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The Game by Neil Strauss


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jesus...i thought dale carnegie was bad.

im not even done this yet...but hoowwwleee shit...this is disturbing on so many levels. SOME of you must have read this, right?

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This shit is ridiculous. There was a thread about this somewhere else.

I was sarging at a bar when I spotted a HB8.75 in a conversation with two UGs (6.275 and 5.9). I dispatched my WM to run an IP and approached with the MT. I started out with a +2 neg ("Nice hair color, is it real?") and then followed up with kino ("Let me feel it and see") I then used NLP to induce a trance state, and ended up with what I thought was a #close.

Unfortunately, the HB must have made a mistake, because that # turned out to be a pizza parlor. Still, FS HAS CHANGED MY LIFE! Who wants to go sarging tomorrow?

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Hahaha, americans are so bad at picking up chicks they need a self help book to get laid (what's even sadder is that it's not gonna work) hahahaha. Sorry :P

Some people should really start to turn around their view of women and see them as living, breathing, three-dimentional individuals just like them; it may sound cheesy but it's a good start if you want to get some. This book sounds like a "how to use my camera" guide and that's not good.

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I couldnt agree more, the book is more of a novel then a how to book. I actually have a friend that preaches this book and he actuall uses the routines Strauss talks about. I once watch him do the anchoring with the sugar packet and he got so shot down it ade my day.

But, he does use the openers a lot and I guess its a good way to start a conversation. Strauss has a website with a message board, if you are interested. All in all, I would say take the book for what it is and don't take it all to heart. If anything it will help you be more comfortable around the opposite sex.

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You're about 2 years late with this book but I'll break it down for what it is. The book is a good story. The basic concepts work but using routines will never conpensate for poor "inner game" and experience. Picking up women is like any skill, so practice makes perfect.

Keys to the vip is a somewhat good example, although somewhat dramaticized...watching this show makes me want to go clubbing more to get better at my game...

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glad u posted that , my roomate said that a friend of his actually pitched the idea for the show to comedy network here in Canada..

i dont think he even gets credited, but small world. The shortcoming of the show is that the hosts never have to display their own "skill" or lack therof..

and like everyone has said, the game is an excellent read, but applying any sort of method in a half-ass manner is not going to work. I think the most important lesson if anything, is not to be just yourself, but your best version of self

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You know they broke up right? Some PUA on the field snatched his girl from him a couple months later...

Serious? I saw them on a couple of TV shows. But I personally find Tyler durden and mystery quite disturbing. Mystery looks like criss angels brother or something.

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Part of the attraction this has is that it sets up "reality" in terms that Men, with their logic-inclined minds are better able to understand. Literally, it turns into a game. There are values, scores, senseless acronyms that have concrete values and meanings.

Of course, it leaves them wholly unprepared for the moments when they finally catch their quarry -- ever see what dogs do if they ever manage to successfully chase down, and catch a car?

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when are guys gonna realize that the only reason this book has any basis is that it gives them a reason to actually approach and talk to a girl?

thats 90% of the battle done. 10% is not sounding like a total idiot, which starts off best with "hi" as opposed to that psych bullshit about ignoring the one you're after etc etc etc.

I plan on publishing in a few months.

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What ever you do, be careful....

From Craigslist

I'll try to sum up a funny story that happened a few years ago:

I got a vasectomy.

I met a girl soon afterwards. She was nice and attractive but with a selfish streak that raised a big red flag. She was 32 at the time and I could practically HEAR her biological clock ticking. Regardless, she was a good lay, easy on the eyes, and reasonably good company.

I did NOT tell her about my vasectomy and I always used a condom with her to protect against STDs. She assumed, obviously, that the condom was only used for birth control. Silly girl.

We date for a few months. I never made any move towards commitment but she brought it up ocassionally. For me, this was a casual but pleasant relationship. For her - as I was to find out - it was part of life-changing series of events that she was planning very carefully.

Four months into dating, I get the "I'm pregnant" talk. She's going on and on about how the condom must have broke and now we really need to think about getting married "for the baby". She's positively giddy. She has a baby in her and she thinks she's gonna have a good meal ticket (me) to go along with her new 7lb annuity.

