelas. There your best option is the Cannes Palace, a clean hotel with wireless internet, air conditioning, and mini-fridge. It’ll set you back R$69 a night. If that’s still too much, then try the run-down Hotel Avenida two blocks away from the Cannes (Av. Presidente Florentino Avidos 347, tel. 27 3223 4317). It’s R$55 a night for their best rooms but you don’t get air conditioning or a fridge.

The key to not breaking the bank here is to go to clubs before 11 for their “happy” specials. Let me explain how it works. If you get to the club late you pay something like a R$40 or more cover and then drinks on top of that, but if you get there early then you pay R$50 for consumação, or consumption. This means your entire R$50 contribution goes towards drinks, which equals about six caipirinhas or three Johnny Walker Blacks. It’s almost like paying cover but drinking for free.

The most popular club in Triangulo is Casa (”Home”), which gets packed starting on Thursday night. Next door is Escritorio (”Office”), a bar owned by the same guy (start drinking at the office then continue at home—get it?). Most girls here are absolutely brutal but I won’t say it’s impossible. There are a handful of clubs nearby and they all seem similar. On weekends the streets pack and form a little bloco, making for fun street game attempts.

My top club recommendation is São Firmino, half a mile away from the Triangulo. It’s packed with girls that are slightly nicer than the ones in Triangulo but just as beautiful. This is where I got a little lucky, partially thanks to there being more girls than guys early on.

An alternative to Vitória is Belo Horizonte, the state capital of neighboring Minas Gerais. I haven’t been there yet but from what I read it seems like a larger version of Vitória but with nicer girls and a hostel. I also hear good things coming out of Porto Alegre and Brasilia, where being a gringo carries higher status than in Vitória and definitely Rio, which I believe is going through gringo fatigue.

I can’t say Vitória is better than Cordoba or Rio because of the accommodation problem, but with clubs that consistently pack them in and an excess of beautiful (but difficult) women, it’s worth your time if you don’t mind spending a little bit of money, especially since it’s only eight hours from Rio by bus. If you’re conversational in Portuguese then this is a must-visit city, as you have a decent chance of pulling.

P.S. My second book is called A Dead Bat In Paraguay and is now out in paperback or eBook. Described as "honest," "fearless," and "inspiring," it's a 262 page fast-paced memoir of when I quit my job and tried to bang my way across South America. Check out its home page for a video introduction.

I’ve recently realized it’s usually a bad idea to ask a chick for her phone number.

1. If she’s truly interested, she will ask you!

2. By asking her for her number, you are raising her status in the interaction between the two of you.

3. Getting her number gives her reassurance that she doesn’t need to sleep with you that night because you are already into her enough to want her number.

4. If you know you will never ask a girl for her number unless she offers it, you will quit spending so much time overanalyzing your time with her, wondering how to manipulate the interaction to get the number.

1. Many girls do, but not all, including girls that you can get out and fuck on the first or second date. By keeping this rigid rule you cost yourself notches, plain and simple.

2. Not by as much as you think, especially when you preclude the number ask with “you seem cool.” Understand that most women of the world like confident guys who make the first move. I’m convinced that my aggressiveness and persistence gets me laid more than my awesome jokes. Don’t confuse those qualities with neediness or desperation.

3. I don’t see why this is relevant when you only get the number after you’ve tried all you can to hit that first night. Many of the numbers you get should be on the steps of her house or in the narrow dark alley right next to it.

4. I agree with you for guys who only think in numbers. But if your interaction with a girl is cut short, it pays to ask.

Let me put it this way: say a very low 1 out of 50 numbers you get results in a bang. And the time it takes to get a number is 20 seconds. And the time to call or text that number is 60 seconds. (80 seconds x 50 numbers = 1 hour of time). Is it worth one hour of time spread out over weeks or months to bang an attractive girl?

Of course, especially when you consider that one hour is at least the amount of time you spend jerking off in a week. Fact is one hour is a drop in the bucket. Get numbers all the time after you’ve already pushed the interaction as far and long as you could. Don’t hope to meet those confident girls that can ask. Not only is that as much luck as game, but those aggressive “in charge” girls have slept with tons more guys than the more timid ones. Every now and then I still like seeing the girl grimace upon initial penetration.

