Archive for the ‘Game’ Category

A reader needs game advice, stat. Time is of the essence, so think hard and think fast, like you would have to do if you were in the reader’s shoes right now.

At the coffee shop there’s a cute girl in line waiting for her drink.  She’s wearing daisy dukes with red tights underneath; she has a yoga mat and a big black purse that would comfortably fit a bowling ball.  Her back is turned but we’re standing close; she does two very subtle periphery glances – a short one and a longer one lasting about 5 seconds – I am unapologetically checking her out and she knows it.  If there was any doubt, she sets her bag down on the floor in front of the bar and bends over in front of me.  Then she sits down just to the left of the bar with her back still turned – there’s a chair to her right, but it has a sumi ink station and won’t be a good work space for my computer.

How do I open-to-close a girl in a coffee shop with her back turned that is deliberately trying to create sexual tension?  If I clown I can open her, but I’ll kill the vibe.  How do I keep the energy up without saying something so offensive that I get kicked out?

“sumi ink station”? fuck this fey earth.

Don’t worry about getting kicked out. If you worry about that, you’ve already failed. Worrying about bad consequences with tiny odds of occurring will stunt your inner game.

Forget any sexual stuff. This is, I assume, day game, in a coffee shop. If you immediately go sexual after she nonverbally flirted with you, she’ll perceive you as a desperate horndog, eager to chomp on her cockteaser beta bait.

You could implicitly call her out for glancing around, and then gently chastise her form. (This is a flip-the-mating-script category of opener.)

“It’s fun to check out the goods in a coffee shop. But the trick is to do it with some subtlety.”

This line of attack would require sitting near her, which would mean sitting at the sumi ink station (again, wtf). It would also encourage further conversation.

If sitting near her isn’t an option, then on your way walking past her, say,

“If you need some more time to check me out, I’ll be sitting over there.”

Likewise, this line is about assuming the sale and putting yourself in the “chasee” role. Chicknip.

Another option: Leverage your surroundings. Dawdle for a bit around the sumi ink chair as if you’re deciding to sit or not, and say,

“If I sit here I won’t get any work done. I’ll be distracted by… the ink.”

Anyhow, that’s all I got atm. Commenters, fire away.

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I’m hearing this off-tune braggadocio a lot lately from the usual leper colony of game haters: “I just walk up and make small talk like a normal human being, and get girls! Why do you game dorks make such a big deal out of it?”

Lemme clue you in about what’s going on behind the scenes here. At least a few of these “just be yourself” shoot-from-the-unhip variants are doing what they say — picking up girls and whisking them to the altar on nothing but small talk — but what they don’t tell you is the quality of girls they small talk into lustful abandon. Hint: They ain’t HBhubbahubbas.

Yeah, if you’ve got your shit together, and compose yourself that way, you can conceivably chit chat a 5 into a deep love trance. For example, sometimes to shake the rust off I’ll hit on plainer girls equipping myself with only an arsenal of small talk. Once, I saw a incipiently chubby, swipply girl in a t-shirt advertising some tropical locale she had visited. She was no great looker, easy on one eye, but respectable enough for practice, so I veered in with my game put on hold. I said “Hey your shirt. I’ve been there. Great place. Did you like it?”

No qualification, no push pull, no teasing, no escalating kino, no fission grade smirk, nothing except average guy fluff talk and (by then internalized) non-obsequious body language. Ten minutes later, she was smiling like a drunk porpoise. When it ended, no numbers exchanged, she looked almost annoyed, as if silently wondering why did I waste her time if I wasn’t going to ask her out.

Don’t misconstrue. Small talk is great, and it, like other tools of applied charisma, is a skill that can be honed and targeted to nuke vagina from orbit. Shit, half the men who fail at love haven’t even gotten to the step where actual words are coming out of their mouths around women.

But if you’re gonna play in the big leagues and throw your pitch at bona fide babes, you’ll need more to close the deal than a polite acknowledgement of her choice in breast coverings. (In fact, you’d do better to tell a hottie exactly that: “Hey, I like your choice in breast covering.” It’ll shock her into attraction.) You’ll need the knuckleball, sinker, cutter, and a little bit of unpredictable english if you want to stand out from the mob of scrubs.

*LSMV = low sexual market value

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Ah, cute prole girls. I love em to death. It’s my studied opinion that red state prole chicks who don’t bloat up (a vanishing set, granted) are, on the whole, more feminine than their blue city counterparts.

