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–Dagonet

Much of the value of learning Game is gaining greater social awareness. When your eyes are opened to certain truths– that all interactions are value transactions, that our relative status is embedded into every conversation, that every woman’s subconscious is constantly analyzing relative value, status, and social position– you learn to operate from a place of greater influence. The fact that you can see human society for its most honest, bare elements affords you more power than those who float by on the surface level.

****

A huge part of your arsenal is being mindful of the way women assess men based on association, also known as “social proof.” This term is often used interchangeably with “preselection,” but they are actually two different concepts. I would define preselection as a subcategory of social proof.

Social proof encompasses all added or subtracted value a person can derive from their social status. This includes wealth, influence, and affiliations with other people (friends, connections, romantic interests, etc.). Preselection would be the very latter part of that definition; it is the type of social proof wherein a lot of girls want to hop on your bone.

Preselection is the most potent form of social proof.

****

On the flip side, you also have to watch out for negative social proof. This can be anything that lowers your value, embarrassing you and making you seem less cool. Once you start paying attention and understanding social interactions, you’ll realize intuitively what raises and lowers value. Recently I was able to use my ability to “see the Matrix” to avoid a sticky situation while out on a Thursday night:

****

After getting the weirdest handjob of my life from The Imp a couple weeks ago, I figured I might as well seal the deal and add one more notch to my collection, since I had already gotten 90% of the way there.

So on this fateful night, we make plans to grab drinks in Hollywood when I get off work. Unsurprisingly, I end up stuck at work until around 9:30 even though I had planned to meet up with The Imp at 8. After a quick stop at Chick-Fil-A, I’m fueled up and ready to hit the bar.

I get inside and The Imp is nowhere to be found. I make eye contact with a cute, curvy little blond girl sitting at the end of the bar, and she stands up to make room for me to order, smiling. Her name is… Baby Cologne.

The reason I call her this is because she has a really high-pitched voice (sounding like a baby), plus she literally wears Johnson’s Baby Cologne, which I didn’t even know existed before. She plays up the baby thing to “influence men” (her own words), but she also can shake her ass like a dirty ho*.

*Just how I like it.

So I start talking to Baby Cologne, and she likes me right away. I don’t immediately realize it, but I might be the best-looking guy in the bar, in the sense that everyone else is a shady-looking biker or dirty gang member.

This doesn’t really sink in, and I proceed with my standard game: Teasing her, giving her obvious bullshit answers (“What do you do?” “I’m a bean farmer.”), acting aloof. The problem is, I already had social value. All I needed to do was seem “cool” and skip further along to the rapport-building stage of seduction.

It’s funny how obvious women’s brain processes are once you learn to look at them clearly. I could see her mind going a hundred miles an hour trying to decide if I was a high-value guy or not. She finally blurts out, “I don’t know whether I like your personality or not.”

Some people might take offense to this or call it a shit test. I just think it is the most honest thing she could have possibly said– she literally stated her mind. I don’t let it bother me, but I start getting more real, and bringing the conversation down to Earth.

****

Here’s Where It Gets Tricky

After talking to Baby Cologne and her group for about 20 minutes, The Imp texts me and tells me to come meet her at the bar next door. I figure I might as well still close that deal, so I get Baby Cologne’s number and say goodnight. She seems pretty into me, and I even tease her about leaning toward never calling her again, but taking the number just in case.

I leave to find The Imp, and as I’m walking down the street, she texts me and says now she’s in the bar I just left.

Fuck.

I text her back and tell her to come outside and meet me. She says no.

I spend a solid minute deliberating, wondering if I should just go home. But I ultimately decide to go in and try to follow through on the “sure thing” I came there for.

As soon as I get inside, I realize what a colossal mistake that was.

****

The Imp is worse than ever, an ugly little monster drunk and high off her ass, screaming incoherent things at people and repulsing everyone. I walk up to her to say hi and she gives me a half-hearted hug, before turning around and ignoring me. I stand there for a minute looking like a chump. Really? This girl is gonna disrespect me?

I see Baby Cologne and her friends two feet away, staring at me. At this point I know I need to do some damage control. The Imp is not a reasonable prospect anymore; might as well pick up the pieces with Baby Cologne. This is where social awareness really becomes useful.

