By my estimates I’ve probably interacted with 100-150 Brazilian girls in both Brazil and the United States, and my hook up percentage with them is about a third of what I can get with American girls. I tried many angles, like being nice, being direct, being mean, being aggressive, being aloof, being a comedian, being dark and disturbed, etc. and absolutely nothing has worked with any type of consistency that I can share with you. Every time I bang a B girl I feel like luck played a large role.

A big difference is that in America girls will indulge you even if they don’t like you off the bat. This is how you can turn the tide with strong game. But in Brazil the girls don’t give you the chance if they’re not into your look and vibe, which means less opportunity to use classic game to build attraction. If it’s not there almost immediately you’re pretty much done. On one hand you save time but on the other how can you use brainpower and skill to get what you want?

So then I worked backwards on the set of hooks ups I’ve already had. Like a statistician I poured over the data to see if anything stood out at me. I’m also in touch with a dozen or so guys who’ve banged Brazilians and have their experience in the back of my mind as well. From this analysis there was a very clear pattern of B girls who got banged by a gringo…

They already like Westerners. In particular they like the English language and Western culture. They watch American movies and listen to American music. They go to Starbucks and Irish pubs. They have either visited or lived in a Western country. They’re at least 24-years-old.

Every Brazilian girl I’ve slept with has spoken at least passable English, and they enjoyed practicing.

Every Brazilian girl I’ve slept with has put out strong interest within two minutes of talking to them.

Every Brazilian girl I’ve slept with has mentioned in passing other gringo “friends,” a German guy here, an English girl there. I’m never the first gringo they got to know. Two girls I used to see are currently dating a gringo.

Every Brazilian girl I’ve slept with has complained about Brazilian men to some degree. They are looking for something different.

Every Brazilian girl I’ve slept with has been at least 24-years-old. While I have kissed B girls as young as 18, they seem to be more about kissing than fucking. Pursuing a young B girl is generally a waste of time.

I know two guys who have banged a quality B girl who spoke no English and didn’t fit the model above, but neither of them could sustain the relationship and make it to bang number three. I think these girls did it more for the novelty of it, not because they genuinely liked gringos.

During my six months in Colombia, I was the first gringo for most of the girls I slept with. For two of the girls I was the first gringo they had ever met, something that has never been the case with Brazilian girls. There I found that hanging out in a place with a lot of gringos generally wasn’t a good idea as it killed my exotic status.

In Brazil (at least for Rio) that seems to be the opposite. I actually bomb when I’m in a place that has no gringos, because the girls probably don’t care for them. Girls in Brazil know which bars and clubs have gringos, and if they like going there then guess what—they like gringos and it will be easier for you.

If you want to bang a Brazilian in Rio, go to the spots that have gringos first. Being the only gringo in the club is great if you like standing out, but it won’t automatically be easier.

There is this one club I do well at. Until recently do you know what I would tell other guys when describing the place? “Yeah music is alright but it has a lot of gringos… sucks.” It could be 20% gringos at times! I didn’t realize that my complaint was helping me get consistent results there.

I’ve been to another club four times. There are maybe 2% gringos at the most. I’ve never hooked up there—not even gotten a measly number—even though it’s in a poorer part of town. Here I get blown out most of the time. Girls simply don’t give a shit.

There’s a guy I knew in Rio who spoke very good Portuguese, something you’d think would increase his chances of banging a lot of Brazilians, but it hasn’t done anything of the sort because his ability is merely driving him to girls who don’t already like gringos. He has a ton of conversations in Portuguese that go absolutely nowhere. His language skill merely delays the inevitable rejection.

So I have no idea how to bang a Brazilian girl who doesn’t speak English or who doesn’t already come pre-programmed liking gringos. Your guess is as good as mine. But now when I approach a girl, I ditch after a minute if she’s under 24 and she doesn’t try to say a few words in English. Otherwise I simply run cool guy game, tell her my story, crack a couple jokes, tease her very gently, and sit back as she’ll do most of the work for me. With Western girls I definitely work at building attraction and it may be several minutes in until I “hook” her, but with Brazilian girls if attraction isn’t there almost immediately then nothing will happen.

Game in Brazil is more venue selection, persistence, and attractiveness than what you already think of as game. The best advice I can give you before coming to Rio is to hit the gym hard and look your best. Then once down here approach daily.

I really wish I could give you a complete strategy, and maybe I can some day, but until then don’t waste your time gaming Brazilians who are skeptical of gringos.

POSTSCRIPT: Since originally writing this I’ve banged a B girl using only Portuguese. She said I was her first gringo. I believe it was for the novelty because I couldn’t get to the third bang.

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 notch has existed since the dawn of time and is when a man keep tracks of how many vaginas he has penetrated. It’s serves as a quick glance at your game.

The cost per notch (CPN) is when you divide your total dating expenses with the number of girls in that same time period. Here we don’t count the cost of picking up like going to the bar and drinking with friends, but we do count dates with girls you took out but didn’t eventually bang. You’re running weak ass game if your CPN is over $300, and need to push for more one night stands. There was a stretch of six months living in my dad’s basement when I got it down to $40.

If you make the assumption that a man’s existence is solely to fuck and procreate, which I accept, then all of his expenses should count towards notch attainment. This is called the true cost per notch (tCPN). Take your earnings for the year, substract it by how much you saved, then divide the rest by your notches for that year. A stellar true cost per notch is under $2,500. For a man who takes home $35,000 a year after taxes, that’s 14 notches. I have an very low tCPN because my income is also low. I’m on the calorie restriction diet of game.

Finally there’s the flag, which is a notch from a girl born in a specific country. I argue that flags show more skill than the mere notch, but not all flags are created equal. A captured Peruvian flag counts less than a flag from Spain or Italy, for example. An American flag has no value because banging an American girl is too easy compared to girls from other countries.

Note that a guy can have a lot of notches, low cost per notch, and a lot of flags but still bang monsters. These don’t account for quality, and are therefore used for shits and giggles, self motivation, and friendly competition among friends. In other words don’t take these too seriously and always try to fuck hotter girls each year. That said I’d now like to introduce two new metrics:

The Superflag. This is a virgin flag, meaning you banged a virgin from a specific country. Most guys have a virgin flag from their own country, but getting it in another country is incredibly challenging, and nearly impossible while traveling (you need to live abroad to pull this insurmountable feat).

I came up with this metric after I made sweet love to a teenage Colombian virgin.

The Language Notch. This is banging a girl from macking in a foreign language. It’s the hardest metric to attain because you need to learn a new language and then adapt your game to it.

Sometimes the hardest part of getting a language notch is finding a girl who doesn’t speak English, as this was my problem in Rio until I get lucky and met a girl from the south. After getting the three easiest language notches (English, Portuguese, and Spanish), I’m wondering how the hell I’m going to get more. I’d like to have five before I die, so perhaps one more romance language like Italian and then something impossible like Russian where letters are replaced by alien-like symbols.