At this point, I'm just as giddy. I get to pull the reverse "oops" on her. I figured that she slept with some bad boy and got knocked up. Good thing I was using condoms! Better still that I have a serious mistrust of women who can't think beyond their own uteri.

So I wait a couple of days to "think about all this." I meet her again. I say I don't want kids and that she should have an abortion. I know where this is going and sure enough it goes there. She goes completely bat**** insane on me. There were the usual insults about my manhood. There were threats of legal action. It was all very ugly and I was loving every minute of it.

Well, I let her stew for a few days. She leaves me nasty messages on my phone. She sends awful emails. I'm laughing hysterically.

It was time to drop the hammer. While she was stewing I was busy. First I get a notarized copy from the urologist who performed the vasectomy. Next I get a notarized copy of the TWO test results indicating a "negative test result for sperm" to show I'm sterile and shooting blanks. Finally, I get a letter from a shark attorney stating he has seen the other documents and is prepared to litigate against this woman if she continues to communicate with me in such an unpleasant manner. Also, the letter states that we will insist on DNA testing to show that the baby is not mine. I'm ready.

I meet with this woman at her place. I bring flowers and a small bit of jewelry to show I am willing to reconcile and assume my responsibilities as a new father. I also have stuck in my pocket the documents I have prepared.

She's all giddy again. Her plan is going perfectly - or so she thinks. We talk about our future. We have some pretty good sex. Then, as I am about to walk out the door, I ask her the $64,000 question. "Are you sure that this baby is mine?"

Well, she goes bat**** insane again. Hell, she ought to. Her plan could completely unravel if there is ANY question about my paternity. Oh, she's really screaming now. How dare I question her morals. Do I think she's a slut. I'm just trying to weasel out of my responsibilities... blah, blah, blah, yadda, yadda, yadda.

I'm not really mad. I'm kind of embarrassed for her. But since she won't shut up and the neighbors can hear all of this, I ask her to step back inside and sit down. She sits on the sofa and calms down a bit. She is glaring at me with all the moral self-righteousness that only a woman can muster up. She thinks she has me trapped. She is 100% convinced her plan has worked. Oh, the tangled web of lies and deceit she has wrought around herself and I am about to hack through them with a few pieces of paper.

I reach into my pocket slowly. I extract the three pieces of paper and unfold them slowly and deliberately.

I tell her simply, "You're screwed".

Her look doesn't change. There is no way she can fathom what I have prepared.

I continue. "I am sterile"

Her look changes just a bit. Something is beginning to sink in. Naturally, she reverts to women's logic. "You're full of ****. You're trapped and you know it."

I hold up the letter and the test results. "Three months before we met, I had a vasectomy. Here is a notarized letter from him stating what I had done. Here are two test results showing that I tested negative for the presence of sperm. Blanks. I am shooting blanks. That baby inside you is simply not mine."

This woman is not to be swayed by logic and clear documentation. "Bull****, those are fakes."

I was ready for that. "No, they are real. This last piece of paper is from my attorney. It's a simple letter to you that states if you pursue any kind of legal action against me for child support that I will insist on a DNA test to prove paternity, that is, to prove that your baby is not mine."

I give the woman all the documents. She reads them slowly, deliberately. With each passing second she can feel in her soul that she has made a very bad mistake. With denial swept away, she started to cry. It's a small cry at first. Then it becomes deeper and more painful. By the time she gets to the letter from the lawyer she is sobbing.

I had no sympathy for her. I turned and walked out the door. Even after I closed the door I could still hear her sobbing.

Epilogue -

I never heard directly from this woman again. I did hear through my friends that she did indeed have the baby. I also heard that the real father was some guy in a band she had met. I assumed that after 30, women stopped going after musicians, bikers, criminals, and thugs. Silly me for thinking the best of American women.

The Moral of the Story -

Get a vasectomy but keep it a secret.

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that show is a hoax man. a friend of mine was cast for it. al the girls know whats going on. its completely setup.

plus its editied to make it seem real smooth like these guys never spit an awkward sentence, unless of course its adorably drunken.

fuck that shit.

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