I reposition myself with Baby Cologne’s group. They immediately shit-test me because of my decreased social value (through associating with The Imp).

“So… that’s the date you were meeting here?”

You’re allowed to explain yourself if you can do it convincingly.

“It wasn’t a date… I met her once last week at a concert and she invited me out to drink tonight.”

“Surrrrrreee…”

“I know, she’s fucking crazy. I think she’s high on like six different things right now. She’s annoying as fuck, too.”

They laugh. I’m back in the fold.

****

If I had stayed by The Imp’s side and continued my social association with her, you can bet Baby Cologne would have blocked my number the first time I ever called or texted.

After jumping back to the right ship, I hung out with Baby Cologne’s group of four attractive girls for another hour, even dancing with them when the music got going.

At the end of the night, I said bye to Baby Cologne again. Then after Baby Cologne and one friend went to their car, one of her remaining friends came up to me and talked about how we were neighbors, and she “wanted to see me again…” She probably phrased it in an even more sexual way than I’m even describing. I gave her my number and she called me immediately so I’d have hers. She’s not as hot as Baby Cologne, though, so I’m not messing with her until the main event plays out.

It’s been about two weeks now, and Baby Cologne and I have talked on the phone once, and texted about hanging out a few times that haven’t panned out. She is a bit flakey, but as of tonight we made plans to hang out Friday. We’ll see if it comes to pass.

Check back on Monday for my weekly recap post and find out…

Until then…

I hope you’re paying attention, guys. Because starting next week, THIS BLOG WILL BE GONE.

Yes, you read that right.

thequestfor50.wordpress.com will be no more.

“Where am I going?” you might ask.

Well, dear reader, I’m migrating to a place far away, with a warm climate and all the svelte, feminine women you could desire.

A little place called…

TheQuestFor50.com

Please mark your bookmarks, Google Readers and other feeds accordingly!

America has a dysfunctional relationship with death. Our average lifespan today is longer than it’s ever been, but we obsess over health more than ever before. When people’s relatives or close friends are diagnosed with a disease, they act like their life is ruined or cursed in some way. They post on Facebook looking for sympathy, and tell everyone about the tragedy their life has become. Our culture reinforces this with our Relays for Life, our candlelight vigils, our pink ribbons at football games. God forbid you become one of the “unlucky” ones actually dealing firsthand with these (extremely prevalent and common) diseases. What did you ever do to deserve that?

This reaction is so strong because we have such a powerful denial of death today. A staggering percentage of our population lives their lives as if they will live forever. The idea of death is so foreign a concept to them that it truly is a blow to their ego and the comfort of their psyche whenever they are confronted with the reality of death.

Don’t get me wrong; I don’t wish cancer, or heart disease, or aneurisms upon anybody. All of these things suck. But compared to the realities of death faced by every previous generation, we have become a bunch of spoiled brats where mortality is concerned.

Why has it come to this point?

****

There are a few factors, really. We have the luxury of ignoring death today because so many advancements have been made to combat infant death rates, childhood diseases, and many of the natural threats that humans once faced. However, we are now so completely coddled that the idea of any threat to our health is seen as inherently “unfair.”

But beyond that, the deeper culprit is capitalism.

Corporations drive the media message with their advertising dollars. That’s why today we still fear cancer like a lurking serial killer creeping up behind us in an alley, even though a third of Americans will get cancer. Shouldn’t it just seem like a normal way to die at this point? Not if Big Pharma wants to keep getting billions poured into research, development, and new drugs.

So we continue to deify “survivors” as if they came back from ‘Nam, seeing them on talk shows and commercials, or giving speeches at colleges. If they can survive death, maybe I can too! It’s just another form of soap opera, but one that fans the flames of people’s fear of death. Death is the big bad boogeyman, and anyone who doesn’t “seek treatment” (expensive procedures, surgeries, and drugs offered by the Medical/Pharmaceutical industry) is a social pariah. Shame on you!

It is truly amazing how our society has been steered toward our current paradoxical way of living: Ignore death even while it’s all around you (so you can keep having fun! and spending like a good consumer), and then become frantic and despondent when a common fatal disease comes calling for you or someone you know.