I’m going to take a hard stance on the language notch. I can’t grant you one if you pick a poor girl from the slums and use mostly sign language to communicate and get the bang. It’s yours only if you build attraction in her language, meaning complete sentences (e.g. making her laugh with an intelligent joke, warming her heart with a story, etc.). If you banged her with your laptop opened to Google Translate a few feet away, I’m sorry but I can’t sign off on that.

One great thing about language notches is that it improves your skill all around because you master the non-verbal aspects of game like body language and tonality, and you’re called upon to get more done while saying less. It’s a very reliable indicator of your skill, so much so that if you have at least three langauge notches I ask that you get in touch with me so I can pick your brain a little.

A lot of haters criticize the shallow lifestyle of banging a lot of women, but mostly because of game I speak three languages, and a ton of other guys are learning languages as well to get with foreign women. It’s ironic that many guys into game are ten times more cultured and worldly than their feminist cunt haters whose only skill is paper pushing.

Alright to review, here’s our collection of objective metrics:

• Notch
• Cost Per Notch
• True Cost Per Notch
• Flag
• Superflag
• Language Notch

In the end the game should be fun, and that’s what these metrics are.

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.

For my second trip to South America I put 30 books in a duffel bag. One of them was The Essential Epicurus, a collection of works by the Greek philosopher. From Epicurus.net:

Epicurus (341–270 B.C.) founded one of the major philosophies of ancient Greece, helping to lay the intellectual foundations for modern science and for secular individualism. Many aspects of his thought are still highly relevant some twenty-three centuries after they were first taught in his school in Athens, called “the Garden.”

Epicurus’s philosophy combines a physics based on an atomistic materialism with a rational hedonistic ethics that emphasizes moderation of desires and cultivation of friendships. His world-view is an optimistic one that stresses that philosophy can liberate one from fears of death and the supernatural, and can teach us how to find happiness in almost any situation. His practical insights into human psychology, as well as his science-friendly world-view, gives Epicureanism great contemporary significance as well as a venerable role in the intellectual development of Western Civilization.

While reading the book I’ll admit that I dozed off while going through his explanations on clouds…

Clouds may be produced and take shape as the result of the compression of air by the forcing together of winds and as the result of the interlacing of atoms that grip one another and are suitable to bringing about this result…

earthquakes…

Earthquakes may result both from the imprisonment of wind inside the earth, and from the earth’s shifting in small masses and its constant movement, which produces the quaking.

and falling stars…

What are called falling stars may be produced partly by the stars’ rubbing against each other and by the falling out of their fragments where a blast of wind occurs…

But I stuck in there and was rewarded in the end was very nice quotes that do provide a blueprint for living. Here are my favorites:

The man who alleges that he is not yet ready for philosophy or that the time for it has passed him by, is like the man who says that he is either too young or too old for happiness.

For there is nothing dreadful in life for the man who has truly comprehended that there is nothing terrible in not living.

Becoming accustomed, therefore, to simple and not luxurious fare is productive of health and makes humankind resolved to perform the necessary business of life.

[The wise man] thinks that it is preferable to remain prudent and suffer ill fortune than to enjoy good luck while acting foolishly.

No pleasure is evil in itself; but the means of obtaining some pleasures bring in theire wake troubles many times greater than the pleasures.

If every pleasure were [maximized] and existed for a long time throughout the entire organism of its most important parts, pleasures would never differ from one another.

Of all the things that wisdom provides for living one’s entire life in happiness, the greatest by far is the possession of friendship.

We do not need the help of our friends so much as the confidence that our friends will help us.

Speaking frankly, I would prefer, when discoursing on nature, to utter useful things, like oracles, to humankind, even if no one should understand them, than to agree with popular opinion and enjoy the constant accolades offered by the crowd.

Some men spend their whole life furnishing for themselves the things proper to life without relaizing that at our birth each of us was poured a mortal brew to drink.

The voice of the flesh cries, “Keep me from hunger, thirst, and cold!” The man who has these sureties and who expects he always will would rival even Zeus for happiness.

The wise man who has accustomed himself to the bare necessities knows how to give rather than to receive. So great is the treasure house of self-sufficiency he has discovered.

There is also a limit to frugality. The man unable to consider this suffers a similar end as the man who indulges in excess.

You ought to do nothing in your life that will make you afraid if it becomes known to your neighbor.

The following method of inquiry must be applied to every desire: What will happen to me if what I long for is accomplished? What will happen if it is not accomplished?

If the gods listened to the prayer of men, all human-kind would quickly perish since they constantly pray for many evils to befall one another.

No fool is satisfied with what he has, but instead grieves for what he does not possess.

He who is not satisfied with a little, is satisfied with nothing.

Know that what passes for good and evil among the throng if ephermeral, and that wisdom shares nothing in common with fortune.

Many men who acquire wealth do not find deliverance from evils but an exchange of their present evils for greater ones.

My take on his philosophy: peace of mind and confidence can only come from knowledge based on facts, and it’s the prudent application of knowledge that leads to a happy, social life where being poor but wise is preferable to being rich and lucky.

You can read his works for free at Epicurus.net.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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 the South American way of life in different than in America, my way of life doesn’t change much from country to country…

11am: Rise and shine
2pm: Coffee shop to sit in front of laptop for several hours
7pm: Gym, grocery store visit, or various chores
9pm: Cook dinner then jerk around on internet, watch movies, or go out

This is the routine that keeps me productive and happy no matter where I’m at. It’s not glamorous but it fits me well, and only a couple parts of it will change in foreign countries. They are:

1. Language. Obviously there are communication issues but to me that’s a fun challenge that exercises my brain. Neutral effect.

2. Money. I experience considerable cost savings by living in South America where I have to work much less for a lifestyle of leisure and chasing tail. Positive effect.

3. Family. Our lives are finite and every month I don’t spend with them is another month that is basically gone forever, so that does bother me a bit. Negative effect.

4. Coffee shops. In South America you can’t really spend four hours after only buying a cup of tea. So I look for corporate places like McCafe and Starbucks where the staff doesn’t care. (In Rio the mall in Leblon has comfortable sofas with free internet.) Neutral effect.

5. Grocery stores. They do not have the incredible selection that American stores have. The grocery store nearest me doesn’t have broccoli, cauliflower, lemons, and any kind of berry, for example. Negative effect, but honestly my life isn’t too different if I can’t eat broccoli and strawberries.

6. Going out. The point of going out is to bond with other guys, drink, and get laid. The guys I meet here are more like short-term buddies than the deeper friendships I have at home; the alcohol is more substandard (caipirinha with turpentine cachaça anyone?); and of course the girls are from a different planet.

Is my life different if I’m actively spending time with a South American girl that treats me like a king and is hyper-feminized? Yes, I believe so.

Recently I was at a bar with my Danish roommate and there were three Australian girls around us getting aggressively gamed by four Brazilian guys. During that time they kept looking over. I had a hunch that they wanted us to “save” them.

Next thing we know the girls moved right beside us to where one of them was brushing against my arm.

“Looks like you guys have a fan club,” I said, without any emotion.

“Oh my god these guys won’t leave us alone!”

“Well if you keep talking to them then they’re going to think you like them.” I found it hard to believe that they didn’t understand this simple concept.

“Can you help rid of them for us?”

“You seem like big girls I think you can do it.”