Here’s the trick, should you find yourself deep in bucolic red territory: Deck yourself out in a piece of clothing or an accessory with insignia that clearly identifies some media, fashion, or arty conglomerate. (Big IT companies don’t work as well for this trick, because no matter how exclusive Club GOOG, you will still be looked upon as a nerd. You may as well have a scarlet N on your forehead.)

Curiosity will overwhelm her good sense. She’ll ask (she will) for details. You’re in to sin.

Cute prole girls are salt of the earth, but they love the fantasy of the blue city alpha male with connections and a social calender bursting with fruit flavor. Dat “expert from afar” feel. Wearing something that signals you work for one of those dream companies, true or not, is a honey cock trap for inexperienced naifs. If the giddy sociopath is strong in you, feel free to concoct an elaborate, opulent lifestyle dedicated to your glowing self-conception.

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Your Place Or Hers?

I’ve read all the pickup theories concerning this burning question. On paper, each side makes reasonable arguments. One that sticks out is the claim that women feel more comfy in their own places, and their comfort will translate into easier sex.

Theories abound, but my experience has already given me the answer to the question ‘my place or hers?’. It’s an If THEN ELSE *beep boop* computation.

1. If your place is much farther away than her place, go to hers. Favorable logistics wins every time. Too much delay getting her from the date venue to a bedroom means more time for her tingle anticipation to dissipate.

2. If the above condition is not met, by default take her to your place. As a percentage of total number of venue-to-home bounces, you will close the deal more often at your place than at hers. This is what I’ve found to be true. Taking a girl back to your castle instills a power dynamic that works to your favor. She will “feel led”, and that feeling, especially when coupled with a stir of anxiety, arouses her. Plus, a woman who knows subconsciously that she can kick you out of her place on a whim is a woman who has too much psychological leverage to ever fully submit in that most pleasurable way to your indomitable presence.

EXCEPTION TO ABOVE RULE: You’re slinking around for supplementary pussy. Best then to keep your mistresses in the dark about your permanent abode(s).


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A reader passed along a screenshot of a text exchange he had with a girl he was trying to bang. He wanted to show how bratty this girl was behaving, tossing shit test after shit test his way, and wondered how he could eventually subdue her, wrest the brat from its chokehold on her id, and get her softly purring like a kitten.

Nick starts weakly. If you know the girl is a nuclear bitch, you’ve gotta make your first swing count. That pimp hand has to make an appearance early to set the tone of the conversation. Nick began like a normal human being, and quickly found out his politeness was ineffective. All his nod to courtesy did was incite Jessica to amazing feats of brattitude.

Right away she calls him Olga. For this reason, I call the style of game designed to tame tankgrrls, Olga Game.

Nick’s reply comes four hours later (he makes her wait as punishment for the ‘tude). He lifts a line straight from CH: “lol bratty mcbrattster”. So far so good.

She plays ball. Another five hours later, she replies “don’t question it hahaha” This chick has squared off with alphas before. I bet she has a clit piercing.

Nick answers two hours later, and amps the asshole a couple of degrees. He pulls out another classic CH line, “littlespoon doesn’t make the rules”. Too little, too late? We’ll see.

Jessica strikes back hard. She thinks she’s being funny, but her last text is tinged with cunty spite. Now I’m convinced that not only does she have a clit piercing, she has taken it up the ass.

I lost the original source for this reader submission, so I don’t know what happened next, or if there was an informative follow-up to this shiv-shaped badinage. All I can tell Nick is that he’s dealing with a hellion, which is bad and good. Bad, because she’ll eat you alive if you show a flicker of beta weakness. Good because if you get through her defenses with your pride intact, she will be the dirtiest slut in bed for you.

Olga Game is essentially script flipping. Girls like Jessica will expect you to continue your hard teasing banter, (and they’ll continue returning equally caustic parries); therefore, the way to win this battle… is to refuse to fight it. Take her mental hamster script and rewrite it. When she expects another emotionally arid jest, respond instead with a faux pose of sincerity, laced with a judgmental pique aimed at her inability to connect like a normal healthy woman.