****

My own mother was diagnosed with breast cancer last month. She told me her diagnosis was early-stage and not life threatening, so I didn’t get too worried. It has a high survival rate, and is a very common disease. Of course I was concerned and wanted her to get healthy, but the fact that I wasn’t crying or calling her every 20 minutes made the family feel like I “didn’t care.” Apparently there is a quota for the amount of sympathy you are supposed to offer in these situations. After all, she had cancer– that’s really bad!

I did discover that telling other people my mom had breast cancer got me a lot of sympathy. “Oh God, cancer… really…” People really felt for me. I guess part of it is a social thing; people don’t want to seem unsympathetic. The funny thing is, I only started to worry at the times when other people were treating the situation like it was really dire.

My mother is 60 years old. Isn’t that the age where health starts becoming an issue for everybody? As in, literally every human being on the planet? It’s like people expect to just wake up dead one morning. “She died of being perfectly healthy!”

I didn’t panic when I learned about my mom’s condition. I know declining health and eventual death is a part of life (the fact that this distinguishes me is the problem). I want her to be as happy and as comfortable as possible, for as long as possible, but I don’t need to add extra dramatic emotion on top of it, to “prove” how much I love her, or convince others of how tough my life is.

If I found out she had terminal cancer and six weeks to live, I would be heartbroken and fly home to spend that time with her. I know when the day comes that she finally dies, I will feel a huge sense of loss. What I hope I won’t do is act like something has been stolen from me or that some profound injustice has been done to me because my mother died of (something).

****

We shouldn’t spend our days obsessed with death; that can be a crippling burden. If you fear too much, you will never take any risks.

What you should do– especially as a man– is make friends with death. As early and as often as possible.

Accepting your own mortality and letting go of the ego-driven attachment to your own “precious” life truly sets you free. The stakes are not as high as you think. It’s just your one little fucking life. So make the most of it. It could end tomorrow, or today. Don’t live by anyone else’s rules, because they’re almost always playing a different game.

When you let yourself take risks– comforted by the fleeting nature of life– you will be living from a place of honesty.

And honesty is the fire from which true power is born.

That was easy.

So here is what’s been going on with me lately:

This past week is really a microcosm of my whole year. Busy with work, not a lot of extra energy to go out and meet new girls, relying on a few go-to girls that I have locked up. In a way, maybe I’m over-relying on these girls instead of forcing myself to find new ones. It’s really a question of what I’m getting out of it. At this point, I’m starting to realize that I’m bored with the repetition, and not even enjoying my time with these girls very much.

I think it’s time to put them aside and go on the hunt for new prospects. But for now, I am still getting my needs met.

****

On Friday night I saw Cookie for the first time in about two months. We hadn’t hung out since I ditched her for Jewdar back around Labor Day, and then flew out of the state. Jewdar and I still text once in a while, but she is always either traveling or “busy.” Waste of time, but I still throw in a text here or there just in case, since she’s pretty hot.

I picked things back up where they had been with Cookie. I even bought her dinner since I had treated her badly the last time we were going to hang out (she turned down work to drive me to the airport, and then I flaked on her). We had a good time, and then went back to her place. It was pretty much the same as it always was.

The good thing about Cookie is that she understands we’re not going to be in a relationship. She enjoys hanging out with me, shakes her head at my behavior, but ultimately is cool with the situation. I enjoy seeing her once in a while, but I would enjoy it more if she was younger and didn’t have the worst breast implants I’ve ever encountered. She has a great body, and they are really unnecessary. Plus they are lumpy, asymmetrical, and feel kind of hard when you squeeze them. But I digress…

Cookie always gives me shit about not staying over at her place after we bang. This past Friday, I was lying in her bed after, exhausted, looking up at the ceiling, when she said, “So how long do you feel like you have to lay there before you leave?” Such snark.

“Who says I’m leaving?”

“Are you staying?”

“Yeah, I think I might.”

I proceeded to set my alarm clock and stay over. In the morning, she wanted to have morning sex, as usual. Pretty much every time I see her, I have plans to see another girl the next day, so I always avoid it. She always gets irked by it and feels the need to comment.

As I was walking out, she noticed the condom wrapper on her nightstand. “New brand?”

“Yeah, I like them.”

I realized that made it sound blatant that I was sleeping with other people.

“I mean… I don’t know.”

“What?”

“They’re not really new. I used to use them back in college.”

She laughed.

I left.