Then the other one looked at me and said, “Don’t be such a big jerk!”

This very brief exchange showed issues that I don’t experience with South American women. First, they’re attention whores that are stringing along other guys just for kicks. Fights between horny drunk guys usually start because of girls like these. Second, they’re testing me to see if I’ll save them within only 15 seconds of talking to them. And third, they’re displaying a snappy attitude that is more suited for debating than romance. Don’t test me or ask me for premature favors and then get an attitude when I don’t bend over backwards for you. These are things I don’t want to deal with.

I looked at the most aggressive of the Brazilian guys and said, “Ela gosta de você… MUITO” while pointing to the girl who told me to stop being a jerk. That roughly means, “She likes you… A LOT.” Sure enough his eyes opened wide and he pursued with renewed vigor that made me quite pleased.

When I get homesick all I have to do are two things.

The first is open my budget spreadsheet to see how much money I’m not spending. The second is talk to Western women. And I’m not kidding—when I get homesick I just hit on gringas at the bar. I zero in on their pasty, flawed skin, their masculine attitudes, their slovenly appearance, their self-entitlement, and I swear to god I’m energized for a month or two before homesick thoughts cross my mind again.

I dislike American women and I can’t live very comfortably Stateside working only 2-3 hours a day. Therefore I’m in South America because of money and women.

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.

FIRST YEAR

Two early posts that started getting me attention were whores vs conservative girls and how to get free drinks at Starbucks. By the third month of operation I already had multiple haters and the more I hated on others, the more I got hated on. Go figure.

The blog started taking direction with these posts:

• Brooke Shields Part 1, Part 2
• Women Dating Tips
• American Women Vs European Women (my most commented post)
• You Will Die Alone
• Why Mediocre Women Desire Hot Men
• Most Women Are Only Suitable For One Night Stands
• Bad Game Vs Good Game
• Stop Wearing Flip Flops

At the time there were fewer posts about game than recaps of happy hours and club nights.

The big drama of the year was my epic blog war with “The Senator,” which is nicely documented on this wiki page. Upon winning I took a triumphant victory lap. He has not been seen on the internet since.

The blog wars of yesteryear were far more artfully done and went for emotional impact instead of merely posting private information. Today any slackjawed retard with an internet connection can post someone’s address, but it takes actual brains to force someone’s blog offline with taunts that bring about immense shame and embarrassment. In fact if you have to resort to posting someone’s private information you’ve already lost, because in the end all you’re doing is… posting information.

My favorite post of the year would be Glengarry Glen Ross remix, which was to serve as something you can read before going out. My April Fools gag was getting fired from work.

SECOND YEAR

The blog began to affect my dating life as more girls found out about it. It’s also this time that I started having my first blog groupies (giddy).

I had some guest posters: Sally the intern, Dasha the intern, Chaco, and Miss Metropolis, who you may know as DC nightlife queen Kelly Ann Collins. The hate on them was often vicious.

My rocky relationship towards American women continued with posts like why are you out, diamonds, if I was a girl, and two and out. I even sold t-shirts that read “I Pump And Dump.”

My favorite game posts were the tight game week series, status, and womanly advice.

Besides that I took a blow up doll to the beach and Dupont Circle, made women cry with this post, went to Spain, started thinking about moving abroad with discussion on international women, was saddened by someone’s death, started the player or poseur series, introduced the cost per notch, moved the domain to RooshV.com, and started a new blog called Furball Approved where I’d post funny videos that were reviewed in the voice of my cat. It only lasted a few weeks.

My two favorite posts of the year were my wisdom teeth story and my rules of life. For April Fools I tried to convince you that I was gay.

I had my full name and job posted on the blog of a gay man, who begged his readers to contact human resources. But his information was dated and he ended up posting the place I worked at several months prior. His attempts to destroy me failed, obviously, and I think it all stemmed from the fact that I rebuffed his advances at a blogger happy hour. Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned.

His/her blog was dead last time I checked.

THIRD YEAR

Blogging continued to affect my sex life while I learned that women who showed affection made me happier. I bashed Americans, introduced the flag metric, started learning Spanish, and got tired of women who think they understand women better than men.

Three big events this year: I quit the corporate grind, went to South America, and released Bang. There weren’t many game posts because of the energy that went into the book, but I do like seven ways to improve your game, hung up on the opener, and playful vibe.

My experience in South America led to these popular posts:

• Thoughts
• Guiding Principle Of Male-Female Relations
• 10 Common Travel Scams
• School Of Argentine Girls
• Brazilian, Argentine, and American girls
• Introduction To Brazilian Girls

That last one is the most visited post on the blog right now.

South America beat me up, I came home, and so began the healing process.

While it was a very exciting year for me, it was the worst year for my blog. The content wasn’t that great and I alienated my core audience by writing more about travel than game (it’s no suprise that the year saw the blog’s lowest traffic). I don’t have a favorite post and even my April Fools gag was weak (starting a new blog called Puppy Dogs & Ice Cream).

After this third year I realized that even if I win the Nobel Prize in Physics I’m still expected to mostly write about game. I’ve accepted that. You know there’s things you want to do (have a video blog starring a cat) and then there’s things that you’re good at.

FOURTH YEAR

Back at home I was lost all love for D.C. and realized I wasn’t going to meet the perfect woman, though their easiness did keep me heavily in the game for the next year.

I gave women advice, continued to piss people off (I even detailed the strategy of my haters), was more careful about where I deposited my seed, stopped caring about if a girl orgasms or not, bashed Americans and feminists, shared a masturbation strategy, was a hot girl for a night, stopped taking showers, gave my friend parenting tips, became seriously uninspired with American girls, and got so enraged with cockblocking that I offered a way to stop it for good.

Also I made a travel blog (that is sort of dead at the moment), went to Las Vegas with Virgle Kent, opened the forum (which has become pretty active), put out my philosophy on life, wrote a short story, bartended, made a few videos, put a lot of work into my newsletters, and started teaching workshops on day game.

My favorite game post from the year is how to pick up girls for real, though overall I’d have to go with the perfect woman post. The April Fools gag was moving to Rio for a girl.

This year I considered taking a lengthy break from blogging, but it was more about dissatisfaction with where I was in life at the moment than a dislike towards writing.

FIFTH YEAR

BOOM! KABLAM!

At the risk of letting my ego talk, I think this last year was my best yet. My thinking was clear and my experiences rich, making it somewhat easy to consistently put out good content. I like so many posts that I’m not sure where to start.

I advised you not to date girls who like poetry (e.g Poetry Girl), talked about girls who faked about knowing my blog, dropped some more Argentine girl knowledge, wrote a letter to Virgle Kent, expressed an interest in needy girls and a disinterest in girls who love to eat out, talked about a magical land where lemons are green, got on men’s rights guys while musing about what it takes to be a real man, shot down the idea of banging prostitutes, got stalked by a girl I creampied on a Colombian bus, and defended the honor of a Brazilian guy who got cockblocked by a fat pig

American women got a lot of blog space this year. I wondered about the best age to date one, complimented their easiness while defending the idea of travel to countries that have harder women, responded to a man-bashing older woman, got on feminists who wanted to make bad pick-up lines punishable by jail time, hypothesized about why their brains are damaged, identified one of their universal problems, criticized them for looking like shit while traveling and having children while single, and brought it all home with a conversation about what’s wrong with America.