P.S. My second book is called A Dead Bat In Paraguay and is now out in paperback or eBook. Described as "honest," "fearless," and "inspiring," it's a 262 page fast-paced memoir of when I quit my job and tried to bang my way across South America. Check out its home page for a video introduction.

1. Bartender, bouncer, or promoter. This is where women have to interact with you. With game and personality it’ll be very easy to take these normal interactions to the next level since your high value is already assumed. Even though bartending is manual labor and something that a monkey can do, girls are incredibly impressed by it. I left out DJ’ing on purpose because while women do approach you, it’s not as common you think. You’re unable to communicate with her and she gets bored and goes right back into the crowd to get grimey with another guy. Unless you’re a world-class DJ, you’ll get scraps.

2. Musician who performs in live shows. It doesn’t even matter if you’re in a good band or not. Simply perform and then have some drink afterwards with the commoners. Girls will compliment your show or ask you a question about a song that touched them deeply. It doesn’t matter how many panties get wet with your music but you won’t get anything unless you mingle after the show.

3. Surfing instructor. You’re the expert not only in surfing (getting nice views of her body as you push her into waves), but also in the nightlife. Try to make tentative plans to meet up at night or merely make a strong recommendation for the spot you’re going to. You’ll run into her and once liquored up she’ll be rather easy. Seen it a million times.

4. Tour guide. Again, your expert status conveys high value and as long as you show personality it won’t be hard to get an after-tour drink.

5. Foreign language instructor. The key here is to teach hot rich girls who you normally wouldn’t have access to. I’ve heard many stories of gringos teachers getting with very hot women that would be extremely laborious to pick up otherwise. To score you’ll have better odds teaching for a large company with group classes than occasional 1-on-1 private tutoring.

6. CouchSurfing host. There’s a Brazilian guy I met that has a CouchSurfing profile but only replies to requests by cute girls. He has accumulated quite a few flags this way because as you know girls traveling alone willing to stay with a random man is probably down for that random cock.

Others gimmicks worth mentioning: Studio photographer, pool lifeguard, and cable repairman.

Every now and then there is a weird gimmick that you wouldn’t think helps a guy out. For example the guy who works as a waiter in the family-owned pizzeria for the summer at the beach gets laid like a champ. The main idea here is finding something where girls have to interact with you in a setting that shows your value, then turning on that charm. You won’t have to do any cold approaches again until the goose dies.

P.S. My second book is called A Dead Bat In Paraguay and is now out in paperback or eBook. Described as "honest," "fearless," and "inspiring," it's a 262 page fast-paced memoir of when I quit my job and tried to bang my way across South America. Check out its home page for a video introduction.

Here’s where I went…

Fortaleza:

A large, plain city with several decent beaches to choose from. If you’re on a budget then head to the sketchy Praia de Iracema beach, which has rooms starting at 55 R$ (divide numbers in Brazilian reals by the exchange rate, which as of this writing is around 1.72). Get off on Avenida Beira Mar facing the beach and bargain with the over dozen hotels clustered nearby. If you have more money to spend then head to upmarket Praia do Futuro a couple miles away.

The great thing about Fortaleza is that the nightlife is easy to find. Simply go to Dragão do Mar, an area of bars, nightclubs, and restaurants within walking distance of Iracema. From Thursday through Sunday you’ll find something happening. Nearby Dragão do Mar is Mucuripe (Rua Travessa Maranguape, 108), a megaclub that has three different dance floors, including one that played decent house and American hip-hop when I went. The cover is 30 R$ and the girls have attitude, but it’s not bad for a visit.

Speaking of the girls, I’ve never seen so many husky women as I have in Fortaleza. It’s as if they’re all spawn of football players, which is interesting because the men appeared normal. While the women tend to be overweight with hammy arms, it’s their wide build which was most disturbing. This was the first city I visited after Rio, so the downgrade in attractiveness was shocking and took a bit away from the Brazilian woman mystique.