****

Cookie and the other long-time member of my harem, Aggressive Asian, are both low-maintenance. They are both shy and independent. Neither of them is really looking for a boyfriend. They are ideal members of the harem because they don’t run in any social circle that could even overlap with my own, and they are basically available whenever I want to make plans, no strings attached.

On the other end of the spectrum is Valley Girl, who has been my “main girl” for the last two months. I’ve been sleeping with her once or twice every week during that span.

In all the time we’ve been together, it has been obvious that VG is getting more and more attached to me, acting like my girlfriend, even “accidentally” introducing me to her parents, and also her grandparents, and also her uncle… She has not, however, felt it necessary to have “the talk” and figure out what our status is. It came up briefly once, after a couple of weeks, and I gave her my default speech about “not wanting to rush into anything” and “not feeling like there was room in my life for a relationship.”

I didn’t explain how the current state of the sexual marketplace rewards me much more for staying single and sleeping around. I don’t know if she would’ve gotten it.

So a week ago, VG invited me out to drink with her girlfriends at a bar, and told me to invite friends. The first thought that crossed my mind was, “What friends?” But I figured I’d give some acquaintances the courtesy of inviting them to hang with a group of females. I do actually have some guys out here I enjoy hanging out with. I just hardly ever see them.

A good friend who lives in an awesome house in the hills with five other dudes said he was game to hang. We discussed pregaming a bit, and he said I should invite the girls to his place. I went ahead and did that, and then realized what a huge mistake I had made.

These guys are known for their legendary parties, and the following weekend, they were going to be throwing their biggest of all: Halloween. Last year, Quentin Tarantino had randomly showed up, just because there were a lot of cool, sexy young Hollywood people there.

I realized that VG was going to get invited to the party while we were all hanging out, but there was nothing I could do about it. If it had just been my buddy coming to the bar, I could have briefed him on the situation. But going to hang out at the house was a guarantee.

I didn’t want Valley Girl at the party because I would be catching up with a lot of friends and meeting a lot of sexy new girls dressed in slutty costumes. But sure enough, the guys invited her.

****

So over this last week, I kept contact to a minimum. Ignored her calls, responded tersely to one or two texts. Maybe she would make other plans.

Nope.

On Saturday she calls me. I know what it’s about; I might as well answer.

“Hey.”

“Heyyy what’s up?”

“Nothing. You calling me about the party tonight?”

“Uh yeah of course!”

“So you’re going?”

“Yeah, did you think I was gonna ditch you? Haha!”

So we make our plans for her to come over and then leave for the party. Her friend from the previous week was meeting us there as well.

We get there early to avoid the commotion, and chill out drinking. I am too lazy to prepare a costume, so I go as a suave Don Draper again (suit + fedora). As the night goes on and the party fills up with beautiful women, VG’s friend gets really bored, and then goes completely nuts when VG accidentally spills her drink on her. The friend says she is leaving to go somewhere else, meaning I am now 100% babysitting VG.

To make matters worse, she is getting shitfaced, and will not stop hanging on me like a baby. She is constantly trying to turn my head to make out with her, even while I am trying to have conversations with friends.

Finally, one hot girl dressed in a sailor outfit asks her, “Is this your boyfriend?” Valley Girl looks dumbfounded. “Uh, not technically.”

A minute later, VG pulls me aside. “Heyyyy… We should talk about something…..”

Motherfucker. 

“I just… I don’t know what your feelings are…”

God damn it I will fucking kill you. Not in the middle of this party. 

“I just want to know if we are going to be official or what. I feel like we already basically are but I don’t know what to say when people ask…”

“Valley Girl, can we talk about this later?”

“Yeah but… but can’t you just tell me now?”

“I’ve already told you, I’m not interested in a relationship.”

It’s like I slapped her in the face.

“Whha… You mean with me? Or in general?”

“In general.”

“Do you think you will eventually want to be in a relationship with me?”

“I don’t know. I like hanging out with you, though.”

“I just feel like… if you don’t know now, you’re never going to know……”

We go on like this for a solid 15 minutes. It is excruciating. She says she would be disgusted if I hooked up with someone else. I tell her that being in a relationship and being exclusive mean the same thing to me. She starts crying and says she needs to be alone for a few minutes. She walks off into an unoccupied bedroom.

I’m not going to squander these few minutes alone!