My favorite game posts:

• The 9 Immutable Laws Of Pickup
• 18 Reasons Why You Don’t Get Laid
• 16 Different Types Of Game
• Definitive Guide To Going Out Alone
• The Secret To Getting Laid
• How To Cheat On Your Girlfriend Without Getting Caught
• The Dark Side Of Game
• Three Reasons Why Guys Fail In The Game
• The Two Things That Tight Game Comes Down To
• Why You Don’t Need To Understand Women
• How Culture Shapes Game
• Be That Guy
• True Cost Per Notch
• Banging Girls Who Don’t Speak Your Language
• Balancing Between Compliments And Insults (Examples)
• Logical Thinking Increases The Size Of Your Sack
• The Best Motivator That Gets You Approaching Girls
• You Can Only Hit Your True Potential By Getting Rejected
• How To Tell A Girl What You Do
• Stop Being Needy
• How To Get Laid Without Approaching
• How To Tell If A Girl Is Serious About Fucking

I also taught a reality workshop, gave an introduction to Buddhism, did a big site survey, put out a video on Medellin, Colombia, shared my dune buggy adventure in a Brazilian beach town while offering travel tips of the northeast and the city of Vitoria, gave a strategy for living abroad, tried to motivate you, shared my system for learning a foreign language, and released my second book.

I closed comments for six months and while everyone says it was a mistake, I’m satisfied that I stayed motivated to blog without the instant feedback and validation. The thirst to share wisdom is within me. (Fun fact: I’ve banned 39 IP addresses since bringing comments back, and put a dozen others in the moderation doghouse.)

My favorite post of the year was what are you waiting for though I really did like how the dune buggy story turned out. The April Fools gag was going to Ethiopia to feed starving children. It absolutely cannot be topped.

Creatively it was a good year and I’m proud that I was focused and disciplined enough to dig all of it out of my huge, throbbing brain. As a result the blog is receiving the most traffic it ever has.

THE FUTURE

My goal here is not win awards for my writing but deliver ideas and experiences in a way that you can learn, understand, apply, or be entertained from. While I’ve said most of what I wanted to say about game, American girls, and South America, I still think I have things left to contribute. As long as I push myself outside of my comfort zone (i.e. stints living abroad), there should always be cool ideas popping in my head.

I don’t know exactly when but I do see myself cutting down on posting from three times a week to eventually two and then one. I think this is inevitable for those bloggers who have been doing it for so many years, as you simply cannot keep up production (and motivation) from your peak. I don’t see this as a bad thing though: as long as the quality remains strong I think you’ll still get a lot of value. In the meantime I plan on putting out a few more books, and I’m currently working on two simultaneously.

Lastly, I wanted to thank everyone for their support over the past five years, for buying my books, taking my workshop, linking my posts from your blogs, and leaving encouraging comments and emails. Otherwise my life would be probably be very different. Thank you.

Here’s to another five years.

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.

This explanation is not sufficient for many guys. They want to know when they can stop playing the game completely—when they can sit back, put up their legs, and enjoy the rewards of their game labor. In that case I can say that end game is when you meet a girl you want to have a deep relationship with and commit the rest of your life to.

But is that really end game?

How many guys out there used a bit of game to get a half-ideal bride then threw it all away once the papers were signed to get the cliche once-a-month sex (if they’re lucky) from a nagging woman who gained a significant amount of weight? Most guys over 30 know someone in this situation as it’s not merely internet lore discussed on message boards and blogs.

When you stop demanding respect and standards from your significant other, how can you possibly expect to get the best of what she can offer you? Once a dog is house trained do you just let it run wild whenever it wants, never punishing it for when you find your favorite socks all torn up? No, you keep your hand firm and demand the dog act in a way that pleases you the most. It’s not an accident that dog training and proper wife management share many common elements.

The point of game is to get what you want from women. Therefore when you stop playing the game, and let the stars dictate how she acts towards you, you will stop getting what you want. A very tiny percentage of women in the world are programmed to please you if you’re needy and don’t have balls, which is unfortunately the case for men who don’t use game in today’s society, whether they’re conscious of it or not. You must be scarce, you must be confident, you must be cocky, you must tease, you must have value, and you must demand respect.

If you think that you can stay in the game for a couple years to get a girlfriend and then be done with it, I’m afraid you’re deluded because we’ve arrived at a point where game is absolutely necessary to deal with the modern woman, just like how today’s cubicle dweller must exercise frequently to maintain an attractive weight. By not using game you get lower quality and less sex while the game guys clean up.

A cushy job is no longer enough. A fancy car won’t do it. A McMansion won’t help you either. The new reality is that you need game to compete with guys who are less attractive than you and who make less money than you. Not learning game is like showing up to a job interview in jeans and a t-shirt while the guy next to you is decked out in a custom suit. Nine times out of ten you won’t get the job. Universities offer feminist theory classes—maybe in my time they’ll have pickup theory classes as well, because that’s what is currently needed to even the playing ground. Men need the tools that game offers them to achieve their genetic potential in our feminist culture.

The truth is you should never stop playing the game. The moment you stop playing the game is the moment you stop getting what you want. Some years I will play more than others, but I will not throw away principles based on human nature and hacks into today’s woman which allow me to properly get and manage as many women as I can handle. If you want to be happy then you must embrace game. Game is happiness, and end game is death.

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 maneuver begins on a Thursday. After you wake up go on an internet dating site and message ten girls. If you’re in Latin America then Badoo is a good place to try since it’s free.

Then go out on Thursday and do five approaches, either day or night.

Go out on Friday and do ten approaches, either day or night.

Go out on Saturday and do ten approaches, either day or night.

The approaches only count if there is at least some interaction (if she ignores you or tells you to fuck off then it doesn’t). I guarantee you that by Monday night you’ll at the minimum have a couple phone numbers and a date planned. With fresh prospects you can now build some momentum going into the next weekend.

What I like about this maneuver is that it isn’t sustained—give just give one incredible burst of pickup energy and then sit back for a while. It makes sure to take advantage of the weekend where more girls are going to be out, either shopping or drinking.

The downside is that finding girls could be difficult depending on where you are. You may have to dedicate a few hours each day just to hit your quota. Put other things on the back burner while you execute the maneuver because it must have utmost importance in your life at that time. Keep in mind that most men of the world don’t even approach 25+ girls in their life, so what you’re undertaking will take quite a bit of lifeblood.

I like to bust out the Thirty Five Maneuver when I’m in a new city and want to make something happen quickly. I don’t always have time to take it cool and that’s why I think this move will be well-suited for guys who are on the road. While I don’t like to do the manuever becomes of its inelegance and labor intensity, it has not once failed me.

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. Ache to remain in some type of embrace for the majority of a dinner or bar date. He will not feel comfortable breaking any sort of physical contact, like how a child holds onto her favorite Spongebob Squarepants pillow while asleep.