Natal:

Cleaner and smaller than Fortaleza, Natal has earned its spot in guidebooks as a city with tours around neighboring sand dunes and pretty beaches. The most common tour is the six-hour day trip up north to Genipabu Beach (60 R$). I hear trips to southern beaches are also nice but beware that all these excursions are extremely touristy, and if you can find an agency that rents buggies and has a decent map you may want to consider doing it yourself.

Praia Ponta Negra is the quaint tourist beach with clothing shops, modern restaurants, and a nightlife center. I stayed in Pousada Recanto das Flores for 50 R$ a night, a clean option located only one block away from the beach. I didn’t get to experience the nightlife but it’s around Rua Bezzera in Alto de Ponta Negra. The girls were cuter than in Fortaleza.

Praia de Pipa:

Further south you have Pipa, a beach village with laid-back hippie vibes. There are several nice beaches within walking distance of the center including Praia Madeiro, which is good for surfing (lessons and board rentals on the beach). On the main drag check out the restaurant with the big “Açai” sign for great sandwiches and… açai.

For nightlife there is usually something going on around Oz Music Bar starting late on Wednesday night, but on Thursday nights more people head to the beachfront in front of the reggae club. A block down from Oz (to the right towards the beach), there is a club with a hidden entrance that usually fills up on weekends. If you want to get laid here your best bet is to hit on the traveling gringas. They’ll be obvious to spot and you can open them with something like, “I have a feeling you speak English.”

The Brazilian girls that live in Pipa tend to be of the tattooed and dredlocked variety, but since this is a tourist destination you’ll get lot of well-maintained rich girls from cities nearby, though they’re usually traveling with family or significant others.

I stayed in the modern Pousada Rivas for 50 R$ a night. It came with a ceiling fan but if you pay a bit more you can get air conditioning. It was the best Pousada I’ve stayed at, with a nice pool, friendly family vibe, and a huge breakfast buffet that came with a great selection of juices, fruits, breads, cakes, meats, cheeses, and other goodies. I think the buffet is worth a stay here alone.

I greatly enjoyed my time in Pipa and definitely recommend a visit. It’s safe, offers good value, and is a refreshing break from the bigger cities.

Recife:

Besides being known as one of the most dangerous cities in Brazil (and for that matter the Americas), it also has the most dangerous beach. Environmental damage over the past two decades has destroyed food and breeding grounds for bull sharks, and they’ve responded by coming closer to shore and attacking humans. The local government has pretty much given up on the problem and is trying to turn the state from a beach spot into a “cultural” destination. The only culture I saw in upmarket Boa Viagem was dozens of streetwalkers, especially on the weekend, though people tell me I should have gone to colonial Olinda where most dirty backpackers stay.

Your nightlife options are the expensive asshole clubs scattered around Boa Viagem like U.K., Audrey, and Nox, or the commoner clubs in old town like Downtown and Burburinho where the quality is poor. All leave much to be desired.

If you visit Recife, and I recommend against it, stay in Piratas Da Praia for a budget option (35 R$/night) or Bamboo, a comfortable hotel for old gringo guys (75 R$/night). The latter allows you to bring guests back at no extra charge, but beware of the bar—all the girls that hang out there are professionals.

Salvador:

What an overrated piece of shit city. It’s literally one big favela that is not worth more than two hours of your time. Leave your bags at the bus station, visit the historic center, and then get the hell out of town to a place that’s not so dirty or dangerous. Or just watch the movie Cidade Baixa.

It’s the only city in Brazil where I didn’t feel safe walking around during the day. To give you an idea of how bad it is, at the hostel the clerk gave me a map and marked half of it as areas that I shouldn’t go to, leaving just a few square blocks that I could explore without surely getting robbed. If you insist on staying here for more than a minute, lodge in Barra instead.

I can’t wait to meet hippie gringos who tell me with a smug look on their face that they’re going to Salvador to experience “a more authentic Carnival.” I’ll respond by saying, “Let me guess, you’ve never actually been to Salvador.” You’ll like this city if you love to romanticize about poverty and note how starving little kids seem “so happy,” a month before you go back to your first-world lifestyle. Asshole.