I walk outside to the backyard and a girl almost hits me while trying to whip a guy with her costume’s whip. I stop and give her shit about it. I realize I had noticed this girl earlier when her extremely round ass had almost knocked a drink out of my hand with its sheer force.

I run very tight game for a minute. I tease her by giving an obviously fake name (Enrique), and when she makes a comment about her nice ass, I tell her that mine is nicer. She asks how many people say mine is the nicest ass they’ve ever seen when I take my clothes off. I tell her “every single one.” She smiles, and wants me.

I tell her I need to go find my friends. She touches my arm and says, “Come find me on the dance floor later…” God damn it. 

I say I’m not sure if I’ll run into her again since I have a lot of people to see. “So just give me your number now in case.” We exchange numbers.

Time elapsed: 3 minutes, 23 seconds*

*Estimated

****

I realize I have Valley Girl’s phone, so if she wanders off I will never find her and she will probably die in the mountains. I return back inside to find her.

A really cute blond girl I’ve run into at multiple places the last few months recognizes me. She approaches me and introduces me to her group of cute friends. She says “Come join us on the dance floor!” Seriously, what the fuck. This is like Pussy Christmas and even in this version, I’m still Jewish. 

I tell them I’ll catch up with them and go off to find Valley Girl. She is not too far from where I left her. She hugs me and proceeds to have another version of The Talk. I finally get her to stop so we can walk around and see some of my other friends.

She keeps clinging to me and acting weird. Trying to kiss me nonstop. I give her the cold shoulder.

Finally I just tell her I want to leave. She quizzes me on why I would want to leave. You don’t want the answer to this question, so shut the fuck up.

****

I make up some bullshit about how I’m the designated driver and can’t drink anymore. We head back to my place, where we proceed to talk for another 30 minutes. I listen to her rationalizations and have a complete understanding of what she truly means by everything she says– much more than she does.

What strikes me the most is the fact that Valley Girl, a supposedly intelligent, upper-class girl raised in the 21st Century, has almost no self-awareness about her actions having consequences, and no knowledge of the sexual marketplace.

Oh wait. That’s not surprising at all.

Basically, she doesn’t get the concept that if she is getting emotionally invested, it’s her job to have The Talk early on, probably even before she starts having sex with a guy. She naively assumes that she can just fuck a guy 25 times, fall in love with him, never discuss what he wants out of it, and then he will magically feel the same way as her.

To her credit, she doesn’t blame me or accuse me of manipulating her. She is just confused and frustrated that at this juncture, I don’t want a relationship. She is trying to decide if she can keep going, keep seeing me and sleeping with me.

I’ve been pretty much over sleeping with her for the last few weeks. She has some annoying things about her personality, and the fact that she is clinging and acting like she is my girlfriend makes it all the worse. This might just be the final straw.

I don’t really participate in the conversation much, just letting her talk, and saying “Uh huh” once in a while. I keep thinking that I would just tell her it’s over and send her home if she wasn’t so drunk. Also if she didn’t have my copy of The Gunslinger I had just lent her… Shit, I love that book.

Eventually she calms down and we have sex. The following morning we chill out for a bit, and she finally leaves.

I was glad to be rid of her; she felt like a parasite after the events of the previous night. But of course by that evening, she was already calling me again. I didn’t answer.

I really need to put some space between us right now. She’s a nice girl and I don’t want to hurt her, but her expectations are unrealistic. Here’s what I wanted to say to her:

What do you value more: A relationship, or sex? If you value a relationship more, then you shouldn’t be having sex until you’re in one. You’ve been giving me free sex for almost two months, whenever I want it. Why would I want to sacrifice my freedom, my time, and my ability to bang many different women just to keep getting the same thing I already have? 

For women today, if they continue following the mainstream, feminist cultural programming, giving away sex for free to any man who demonstrates some “alpha” cred, they will end up in de facto harems, and civilization will continue its slow roll toward destruction.

As for the men, every one of us must decide for himself how he wants to balance his portfolio and run his life. There is a place for committed relationships in our worldview. There is also free reign to collect girls like Pokemon and live the life of a primitive warlord. Whatever lifestyle you choose is valid if it’s true to your needs, goals, and comes from a place of knowledge and honesty.