2. Refuse to check out other women in his surroundings who are painfully more beautiful than his girl. He volunteers to give her his balls for the duration of the relationship and stops being a primal man that wants to fuck the world’s women.

3. Goes for more than one kiss, regardless of date length. There is little reason to kiss girls more than once or twice at any public location, unless you haven’t banged her yet and are trying to get her horny enough to bang. A needy male feels that if he doesn’t constantly kiss his girl, she will lose interest.

4. Leans over the imaginary middle line between himself and his girl for more than 20% of the date. It’s better not to hear the girl and simply nod than exhibit weak body language. Most things a girl says aren’t important anyway.

5. Lay on a girl with eyes closed, as Roissy eloquently pointed out.

If I can tell you’re needy without having to interact with you, then you’re making many mistakes that will negatively affect your quality of life. A man will be happier in relationships where not only he has the upper hand but the girl is coming after him for attention and affections. The less you work, the more she will. Otherwise things will always be under her control and you will be in a perpetual state of chasing.

Because let’s be real: no relationship is 50/50. Someone will always know in the back of their mind that they run the show. You have absolutely failed as a man if that’s not you.

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.

Alright all you have to do is walk up to her and say ‘What’s your name?’ Then you give the two cheek kisses but make sure you do it nice and close. Then make her laugh a couple times and touch a lot and after that go for the kiss. Just go for it. It may take a couple tries.

You’ll find a lot Brazilian guys who say, “Yeah Brazilian girls kiss so fast. It’s very easy to kiss them.” But it’s not necessary because the girls are making fast moves, it’s because Brazilian guys go for it incredibly quick (the ones who have game, anyway).

Now I do think Brazilian girls put out an early “kiss me” vibe, but the guys guys definitely don’t waste any time. In other words if you’re a guy who isn’t aggressive with Brazilian girls, you may not automatically come to the conclusion they’re fast kissers.

(Now compare that to gringos I see in the hostel talking to some hippie girl for four hours in the patio without even touching her when you know he wants to hit. It’s like they’re waiting for the girl to be a man and step up.)

The guy who told me his strategy (let’s call him Renato) is from Recife, a city in the northeast. Along with three of his other friends, they were kissing a random girl in Pipa every night. One of them kissed a girl who couldn’t have been older than 14.

I was floating through a crowd with Renato’s friend and approached two Brazilian girls with something casual. It opened and we’re each talking to the girls. Lucky for me one of them spoke fluent English, but unfortunately she lost her voice and I could barely understand her. I tried reading her lips but that didn’t work so the best I could do was pick out a word here or there and pretend like I understood.

She didn’t want to dance, instead preferring to stand right underneath the club speaker, and she also didn’t want to move to the quiet, dark alley nearby. She was asking me questions that I couldn’t hear so on the surface she seemed interested, but to me the situation seemed rather hopeless.

Eventually I just gave up and stopped talking to her. I deemed this an impossible case. (If she wanted to dance though it would have been relatively easy.) Then Renato moved in. Actually he tried to move in before I was done but I casually blocked him out.

I watched him to see if he would do anything differently. He had her hand on her side, same thing I did, and made her laugh with a couple jokes, which I did as well. But then the frustration on his face became apparent when she tried talking. He kept putting his hands up in the air as if saying, “I can’t hear a single fucking thing that’s coming out of your mouth!” She declined to dance with him as well. I knew he felt what I did and was about to bow out.

Ah but there would be no post if he did.

He changed tactics and instead of asking her questions and trying to maintain a conversation, he just kept talking nonstop as if reading from a monologue. The things he was saying must’ve been cocky because she kept playfully hitting him, a sure sign you’re on the right track with a girl. Then he went for it. Only three minutes after I stepped aside, he tried to kiss her. She leaned way back to avoid his mouth and he gave a look that said, “Hey, what’s wrong?” She strongly shook her head no.

Over the next 15 minutes, Renato went for it at least seven times. It was painful to watch him get rejected again and again, especially when I saw it coming each time. Her body position was permanently set in a way to get ready for the backwards lean and after every rejection he would just make her laugh some more and keep touching to get ready for the next rejection. She didn’t walk away from him though, and kept playfully hitting him.

I walked around and when I came back I caught the instant where Renato went in for one more kiss. He grabbed her in a way which made it very difficult for her to move back, almost forcing her but not quite, and this time it worked. They went at it hard and sloppy.

I can’t stress how strongly she did not want to kiss him. Her rejections were so brutal, again and again, and if Renato was a close friend of mine I’d tell him to give it up to preserve his dignity.

If you see this type of caveman game you think, “Hmm this seems to be where it’s at. I just have to be super aggressive.” This is what I thought at first, but I kept watching and hanging out with Brazilian guys on subsequent nights, and the dirty truth is this: Brazilian guys kiss a lot of girls, but they don’t get a lot of bangs. Let me demonstrate why this is with an example from the world of book sales.

Say you wrote a book on knitting and was looking to advertise it on some knitting blog. You submit three different advertisements and run them all simultaneously. Here are the ads:

1. “Click here to check out an incredible new knitting book.”

2. “Finally! A resource that helps you knit clothing for you and your friends. Click here to learn more.”

3. “Click here for dozens of new knitting patterns.”

The ads run for a week and each get displayed 100 times. Here are the results:

1. 4 clicks and 2 sales. 50% conversion rate

2. 12 clicks and 3 sales. 25% conversion rate

3. 20 clicks and 1 sale. 5% conversion rate

The problem with the first ad is that it oversells—you’re telling people to just buy a book. Not many people will click the ad, but those that do will probably buy it. In the third ad you’ll get a lot of clicks from people looking for free knitting patterns but then they’ll get turned off when they find out you’re selling something. The second ad has the best mix. By saying “resource” you imply this may not be free, so you get clicks from people who are curious about new knitting information and may want to pay for it.

Clicks are kisses and sales are bangs. Very roughly speaking, American guys use ad one and Brazilian guys use ad three.

American guys roll up to a girl and say okay here is my job and my Netflix queue, click here to have sex with me. Many girls say no, but if they eventually do get the kiss chances are they’ll have an decent chance of banging.

Brazilian guys roll up to a girl and say “Hey what’s up you look pretty tonight” and then bam try to kiss. I’m not exaggerating. Brazilian guys go around certain clubs basically assaulting girls until they find one that submits to relentless pressure. Many times I’ve seen a guy corner a Brazilian girl and just force her to kiss while she tries to squirm out of it. They get it a lot of time, but of course it doesn’t result in a lot of “sales” because kissing alone isn’t enough to make a girl want to have sex with you.

The problem with going for the kiss super fast is that is disturbs the bang progression. To get bangs you build attraction over time, punctuating her increasing interest with escalation in the form of personal questions, touching, heavy touching, and then kissing. You’re building a storyline that shows your personality but also hints at passionate things to come. You form tension that is begging to be relieved in the bedroom.

Brazilian guys form no storyline, no tension. The whole interaction is about the kiss. And when they get it then the story comes to an early close. I’ve seen guys get the kiss and then two minutes later they’re back with their group of friends. Plus the guys insist on slobbering over the girl’s face, leaving very little imagination for increased pleasure that could come later.