Jessica Rabid: “no no I think you need to go put on a nice dress blah blah…”

Nick the Iron Dick: “sure, i’ll get on that as soon as you drop the act and be real”

This is thermonuclear script-flipping intended for a very specific audience and context. Gauge wisely. If a girl is a broken record with her endless bitch barrages of return fire, that’s the moment to think about deploying Olga Game. It’s shocking, and for the girl who is used to being shocked by assholes of varying degrees of state control, the “be real” plot change to the stale book of her dating life could be the shock that finally tames her.

Sometimes these sassy chicks get trapped by their own “I’m a tough broad” expectations, and lose the capacity to be emotionally vulnerable around men. Their hearts are as scarred as their vaginas. If you meet one of these girls, think about using that pair of high hearts you have up your sleeve. Make a feint toward vulnerability, however expertly faked, and the hardened trollop may soften up just enough for your penetrating id busters.

Just don’t be stupid about it. Don’t profess your attraction like some warrior poet. A little step back can mean a big leap forward. If she takes the Olga Game bait and backs off a little, you’ve got a chance with her. Now you’re no longer some “fun guy” she feels free to fuck around with because you’re “just another player like all the rest.” Proceed in this manner, extracting genuine emotions, but return to the previous script at inopportune times, like when there’s a sense that the conversation is veering close to sap. Unpredictability will slowly but inevitably switch the chaser-chasee roles into an alignment more favorable for the man’s romantic goals.

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Troll Starbucks and get laid. What’s not to like?

Commenter grit turns lemonade into hard 10 lemonade,

Take your [“Race Together”] cup from the hopefully cute barista, return a minute later.
“Are you hitting on me?”

She will be perplexed and wonder why.

“Apparently we are going to a 5k together.”

She laughs to break tension. And has to explain what it means, submissively. Ignore anything she says.

Comment how she looks like a runner. As opposed to those people at starbucks who ask for half and half “if you know what i mean”

Notice the time and say “you got that pen handy? How about adding something else to my cup.” Hand back and she asks what to add. “Your number.”


Tight game, grit. Sticking it to the SJW manlet and stealing the women he wishes he had. Conan, that’s what is good in life.


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What men are subconsciously thinking when they litter their texts and chats to women with smilies:

this will show her how happy and upbeat i am! i’m so enthused to be talking to her. so enthused! she will like me more when she sees how enthused i am that an electronic blip on a screen is making me horny big time.

What women are subconsciously thinking when they receive texts and chats littered with smilies from men:

ugh gross. that’s his fourth smiley. why is he trying so hard? he must not get laid much. if no other women want him, why would i want him? next.

CH once admonished men against the self-defeating compulsion to send women tons of smilies in an effort to build a romantic connection.

1. Too many smilies and question marks. A good rule of thumb when texting or emailing a girl is simply to refrain from using emoticons or question marks at all. Following this rule will help rewire your brain into mimicking the brain of an alpha.

Some emojis are useful as a pickup tool. But smilies — lots of ingratiating smilies — are the kiss-off of death to any budding ASCII courtship. Women are contemptuous of ingratiating betas, and a surfeit of smilies is a leading indicator of an appeasing man with the character of a chew toy. The smilies are weak.

Now, as it so happens, ♂SCIENCE♂ affirms this CH dictum.

It turns out that men who insert this little guy “:)” in their dating profiles or messages don’t get a good response from the ladies (on a personal note, I’ve heard some women say that the only thing they look forward to less than a smiley or, God forbid, winky face is an unsolicited picture of a dude’s junk… but that’s another story).

After studying a sample of 4,000 members, Zoosk found that men with a “:)” in their profile get 6% less incoming messages and 12% fewer responses to outgoing messages. Using a “:)” in an actual message decreased response rates by a whopping 66%.

You can get your hard truths later, after the party’s over, by waiting for social science studies to percolate through the genderqueersphere, or you can get them now, before the plebes have roused from slumber, as an honored guest of Le Chateau.

Men, on the other hand, love a good emoticon. So much so that women with a “:)” in their profile get 60% more messages.

To a man’s brain, an emotionally open woman is a contender to be a sexually open woman.

But wait!

Zoosk found that using the slightly longer “:-)” emoticon in a message actually increases responses by 13%.

I bet the men using the full “:-)” used it less frequently than the men sending the desperate “:)” configuration used their smiley choice. “:)” lends itself to mass beta spamming.

Ya know, forget all this smiley crap. Just stick with the tried-and-true, matchmaking basics.


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