A reader exploited the collected wisdom of Chateau Heartiste text game techniques and unloaded it all on one unsuspecting girl. Hilarity ensued. (The dude’s replies are in blue. Also, note the time stamps for even more yuks.)
After you’re done stitching up your split sides, take a moment to reflect on the two lessons offered by this romantic tete-a-tete.
1. There is such a thing as overgaming. Too much game, all at once, can make you seem unattainable. Or uninterested. Or clownish. Think of game as the large muscle groups of your body. Those showy guns are impressive, but without all the connective tissue, the skeletal frame, the ligaments and tendons, and the small stabilizer muscles, you aren’t doing much with those guns except blasting one giant cap before blowing out a knee. So you work on building up those “stabilizer” parts of your game, like your congruency, your inner calm, your attitude, your story-telling, your timing, your piecemeal vulnerability, your calculated relenting, your genuine displays of interest, etc…
2. Notice that even this funnyman’s blatant disregard of the rule against overgaming doesn’t kill his chances with the woman, who is obviously committed to the conversation and unable to fully extract herself in a face-saving manner. Her replies have all the tells of a woman who is absolutely intrigued by the man who taunts her:
- correcting her own grammar mistakes
- prompt replies to his delayed replies
- her tacit admission that she would like to be invited by him somewhere in the future
- her yearning to know what he means by his cryptic texts (“Movies?”)
- the large discrepancy in text lengths (she must write twenty words for every one of his)
- the inability to stop replying to his texts, even when his texts began veering into absurdity. (a sincerely uninterested woman stops replying after the first or second go-round)
The truth that keeps rearing its ugly face is this: If you, as a man, set yourself apart from the beta male masses, no matter how outrageous your cocky assholery, you will swim in a sea of pussy. At the least, you will have dropped your oars into that sea, while the betas are high and dry, watching you sail off from afar.
End of debate. Ladies, you only have your tingles to blame for the men you escort to your beds.
PS I got an extra belly laugh from this part:
“Sorry I require effort. Not a call girl or 22 years old anymore. Was fun when I was but that’s all done now. … No longer the girl who goes to hang while you DJ then I get drunk then you fuck me after.”
It’s always those post-peak nubility women with slutty pasts who “require effort”. Sorry. If you want “effort”, you have to be worth it. Effort, like respect, must be earned. And a former “alpha fux, beta bux” party girl on the downslope of her beauty career nursing regrets about having given it away for free to DJs when she was younger, hotter, tighter is not a prize that many men with options will put much effort into wooing.
Be happy you got a “8====D”.