But if you were to tell a Brazilian guy to delay the kiss, he’d call you crazy. I believe to them kissing is more important than banging, but to me banging is more important. I’m not going to kiss a girl unless she invests into the interaction by showing interest (asking me questions, reciprocating some touches), because that’s what it takes to close the sale.

The ideal time to get the kiss is at the 1 or 2 hour mark, depending on the girl’s culture. By then the girl will be invested enough, and the kiss will increase the interaction’s energy so that you only need 2-4 more hours to get the bang, assuming she’s that “type” of girl. So that’s 3 hours or more for the one night stand. (If I haven’t gotten the kiss by hour three, then it’s unlikely I will get the one night stand.) A downside of this is that you do commit your Friday night or whenever to one girl, but if you’re in the business of banging and not just kissing then this is how it’s done.

My intention here is not to trash the game of Brazilian guys. Their aggressiveness is admirable and I have picked up a couple small things from them, but no matter how long I stay in Brazil I don’t think I’ll completely adopt their strategy because the sales data shows they are on the extreme end of the spectrum. Passive Western guys who don’t try anything, like the hostel guy I mentioned in the beginning, are at the other end. It’s working the middle that will see the most bangs, where you are aggressive but allow the girl to be aggressive as well. Only when she puts in a good bulk of the work will you seal the deal consistently.

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.

So that got me thinking about the most effective way to learn a language, and I stumbled on something that has worked for me in Portuguese.

First, only learn words that you frequently use in your native language.

If you’re studying a resource and it has a word that you haven’t used in English during the past month, don’t even bother writing it down. The most effortless way to learn a language is to only study words that you will use soon in conversation because that helps commit it to memory. If you’re not exposing yourself to what you’re studying then it will never stick.

With Portuguese I first started with 200 basic words that I wrote on notecards. With each notecard I wrote the English version on one side and the Portuguese on the other. I studied by looking at the English word and then guessing the Portuguese word. This is what I have been doing with Spanish since the beginning, but I did one little extra step with Portuguese that is making a big difference: I made up a sentence using that word.

Let’s do an example with the Portuguese word for person, which is “pessoa.”

What is a common sentence I use with that word? Well many times I’ve been in a bar or club that was slow, so I’ve said, “There aren’t a lot of people here tonight.”

I know how to say “there,” “a lot” and “people,” but let’s pretend I don’t know the word “tonight.” I look that up and find out it’s “esta noite.” I write that down on its own card.

The next day I get to the “noite” card and then make another sentence I might use. How about: “Where is a good club to go out at night?” I don’t know how to say “club” so I look that up and the next day make another sentence which leads to another new word and another new sentence. Do you see how this works? I’m learning the language in my own words. And since I’ll soon use all these new words I can toss them from my notecard stack after a few days to continually add new ones.

When I’m talking in Portuguese and there is a word I wanted to say but couldn’t, I write that word down right then and there and look it up later, because I know it’s a word I’m going to use. One night months ago a Brazilian was complaining about how some gringos didn’t want to pay a $3 bar cover and I was dying to say “Some of them are cheap” but I didn’t know how to say “cheap.” So I looked it up when I got home and it was etched in my brain ready to use the following night.

The system in a nutshell:

1. Grab basic language resources that teach you the structure of the language and initial words you must know. I recommend a verb book, dictionary, grammar book, and the Pimsleur audio course. Start with the audio course and only move to the books once you get the basic pronunciation down.

2. Make notecards that focus on words you use in your own language. Make up a new sentence on-the-fly for each word.

3. Carry pen and paper everywhere (or have a smartphone) and write down words you wanted to use. Consult a dictionary but also ask locals to nail the pronunciation. You must do this because in just an hour or two you will forget all the words you wanted to look up.

4. Commit for 90 minutes a day. It’s a myth to think you’ll “pick up” the language enough to be conversational in a reasonable amount of time. Unless you’re 5-years-old it’s not going to happen quickly without study.

Study the language in your own words, then go out every day to practice what you learned on the local women. In just a couple months you’ll be able to have basic conversations and communicate a good portion of what you want to say, including your game translated from English.

After that you’ll hit a wall when going from having conversational skill to being proficient, a place where I’m stuck in with both Spanish and Portuguese. Maybe I’ll have some advice about that in the future.

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.

Take a shower, put on your clothes, hit the bar, and just keep going.

Months ago you started a new business, but it’s not doing so well. It’s bleeding cash and you’re living with your parents, barely surviving. The business refuses to pop. You already sold your car and your main mode of transportation is the bike you had in college over ten years ago. In the rare chance you make it out at night you have no choice but to steal the occasional drink or two because you can’t afford your own. You see other guys your age with fancy cars and clothes, and feel ashamed that you have to watch every dollar and cook ramen noodles five times a week. A friend hands you a beaten-up book on sales, one of your biggest business weaknesses.

Crack open the book, take notes, write out a plan, and just keep going.

For a year you planned out this grand voyage around the world, but you’ve been dealt hardship, illness, and stupid problems one after the other. It seems like you’re bedridden half the time and the love you thought you had for experiencing exotic places has been replaced by constant thoughts of returning home. You’re unable to communicate with the natives and are having trouble making friends. Cultural differences are greater then you had imagined and you’re tired of being ripped off by everyone who sees you as nothing more than a wallet. Everyone back at home seems to be having a better time than you, and now you have doubts about your decision. But you know how lucky you are for being able to do what you’re doing, and a fellow traveler told you about a city somewhat nearby that has the things you’re looking for.

Pack your bags, go to the train station, and just keep going.

Until you think you’re putting your life in danger, just keep going. Until you have proved to yourself that you are stronger than everyone else who has attempted what you’re attempting, just keep going. Until your being is completely shattered and you’re on the verge of an emotional breakdown, just keep going. Until you’ve reached your absolute physical, human limit, until you’ve squeezed every drop of value out of the fruit you’re chasing, and until you are certain without a single doubt in the universe that absolutely nothing positive or worthy can come from what you’re doing, just keep going.

Do not stop. Just keep going.

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.

Obviously I don’t think cheating on a girlfriend is morally wrong, but I do think it’s wrong to bang your girl without a condom and then creep without because you’re exposing her to diseases that could create an uncomfortable situation. But besides that I feel very little guilt when I cheat because my main girl will never know. I keep it locked down so tightly that it would take a lottery chance event to get me. The result is I get to fulfill my perverse needs while having something stable with a girl that I care for. That’s win-win… unless she finds out. Here’s what I do to make sure that doesn’t happen:

1. Get started on the right foot. Do not get into that pattern where you must talk on the phone every day. To accomplish this you’ll have to state that you need your “space” early in the relationship, that you don’t want it to get into that friendly boring zone where you’re talking about what time you woke up and what you had for lunch. She’ll honor your request but slip and send frequent text messages, which is fine—it’s easy to creep with another girl when all you gotta do is send texts.

Also, if you want to actually have the ability to cheat, you need time not only to meet other girls but to take them out on dates. This means you want to get into no more than a twice-a-week date pattern with your girl, one date on the weekday and one on the weekend. Resist her efforts to see you more by saying again you need space and are the loner type that feels smothered easily.

