| {I apologize beforehand for any crude language}
Background (skip down for Lay Report)
I seem to be on a roll lately. I started my New Year with two absolutley new concepts that I credit to 100% of my success. The first is Big Dick Theory (which I talked about in another theard) and the second one is the IDG Fuck Frame, also known as the I Don't Give a Fuck Frame.
To give a quick description of each, Big D Theory came about after I had intercourse with this young busty Caucasian girl, who afterwards told me that I must get all the girls because... well... *cough cough* I'm well endowed. She went on to tell me that whatever bar or club she went to, she basically knew she would grab the attention of any guy. She didn't have to do much because her Double Ds did all the work. So? I asked... what does that have to do with me?
She told me that my confidence must be super high since I knew (in her words now) that I was working with something. I thought about it long afterwards and tried going to clubs with a more value focused approach. With the mindset that I could please damn near any woman I met, that I was god's gift to women (now this is totally just a frame control, I don't actually believe this in my everyday living. ) So I'd go out and noticed that I'd garner more attention from more women (white, black, asian, latina, you name it). And you don't actually have to be "packin", so to say, to have this frame control. It's all the way you percieve your reality. Which brings me to my second concept. The I Don't Give a Fuck Frame. Basically... stop giving a fuck. 3 years ago I wrote a self-published book at eighteen. For a whole year all I did was ball out of control from the book's revenue. Year after that I was flat broke and homeless for 2 1/2 months. Life ain't cheap. And the shit I've seen out there, doesn't compare to a beautiful HB10 whose only value over me is that she was born with dominant genes that give her higher replication value then the average HB. I stopped caring about hip-to-waist ratio, and facial symetry because the reality of eating was far more important. So I got my stuff together, joined the military, and began working on another book. Now I'm a certified Approach Artist with an incredibly high survival value, not because of my game (with is cold as ice), but because I actually SURVIVED (no shelter, food, or water... get it?) Now moving on to HB10 Tweety Bird.
LAY REPORT
Atlanta.
Monday night.
2200 (10:00pm).
I step out of the putrid gray Chevy Impala that's been squeaking for the past mile and a half to the uninvited house party. I'm in town for the week visiting past friends & family. Unbeknown to me, tonight will be a night of unbealivable expectations fulfilled, for tonight is the night I crown myself PUA. My boy, whom I haven't seen since I dropped out of college years ago, doesn't even recognize me, I've put on some weight and muscle since then; one of the many requirements for those who decide to serve one's country. There's a taco supreme doing the Macarena in my gut as the air plasters unadultered wind against my satuarated dark face. Mother Nature's never been so cruel at this time of night.
We enter the nifty loft in the downtown ATL quarter, and I think how the rent wouldn't even come close to any one of my monthly paychecks. It's me, Wally G, and a white boy named Hector whom I've never met before. Wally's a G. And Hector... well...Hector's Navy. The music blasts the latest ignorant hip hop facade that seems to revolve around catchy suggestive choruses, and uptempo soul thumbing beats. Bottles of Grey Goose on the living room floor and shady looking characters to my left and to my right. Wally introduces us to the host of the night, Kyla (my eventful target's best friend). I make the mistake of trying to shake hands, and am left with a cold shoudler as Kyla walks away due to a short attention span laced with the devils' piss (Hennessy) dancing in white blood cells. Then BOOM. It happens. The most severe case of Apporach Anxiety ever known to man hits me in the esophagus, as a beautiful vision walks out the restroom with a minature red cup in lefe hand; bottle of OJ in right.
"I'm mixing drinks bitches!!!" The colorful character screeches in the most alluring, yet delightfully annoying staccato my not so virgin ears have heard in too long of a time. Have you ever felt that feeling... that feeling of not being worthy of being in someone's presence? That was my internal state then. Not because my eventful target was drop dead gorgeous (I've seen better), but her confidence was PEAKING! It was that adorable smile that made me lose my breath time and time again in the matter of six seconds.
"Ahhh...my...na...ahhh" was all that I got out.