Sometimes a girl becomes more of a liability than an asset, and you need to turn back from the philosophy of volume toward a sleeker, less entangled lifestyle. Sometimes you have to set it all ablaze so you can spring forth from the ashes again.

Just a public service announcement about some upcoming programming changes on The Quest For 50.

I haven’t been posting much, but I’d like to post more. I am going to try to establish this new schedule, and we’ll see how long it lasts:

RECAP MONDAYS — A personal update from my life, and a recap of any sex/dating/pickup that has been going on that week.

MISCELLANEOUS TUESDAYS — A random post about the world, news, current events, Game, philosophy, or anything else that interests me.

GAME THURSDAYS — A general post about a Game concept, theory, strategy, etc. (to get you ready for the weekend).

Stay tuned, and thanks for reading.

–Dagonet

I should definitely recap the events of tonight, though.

****

After hearing about a meetup/mixer for LA dating bloggers, I decided to risk my anonymity and venture out to it. I figured it would be entertaining to see people’s reactions to my blog– since it’s so outside the mainstream dating blogger’s worldview– but also to meet some fellow bloggers, have a good discussion and talk about our craft.

****

It ended up being just 4 girls, the male host, and myself. There was Miss Melissa Mae, Bad Online Dates, Dirty In Public, and Single Tease. Plus our male host, The Urban Dater.

The girls all seemed excited to have me there, and I was able to explain the premise of my blog without completely alienating them. I think they were kind of impressed that I had the balls to show up and talk about it. The bartender asked me what I blog about and I said, “Having sex with chicks.” He gave me a fist-bump, and we talked for a few minutes.

Eventually we got into a spirited debate about men and women, and I wasn’t about to hold back. I was there as the ultimate, complete version of myself: Dagonet and **** both in plain sight, using all sides of my knowledge, opinion and experience.

The girls seemed shocked when I started explaining how it’s a masculine quality for women to have career ambition, and that men are not sexually attracted to it. I was calm and fair the whole time, inviting a discussion and clearly explaining my thought process.

However, Jennifer (of Bad Online Dates) apparently couldn’t handle some simple, non-judgmental truths about men and women. She angrily stood up as I was talking and said, “Women are evolved farther beyond the cave than men. I can’t listen to this anymore, I’ve written books on these topics, and you are completely wrong.”

She then turned and stormed out into the night. I shrugged it off and explained to the remaining members of our party that there is no inherent morality in the characteristics of the sexes; men and women each have their traits, and it is a fallacy to say one is “better” than the other. Swoon

After that, I got into a deeper conversation with Single Tease. We covered a lot of topics, and I began introducing some of the Manosphere’s lingo and worldview to her. She said it seemed like a cult because I kept speaking in terms of “we” (the Manosphere).

She decided to leave around 11 and asked me to walk her to her car. I could tell that she had been attracted to my confidence, and my mastery with the subject matter at hand. We joked around as we walked down the block to her car. “I will admit…” she said. “You’ve got games.”

“We don’t pluralize it,” I said.

****

We got to her car and talked a moment longer. Then she said, “I’m going to kiss you now.”

“Uh… okay.”

Gotta love blogger chicks.

We made out for a minute, and then we said goodbye. Earlier she had given me one of her site’s pick-up cards, which you can use as an icebreaker to hand someone. It says “This is a pickup” and you can write your name and number on it. I had filled it out before and was going to try it out on a stranger at the bar, but I hadn’t gotten around to it yet. Appropriately, I just gave Single Tease her own company’s card with my info already filled in. I had even checked off “I met you in (a bar).”

About one minute later she texted me: “Hot. I’ll give you that. Nice meeting you.”

****

I went back inside and chilled with Melissa Mae and Dirty In Public. We joked about having a threesome, and then me and Dirty cuddled a bit when MM was in the bathroom. Overall it just got too late and the momentum of the evening faded away. After we had talked a while longer, we finally said our goodbyes.

As I drove home, I realized that I had gotten 3 free beers and had forgotten to pay for the food I ordered.

Pretty good night, overall.

I like being Dagonet in public. I think I’ll talk more about blogging when I’m out meeting people in the future. It just feels like I’m more……

Me.

I’ll just vent right now about the things bothering me this week. Then I’ll tell you about the handjob.

If you don’t want to read me wallowing in my misery, skip to where it says THE PART WITH THE HANDJOB.