2. Don’t give her access to your phone or computer. This is how 90% of guys get caught cheating. They left their phone laying around, unlocked, and the girl finds incriminating text messages. It’s easy to brush off female numbers in your phone as old, but not a text message stamped yesterday where you confirmed fresh plans. Either delete the text messages manually before you see her or lock your keypad. Fail to do either and you will get busted eventually, guaranteed. Girls are savvy with cell phones and only need sixty seconds to sift through your messages or call history.

I’ve caught two girls messing around with my phone. Once I went to go wash my cock after sex and came back with my phone on the floor instead of the nightstand. I guess she panicked when she heard I was finished with washing my cock and threw it on the floor. The other time I spent the night at this Brazilian girl’s house and woke up in the morning with all my clothes gone. I walked around her place dazed and naked, wondering if I just got got, and found her sitting on the bathroom toilet going through all my shit.

For your computer, log off your email account when you know she’s coming over and then launch a different browser that you never use. While it would take time for her to sift through emails if you slip to the bathroom, girls go straight to the Sent folder to gather evidence. I’m certain that the female species plays dumb with gadgets and computers on purpose so that we leave our things laying around. Also lock down anything else that could get you in trouble like Skype (call history) and the secret pick-up blog you operate.

3. Don’t create a lasting impression with her friends. While some guys will argue that a way to win a girl is through her friends, I only find that to be the case with very young girls around college age—once she’s in her mid-20’s she doesn’t seek as much approval from her friends as before. If you’re meeting her friends for the first time then show up in an outfit you never wear and also a slightly different hair or beard configuration. You don’t need to wear a disguise but appear a little differently.

The reason is that her friends are spies and when you’re creeping they may spot you and then immediately rat you out. By looking different and not making an impression, the goal here is they don’t recognize you when you’re creeping. It also offers a layer of plausible deniability because you can say that you were experimenting with a new look when you met them and they probably confused you for someone else. Furiously deny it was you that they witnessed making out with another girl. You have no other choice, not matter how obvious it was you. Be like the United States government where photo or video evidence is required to pursue torture charges.

4. Do not mix dating venues. You want to have two parallel sets of venues to minimize cross contamination. If you take your girlfriend to the same bar as your creep girls, a bartender or regular may accidentally out you, or tip her off while you’re in the bathroom. We all know those don’t-date-him girls who’s life mission it is to warn other women of cheating men.

5. Don’t frequent her regular spots. This doesn’t need to be said but there is an exception: when one of her spots is a place you can get laid like a champ.

In Rio there is a club where, as of this writing, I have a 33% bang rate. This means every three times I’ve went, I banged a girl. There’s no way I’m going to stop going to a place like that, but the success I had at this club could easily lead to my doom.

Here’s how I have avoided problems: I’d go without telling my girl and for the first hour I’d be diligent about scanning the room for her or her friends. As the night went on, and the chances of her coming was reduced, I’d ramp up my game and start touching girls and going for kisses. If I know my girl likes going to the place at 1am and it’s 2:30am and there’s no sign of her, I can get sloppy without any fear. Of course I always scan, a pretty paranoid way to mack, but that’s what it takes to not get caught cheating.

6. Pick a friend who will be your go-to excuse for why you can’t hang out with her. It’s best she has met the friend but I’ve invented guys as well. Be consistent and have him be the excuse whenever you didn’t want to hang with her. Examples:

“Friday I’m hanging out with Steve but how about Saturday?”

“Steve wants to go to Sushi on Tuesday night to talk about some girl problems so let’s do movie night on Wednesday.”

“Sorry I didn’t answer I actually hung out with Steve in this lame club and didn’t hear the phone ring.”

Never allow her to join you with Steve, explaining that he doesn’t like being the third wheel. Add that you need guy time to do some male bonding, to talk trash and just be men.

What’s going to happen is she will develop a deep hatred for Steve because she thinks he’s keeping you away from her. That’s not a bad thing because Steve will be the channel for her hate. Feel free to milk this by making it seem like Steve has an influence over you since he’s “cool” and “fun.” Many of my friends in D.C. would use me as their Steve and I can tell you that a dozen girls still hate my guts because of it.

7. Be mindful of when you blow your load. If your girl expects a gallon of cum on her face when you bang, and then this one time have a trickle because you just got done banging another girl, warning signs are going to go off in her head. Therefore regulate your horniness and sperm quantity. If you know it takes two days to recharge after a lengthy sex episode, then allow that much time before banging a mistress and then your girl. This is why when it comes to the weekend I always try to put my girl on Friday. If I bang another girl on Friday then I will show up in her bedroom on Saturday already sated and she will pick up on it.

8. Try to bang your mistresses at their places. You don’t want her to leave something behind like a bobby pin, unique perfume scent, or blood. Also realize that a girl can tell the difference between a strand of her hair that is hers and one that is only 5% different. If you have to bang a mistress in your place then commit yourself to a CSI-like clean sweep afterwards. Do not get lazy at this step. View your room from many different angles, get on your knees, and go sniffing around everywhere. Flush used condoms down the toilet and put the wrappers deep in the kitchen trash can.

9. Construct and rehearse your alibi. Anticipate what questions your girl is going to ask and have simple, quick answers to them. For example say you went out on a Thursday night after telling your girl you’d stay in. You met a girl in the club who bit the hell out of your neck in the heat of passion. You brought her home and she turned out to be a flooder. The sheets were destroyed.

Let’s focus on each aspect of the situation. If she asks why you didn’t answer the phone or call her back, say you wanted to stay in but Steve called and begged you to go out because he’s trying to get this girl that has an ugly friend. So for most of the night you had to talk to a fatty, but you wished you were with her instead. The club was so loud that you didn’t see the call and by the time you noticed it was too late to call back.

Second, the scratch on the back of your neck happened when you were in the kitchen. You left a cabinet door open and when you reached down to pick something up off the floor, you come back up right under it and caught your neck. Of course you will wear a collared shirt to cover it up and prevent her discovery, but if you never wear collared shirts around her then she will be even more suspicious if she catches the scratch. If you have a sister and can borrow her makeup this may also be a good play, or just go to the nearest department store’s cosmetic counter. I’m not joking.

Third, the sheets. In America you can do a wash and dry load quickly, but in countries without a dryer it has to hang for quite a while. If she insists on coming in during the late afternoon before it dries, say how mad you are at the maid for dicking around and always coming in on the wrong days.

You’ve closed the gaps. Otherwise it would be a very damaging situation. While subconsciously she will know something is going on and be moody and testy, consciously she will accept your airtight alibi and things can proceed as normal.

10. Don’t let guilt change your routine. After a successful creep you’ll probably feel guilty for cheating on such a nice girl. You’ll then feel compelled to make a surprise phone call, be more affectionate or loving, or even buy her something small like a chocolate truffle or rose. Resist this urge and proceed with your normal routine because girls can sense when you’re doing something out of the ordinary. She’ll know that you are trying to relieve your guilt, and while she may not automatically assume it’s from cheating, she’ll know you did something wrong.