Ilhéus:

A rustic city seven hours south of Salvador by bus, Ilhéus is often used by travelers as a waypoint to the beaches of Itacaré 90 minutes away, but I was beached out by this point and just wanted to chop up my trip further South. Ilhéus does have a pleasant small-town feel and isn’t bad for a couple days (reminds me of Tena, Ecuador a bit), but it won’t offer you much in terms of beautiful women or sights. Ask for a seaside room at the Pousada Brisa do Mar (73 3231 2644 / Av 2 de Julho 136) for 50 R$ a night. It’s within walking distance of the center.

Other Northern cities I’d visit if I had time and will:

Jericoacoara: Only two hours away from Fortaleza by bus and 4-wheel Jeep, Jeriocoacoara has a beautiful beach located in a fishing village, with good conditions for wind sports and surfing. It rivals Pipa in terms of hippie vibe.

João Pessoa: Along with a decent beach, I’m told this city has pumping nightlife on the weekends.

Maceio: Another choice for visiting nice beaches (see a pattern yet?). Nearby Praia do Gunga is supposedly the most beautiful beach in Brazil.

Here are some related topics on the travel forum:

• How To Prepare For Brazil
• Carnival In Salvador
• Beach Game Strategy
• Florianopolis Tips
• São Paulo Tips
• Good Country For Girls And Lifestyle?

In conclusion, the north of Brazil has some nice beaches and decent value, but it’s rougher and doesn’t have Brazil’s most beautiful women. For that you have to start in Minas Gerais or Espirito Santo, the two states north of Rio, and work your way south (I’ll have more about my visit to Espirito Santo in the future). Unless you got money and time to blow and want to learn about Brazilian culture, I’d skip the north.

P.S. My second book is called A Dead Bat In Paraguay and is now out in paperback or eBook. Described as "honest," "fearless," and "inspiring," it's a 262 page fast-paced memoir of when I quit my job and tried to bang my way across South America. Check out its home page for a video introduction.

The girl who is serious about fucking either likes you a lot and/or hasn’t gotten laid in a while. The latter reason, especially, will do more to ensure sex in a rapid matter. She likes sex, thinks of sex, masturbates almost nightly with her foot long black dildo, and sincerely wants to get laid. And it’s not so much that’s she naturally horny because in America if you haven’t gotten laid in a month then you’re a huge loser, so many girls try to relieve this friction by banging random men only a few hours after meeting them. (I wish this was the case in non-Western parts of the world.)

The second girl is more wishy-washy. Sure she wants to get laid, but as a sexual camel she can go a while without it. Sometimes flirtatious attention is good enough to hold her off for months. There is no urgency for her, which is a headache for the horny man.

The way to find out if she is serious about fucking or not is by the end of the first date.

If you try for the kiss, and you don’t get it, she is not serious about fucking. I’m not saying you can’t eventually fuck her, but you’ll be chasing that pussy for many weeks.

If you try for the kiss, and you do get it, she is serious about fucking. She may not fuck you, but if you play your game right there is a coin-flip chance you will hit.

It’s that simple. A sloppy make outs on the very same night you meet her is not a reliable indicator because maybe she just wanted to kiss a guy, but setting a date with a new guy and slobbering over his face at the end of that date is a pretty good indicator of how earnest she is.

In addition, if she flakes last minute on the first date, she is definitely not serious about fucking. This is highly disrespectful actually and worthy of phone number deletion. I’ve never been able to turn around a seduction where the girl flaked on the first date.

I had a first date with a Colombian girl a few months ago and didn’t get the kiss at the end of a four hour date. My Colombian friend said, “Oh that’s no problem, girls here rarely kiss on the first date.” So it’s a cultural phenomenon right? Wrong, because I’ve had other first dates in Colombia where the kiss happened (including a daytime date at a park). Sure enough I got her on the phone again and while she claimed to want to hang out, she wanted to wait a week when she wasn’t busy with school. Not serious about fucking. Don’t waste your time with these girls. This is a reason why your first dates should be reasonably-priced drinks, to screen out girls who are merely looking for attention and not veiny cock.