****

The biggest thing on my mind is that my mom was diagnosed with breast cancer this week. It’s early stage and apparently not life-threatening, but it will require surgery and radiology. Being 3,000 miles away has allowed me to keep a level head about it, to the point where my mom actually got upset that I “didn’t seem upset enough.” It has stayed on my mind, though. Even if it’s not life-threatening, it has taken a deep emotional toll on my family back east, and the medical expenses will be hard to cover. Ultimately cancer is cancer, and we can’t be sure that when they go in to perform the surgery they won’t find that the situation is more serious.

****

The next thing on my mind seems trivial in comparison. It’s a speeding ticket. But it’s the circumstances of it that have unsettled me. I haven’t gotten a speeding ticket since I was 17, and in this case I was driving my boss to the airport. He was on the phone, but pointed to his watch and said, “We’re late.” So I stepped on it.

As the wide road expanded to 4 lanes and went downhill, I got pulled over for doing 67 in a 45. Right away, my boss whispered, “We’ll drag this out for two years.” I smiled, reassured by his backing. He used to practice criminal law.

The cop was an affable older black guy, who, though I was naturally pissed at for giving me a ticket in a speed trap at the end of a month, kind of endeared himself to me when he asked for my insurance: I could only find my previous, expired card (though I assured him my info was the same, and I just hadn’t printed the updated card) and he almost smiled and said, “It’s good enough for government work.”

After I was done being cited and my boss got off the phone, we talked about it more. He said, “I feel kind of guilty about it…” but didn’t offer to pay it. Then I dropped him at the airport and he left town.

The stress and adrenaline from being pulled over and given a ticket stayed with me all day, and it was hard to get any work done. I researched the normal cost of a ticket at that speed ($266 in LA). This stressed me out more as I compared it to my bank balance, and I felt resentful of my boss for not offering to pay outright, or at least split it. He makes 10 times what I do, and I had showed up early to drive him to the airport.

****

The next problem occurred the day after, as I missed the fact that I was supposed to forward an email to someone with information for an important meeting (though my boss didn’t realize it either). 24 hours after that, with him still out of town, we suddenly realized our mistake, and had to spend our entire Friday in damage-control. The client had left town Friday morning because we hadn’t informed him. I spent the day sitting at my desk, waiting to hear if the client was going to fire us, or if my boss would want to fire me.

I was nearly developing an ulcer by this point. The fact that I had gotten almost no sleep (and a handjob) the night before didn’t help.

****

The final setback occurred tonight, and kept me from wanting to go out. I’ve been working on my first music album for over a year, and recently, I finally decided it was time to put a band together to record it and start playing shows.

I took out a craigslist ad, and last weekend I played as a singer/guitarist with a drummer for the first time. It went really well. I was psyched about it, and the drummer– his abilities, his recording setup, his patience and ambition– were all perfect. It was awesome.

Today I texted him to confirm we were playing again tomorrow, and I received a text back saying that he had auditioned for another band that was “more of his musical style” and he had just found out he got in. He then told me I should let him know if I want to record my album in his studio “for cheap.”

It feels almost like I got dumped. Even though our first rehearsal was just a week ago, I kind of got one-itis over this situation. Reading his text made me feel inadequate, and doubt whether I have any talent. It’s too bad this good setup didn’t work out… but at the same time, if there’s anything I’m good at, it’s handling rejection and having an abundance mentality. This was only the first drummer I tried playing with; I’m sure there’s lot more out there for me to discover.

****

Amongst my current issues, I’m not even counting the continual implicit rejection I receive from women on a constant basis. Every week I put myself out there with old girls and new, trying to see which of them want to make plans and hang out. It has been a struggle lately. I have 3 or 4 decent girls who I can sleep with regularly, but I’ve been close to getting some really high-quality girls lately that keep seeming to slip through the cracks.

I almost always understand the reasons these girls are fading away, but unfortunately with my current work-centric lifestyle, and the way it has affected my brain and emotions, I sometimes can’t change it much.

I am trying to figure out whether this is a permanent effect of this job and lifestyle (and therefore I should abandon it for more happiness) or if it’s just a temporary symptom I shouldn’t get hung up on.