When you get good at cheating, you also get good at identifying cheating along with the precursors of cheating, like when she meets another guy that she’s attracted to. In due time you’ll be able to piece together storylines. For example let’s take a look at this following hypothetical situation:

Friday: Your Brazilian girl texts you from a party, says there are “a lot of gringos.” Stays there late.

Saturday: You send her a text at 6pm but she waits three hours before replying that she was “sleeping.”

Following Friday: She says she’ll be busy Saturday, but doesn’t say with whom. Even though it’s easier to say “I’m going out with Stevie,” some girls have trouble lying.

Saturday night: She says she is free.

Likely Story: She met a gringo on the first Friday and he asked her to a coffee date or drink early Saturday evening. There he told her to keep the following Saturday free but eventually flaked on her. This means she’s actively looking for better. Either you step up and offer more of her core needs (without being needy about it of course), or you can say fuck it, get a couple more bangs, and move onto another girl.

Besides concrete evidence like a text message, email, or hair clip, your girl will never have 100% solid proof against you. By being an accomplished liar, avoiding sloppy moves, and covering holes that develop, it becomes very close to impossible for her to catch you. All this so you can have your cake and eat it too. I think it’s a good way for a man to live, but if your ass gets caught don’t blame me.

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 give a case study of an early seduction with a Colombian girl, the roadblocks I faced and why I chose to go in certain directions.

Step 1: The Meet. This was a day game approach in a Medellin university. I opened a girl alone sitting on a cafeteria table and within 20 minutes I had her cell phone number, home phone, and email. She spoke no English so the conversation was in Spanish. This happened on a Tuesday.

Step 2: Monkey Wrench. A 3-day holiday weekend was coming up so it would be at least a week until I could get her out (I don’t like scheduling first dates on weekends). Trying to a date for two days later would be way too needy unless there was an incredible connection upon meeting (i.e. sex) and I also didn’t want to call “just to say hi” because that’s idiotic. That left Monday as the next available day I could call her, a pretty long wait of six days. I needed a bridge to keep myself “in the news.”

Step 3: First Contact. I emailed her Friday telling her to have a good holiday weekend and that I’ll call her afterwards so that “maybe” we can do something. I asked her no questions, making it impossible for her to keep me in the lurch if she so decided the play the waiting game with me.

Step 4: First Reply. She replied on Sunday with smiley faces and various other emoticons, but she informed me she lost her cell phone so I have to call her home phone to talk to her.

Step 5: First Call. I called her house the next day. I figured her mom would answer, and sure enough she did, but the girl wasn’t there. I declined to leave a message. Now it’s getting a little sticky—I don’t want to keep calling her house, and she didn’t seem to check her email often. What to do?

Step 6: Improvise. I decided to email her a few hours after my first call attempt. I wrote, “Hey I just called but you weren’t there. When you have time, my cell phone number is so and so, or I can call you later.”

Do you see the mistake? By saying “I can call you later,” I was telling her that she didn’t have to call at all and put in any work, the opposite of what I wanted. So I deleted the mistake portion and hit send.

Step 7: Keep It Alive. Two days later she writes back saying she will call me the second her phone is activated (more smiley faces). This means she doesn’t want to make the first call. Not unexpected, but time is ticking. I couldn’t afford to wait much longer because momentum was being lost. I decided to try setting a date via email.

Step 8: Setting The Date. I wanted to suggest a date a few days away to account for her infrequent email checking, and since I didn’t know her schedule I had to throw out two possible nights so I don’t get an initial refusal that would prolong the process.

My email reply was, “Or we can just plan to do something through email. I know a good bar in Parque Lleras, how about tuesday or wednesday around 8?”

Note my undercapitalizations. This may seem trivial but if a girl is breezy with her emails you don’t want to hire a proofreader for yours. Don’t try harder than she is.

She replied in 10 minutes, saying Wednesday would be best. So she does check her email often, but sits on replies. She’s playing the game a little but not hard enough that suggests she’d be a headache.

Step 9: Confirming The Date. The day before the date she finally called me, confirming the date. It went on as planned.

After attraction is built most of the game is logistical, keeping up hot pursuit, and not doing anything stupid. We only exchanged a few dozen words during the date-setting process, but my timing and the way I structured the ask made the date happen on a somewhat reluctant girl. You have to be aggressive but non-needy, and striking the balance between the two is where you’ll see the most success.

All that mental effort to set one date is fascinating if you ask me. And why do I do it? For the pussy and the old in-out in-out, yes, but also for the sense of accomplishment of tagging something new. I’m sure it’ll get old some day.

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.

It took me some time to get comfortable with venue changing to her place or mine. I used to think not enough trust was established and there was no way she’ll let a strange guy she just met a couple hours ago take her somewhere alone, that I probably was going to murder or rape her. But this isn’t the case—if the girl thinks you are a murderer or rapist she won’t spend time talking to you. When a girl declines a venue change, it’s either because of logistics or because she doesn’t want to appear as a slut. The girls who do get turned off by your one night stand attempt are the ones who would take a long time to get into bed anyway. The attempt screens out those girls who aren’t serious about sex. Plus, having a sexual intent by using physical touching and the desire to isolate makes it clear that friendship is not in the cards. She will just walk away from you before settling into a friendship, which you are not interested in. Going for sex early is win-win: if she submits to your moves then you get laid, and if not then you can move onto the next girl without wasting valuable time.

Some of you are thinking that by only going for easy girls I’m screening out “good” girls who are worth more investment. I’d believe you but I already tried that—I tried going slow on girls I thought were more valuable than the rest, but it rarely worked out in my favor. I was either putting way too much work in it for little back, the interaction would end before I got sex, or the girl wasn’t as valuable as I initially thought.

I have much more patience with Colombian and Brazilian women because with them I’m rewarded for waiting a date or two longer. Our connection gets deeper, the intimacy is better, and generally I feel like the relationship is more healthy and not primarily based on sex. For some reason that type of patient mindset doesn’t serve me well with American girls. It’s better I just hit and quit with them, enjoying the quick casual relationship while fantasizing about a “real” relationship with a women who is more suitable for type of thing.

Of course there are exceptions and not every American girl is permanently damaged for all eternity, but it seems a lot harder to find relationship prospects in the States than in South America. The odds are simply not in my favor. Going for a relationship with a girl who has had a few dozen large cocks before me just doesn’t make a lot of sense as I would be paying more for a product that has been at a heavy discount (or free) for so many years before. I could look for many years in America before finding something acceptable, whereby it would take a fraction of the time in a different country.

Bottom line is if she’s a whore then treat her like one so you’ll at least get yours instead of getting played in the process. And then the time will come where you meet a girl who is more needy with less cock experience. Sure she doesn’t talk like a porn star in bed but she’ll genuinely care about you and want to make you happy while overlooking your many flaws. Then you can slow it down and get to know her as a human being. But until you meet that girl, it’s in the best interests of your cock to get sex as fast as possible.

In my book Bang I give advice on how to get the notch quickly, with discussion on venue changing to the bedroom along with specific steps to get past ball-busting resistance. View sample pages here.

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 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.