If you don’t kiss by the first date, you won’t hit sooner than date five. What pussy is worth that kind of investment?

Allow me to answer that… none.

P.S. My second book is called A Dead Bat In Paraguay and is now out in paperback or eBook. Described as "honest," "fearless," and "inspiring," it's a 262 page fast-paced memoir of when I quit my job and tried to bang my way across South America. Check out its home page for a video introduction.

Let’s start with the first two steps…

Step 1: Compile a long list of cities and countries that you want to visit. Categorize those by continent and see if it’s obvious that you should visit one continent before all others. For me that was the case for South America, though Eastern Europe was a close second.

Step 2: Plan out a logical route for your first ambitious trip abroad. Fill the spaces in between with cities you are curious about and others that help chop up long trips. Consult guidebooks to see about train or bus times between cities along with ballpark lodging numbers that help you calculate a rough budget. Giving you a budget estimate is useless without knowledge of your travel style and tastes, so ask those who are similar to you for an idea. (You can also use sites like One World to plan around-the-world trips via airplane.)

For me travel has two modes: research and living, with some overlap in between. I generally like to visit a city first before committing an extended period of time there. My first trip to South America was mostly research, hopping around and taking notes on the cities I liked. Out of the 30 or so I visited, I discovered two that I wanted to return to: Cordoba and Rio. I did stay in both cities longer than I planned, but not long enough to where I felt like I was a resident instead of a tourist. Understand that to find a city you love, you may have to visit a lot of cities you dislike. It’s a process that takes time.

My current trip is heavy on the living side. I stayed in Medellin for six months, with research side-trips to Bogota, Cali, and Santa Marta. I’m now in Rio de Janerio after researching the north of Brazil. If I like any of these research cities I’ll stay up to a week and consider returning in the future for a longer time. For example Pipa is a beach town that I would definitely live for a summer, something that I would not have known unless I visited. While I value other people’s opinions of places, I won’t know for sure unless I go there and have a look.

I don’t really see the point of doing only research, which is the Western way of travel, assuming the Westerner is not merely going to a Caribbean resort. There will most likely be foreign cities that make you happier than your own, and visiting them without having the option of staying longer to feel it out seems a bit torturous to me. If you’ll never be able to move to a city that you love, I’m wondering if it’s best not to travel in the first place, because you’ll be stuck in your crappy city knowing for sure that there is something better.

Step 3: Figure out money and work logistics. This is where guys start with the excuses that they “can’t,” but to me that says they don’t want it bad enough. Fine, stay where you’re at it and live vicariously through others, but I get emails from guys all the time that are working their asses off just for a month away, and that’s usually how it starts: a decent-sized trip that a guy figures out how to lengthen in future years. My first trip away was only a week long.

Step 4: Enjoy your trip. I strongly urge you to integrate yourself into the cultures you visit by learning the language and avoiding other gringos. How will you know if a city is good or not for a medium or long-term stay if you don’t mix with the people who live there? If you’re coming to South America, learn Spanish or Portuguese. Don’t be lazy. With just a few hundred words you’ll be able to do so much more and be more motivated to talk to locals and begin to understand how they’re like. It’s okay to stay in hostels but every now and then spring for a roach motel to get away from English and general comfort. Push yourself a little more than you’re used to.

Step 5: Reflect after your trip is over. Is there a city you fell in love with? If you visited at least a dozen, chances are one of them will be worthy of a lengthy return. How can you make that happen? You’re probably going to have to figure out a different way of making money, perhaps your own internet or freelance business. Talk to other guys who have what you want and figure out how they did it. While it will be hard to duplicate someone else’s success, there will be lessons you can learn. I know it’s not easy to figure out a new way of making money, but I’ve met a ton of guys doing it. You can as well if you have slightly above-average intelligence, and if you’re reading this right now then chances are you do.