Kyla shouted her name, but the audio was tuned out by the incomparable glistening of the chords of Usher's Love in This Club. I made my way over to a nearby couch to recover. Wally G passed me a concoction of sorts which tasted like Sprite, Red Bull and Jägermeiseter. He called it a Jägerbomb Don Juan. All one could do was sip on the fruity delight while in the presence of that charismatic angel. Hector mingled a bit (being the only white boy for miles), and seemed to fit right in with all the shady creatures of habit. Wally G was a performing buffon an hour and a half later (with way too much Jägerbomb DJ in his system to drive back), which left me... the pickup artist... to myself captured by grace.
Fuck it.
I dropped the drink and hit the head (head = restroom in navy code). I dounce my face with sink liquid. It's frame control time baby. It's frame control time baby. I repeat over and over again until I can at least half believe it (they say 50% of anything is better than 50% of nothing). I stand in the mirror and perform Steve P's Soul Gazing Technique on myself (which is unheard of!). I spend eight years in that head, which in earth terms equals forty mins. As soon as I open the door... BOOM. HB10 is waiting in line. And its on like Donkey KONG.
{Apologize for the N word }
-------------------------------------
HB10 Tweety: "Nigga yous' been in there for how long!"
CB (smirking): "Oh I'm sorry Tweety Bird. I just had to take the dump of a lifetime!"
HB10 Tweety (smiling from cheek to cheek): "That's nasty. I know you did not just shit in my bathroom"
CB: "No... I just shitted' in your head!"(SHE DIDN'T GET IT!!)
HB10 Tweety: "Excuse you?"
CB: "Tweety (she thought I was saying sweety), what did you eat for breakfast today?"
HB10 Tweety: "Playboy, you okay in the head?"
CB: "Honey, I'm good. You look like you eat waffles. Yeah you ate waffles today. I can tell. Heavy drinkers eat waffles. Everybody calls me Cocaine. What's your name."
HB10 Tweety: "Ae--"
CB: "--you know what. It don't matter. I like Tweety Bird. You look just like a tweety bird with a big head."
HB10 Tweety: "Nigga fuck you!"
CB: "Not yet Tweety, get to know me first."
-------------------------------------
Then I walk away.
{Sidenote: that ENTIRE conversation took place with a serious look on my face. There is no way in HELL I could keep that frame trying to be funny. It was more asshole/sarcasm adverse to cocky/funny}
I'm riding on a high now. For the next hour I'm dancing with girls, slapping ass, hand shakin' guys strapped with guns (it was that kind of party), and singing We Are The Champions at one of the most ghettoest parties in Atlanta (I may not look it but I'm one of the biggest Queen fans ever! LOL)
There's a pattern that begins building in my peripheral. In the past 2 hours, every guy in the loft has tried talking to Tweety (Wally and Hec included). Not I. I'm drinking wine, out of a dixie cup. Running the Cube on a chihuahua, and honing in on my reality.
Resistence X Resistence = Tension.
Round 2.
---------------------------------
HB10 Tweety: "So you shit in my bathroom and avoid me the whole night, you gay or somethin'?"
CB: "Oh the gayest baby... haven't you heard? Pornstars call me Neil Strauss" (I actually said this.. I remember, I wasn't THAT inebriated! LOL)
{YOU GUYS MUST REMEMBER. EVERYTHING THAT I SAY IS WITH A SERIOUS LOOK ON MY FACE}
HB10 Tweety: "You one strange muthafucka."
CB: "But somehow you still find yourself attracted to me. Why is that?"
HB10 Tweety: ...pause... "I don't know" (head tilted to the side + doggy dinnerbowl look)
CB: "I'll tell you why. Because out of everybody in here (pointing to the crowd of people)... you see yourself in me. You don't give a fuck. You do what you want because you've been hurt in the past (cold read), and to deal with that hurt, you give the world a big fuck you (this is where I give HER the finger).
CB: "You know I'm right... and you know what esle."
HB10 Tweety: "What?" (sly smirk)
Cocaine Bell (leaning in): I bet your so fuckin' wet right now, that just by me whispering in your ear right now...u...r....about...to cum.
------------------------------
Everything that happened next you'd guys SWEAR I was lying. LOL.
|
CHAT