Step 6: Live abroad. Book a one way ticket with money in the bank and some passive income coming in on the side. Once there rent a room and spend a couple hours a day working, a couple hours a day learning the local language, and the rest on your own pet projects. Hang out at a local university, explore the nightlife, make friends, sleep with the local women, enjoy life, and eventually return home a better man. What more can you ask for?

And thankfully while living in a city your expenses will be significantly lower than when traveling through.

After my current trip in South America, I plan on coming back to D.C. to recharge for several months and then maybe do a tame trip through parts of Europe. That’s my master plan, research and living, research and living, until there’s not a whole lot of research left to do and I build roots in a place that I love.

P.S. My second book is called A Dead Bat In Paraguay and is now out in paperback or eBook. Described as "honest," "fearless," and "inspiring," it's a 262 page fast-paced memoir of when I quit my job and tried to bang my way across South America. Check out its home page for a video introduction.

1. Do Not Help A Girl Out With Her Problems If You Want To Fuck Her
2. The Best Motivator That Gets You Approaching Girls
3. The 9 Immutable Laws Of Pick Up
4. Interview With Muscle And Game Master Virgle Kent
5. Brief Introduction To Buddhism
6. The Two Things That Tight Game Comes Down To
7. Never Tell A Girl That You’ve Been In Love Before
8. 18 Reasons Why You Don’t Get Laid
9. Don’t Go To South American Clubs With High Cover Charges
10. Thoughts On The Balance Beween Caring For A Girl and Being Completely Apathetic
11. Are You A Real Man?
12. 16 Different Types Of Game
13. How To Tell A Girl What You Do

Still bored? Check out the full archives from RooshV.com and DCBachelor.com, where you can browse by post title and month. As of today I’ve put up 1,295 posts. I also have a Twitter feed, in case you’re into that.

P.S. My second book is called A Dead Bat In Paraguay and is now out in paperback or eBook. Described as "honest," "fearless," and "inspiring," it's a 262 page fast-paced memoir of when I quit my job and tried to bang my way across South America. Check out its home page for a video introduction.

You may want to turn an attractive lady friend into a wingman. The female wingman is supposed to let other females know that you are accepted on this Earth by at least one woman. But we use her differently than a male wingman. While your buddy is by your side to talk to the girlfriends and absorb distractions, the female wingman is there to increase your social standing. When you enter a venue, you want to talk to your lady friend long enough for other girls to see. Make the interaction ambiguous by talking close and encouraging her to touch you from time to time. Then, go approach girls on your own, who will now be much more receptive to your game.

The purpose of the female wingman is just to increase the success rate of your approaches. While you can bring your lady friend along with you in the approach, I find that the girls tend to talk too much amongst themselves, severely limiting my ability to game. Don’t let a girl do the approach for you—approaching a girl you want to sleep with is your job and no one else’s.

I can’t remember the last time I’ve seen a man properly use a female wingman. He thinks that because he has some social proof the girls will start coming up to him, or that the wingwoman will do all the work, but it rarely works out like that. What ends up happening is that he barely talks to other girls.

I will always recommend men use a male wingman before female ones, for two reasons. First, when you have a cute girl on your arm you get lazy and comfortable, probably because your hunger is tamed. Second, there’s a subconscious desire not to get rejected in front of other women (especially ones you know), so you’ll tend to only go for other girls who gave you a good signal like eye contact.

Unless your female wingman knows you play the numbers game to get sex, and that you do get rejected often, you’ll be much more hesitant to approach than if you were hanging out with another guy. While I do value the social proof that comes with hanging out with beautiful women, the female wingman is too overrated for guys who already have game. The benefit is marginal unless you know exactly what you’re doing.

In Bang I do give some additional tips on macking with a male wingman, including what to do in the unfortunate situation where you feel like your wingman is cockblocking you. Check out the Bang homepage to read more excerpts.

Oh, Merry Christmas.

P.S. My second book is called A Dead Bat In Paraguay and is now out in paperback or eBook. Described as "honest," "fearless," and "inspiring," it's a 262 page fast-paced memoir of when I quit my job and tried to bang my way across South America. Check out its home page for a video introduction.