****

THE PART WITH THE HANDJOB

So anyway, the handjob. I went to a concert Thursday night featuring a band my company works with. I flirted with a bunch of different girls, got the number of a fucking hotttt girl who just moved to town, and was then going to call it a night around 2 AM, after drinking with some buddies, coworkers, and the band.

One of my friends, who has a girlfriend, had started talking to a little ethnically-ambiguous shorty at the bar. She looked a little Asian and/or Latino. Decent body, but looking pretty drunk.

We all went outside, and suddenly the little drunk girl, henceforth known as The Imp, started belligerently yelling at all of us about having an afterparty. The Imp slurred that she “wannts ta get fuckiing drrrrrunk!” while everyone shook their heads and wished she would go away.

She walked over and tried to hug me and some girls I was talking with, and I made a bunch of sarcastic comments to her under my breath, so only the girls I was with could hear. We all laughed together at how drunkenly pathetic The Imp was.

Soon after, everyone left except for my two buddies and The Imp, still clinging onto my non-single friend and telling him she wanted to go party more. She ran to the street and hailed a taxi, getting inside and sitting there waiting for us.

What ensued next was a comical deliberation in which the cab sat there for 5 minutes as we all negotiated and renegotiated who was going home with who(m?).

Eventually, the third dude ended up riding away in the cab himself. This left me, The Imp, and the dude with a girlfriend who The Imp wanted to get dug out by.

****

The guy says he can grab a cab, but I offer them a lift. Behind The Imp’s back, I ask the guy if he’s trying to get with her. He emphatically says NO.

We get in the car and The Imp starts telling us she is a musician, and proceeds to “sing.” It literally sounded exactly like the part in Dumb & Dumber when Jim Carrey says, “Do you want to hear the most annoying sound in the world?”

Me and the other dude look at each other like “W…..T…..F…..” and then I turn the music up to drown The Imp out.

I drop the dude off first, so instantly I start asking myself, “Should I make a move on this chick?” I start to notice her smooth, sexy legs and petite body.

As the guy leaves, thr girl makes an angry comment about how he’s ditching her. I know she’s horny at this point. I tell her that dude had a girlfriend and it wasn’t gonna happen. Then I shift the conversation toward building rapport and getting her to sober up.

****

By the time we reached her place, I was still undecided, but leaning toward trying to hook up with her. I asked if I could use her bathroom, and like any upstanding citizen, she graciously obliged.

After relieving my bladder, I came out to see her lying on the couch in a sensual position. I made small talk and started playing her guitar. Then I sat down next to her and started teasing her about the black stuff on her lips. She explained how it’s a type of makeup she puts on for effect. I parlayed this into kissing her, but she didn’t kiss back.

I thought it was a no-go at that point, but a moment later, things got… weird. But interesting. She said, “I have to tell you something… I’m a hermaphrodite.”

I knew there was a 99.9% chance she was joking, so I just went with it, unfazed. “Wow, that’s so fascinating…”

Then she said, “Do you want to feel my dick?” and spread her legs.

I started rubbing the outside of her vulva and said, “I don’t feel any dick down here.” This is probably one of the weirder moments I’ve had in the game.

There was another pause in the action after this, so I told her I was going to sleep… in her bed. I told her to stay out in the living room and enjoy the couch, but she protested and joined me in her bed.

She took off her shirt as we spooned, and soon I was massaging her breasts. A moment later she said, “You should use my ass too, it’s my best feature.” I squeezed her ass for a bit, and then rolled her over to start kissing.

Eventually I pulled off her underwear and started fingering her oddly dry vagina. I remembered seeing tampons in the garbage can earlier and asked if she had her period. She confirmed that she did indeed.

I pulled out a condom, and she informed me that she was allergic to latex. So we just kept making out, mutually touching, and eventually I let it turn into a full-fledged handjob as her technique reached a fever pitch. I must say, she was skilled in this arena. I let a huge load out on her stomach, and she had perfect timing in reaching down to gently massage my balls after. I felt pampered.

****

Afterward, she started getting super horny, feeling me up and begging me to fuck her raw.

Let’s just say this girl didn’t seem like the cleanest whistle, so that (combined with my recently shot load) left me less than enthused.

I told her I didn’t want to have sex because I was concerned about STDs. She said she was totally clean, because she doesn’t have sex easily. I asked her why she wanted to have sex with me then, and she replied, “Cuz you’re fucking sexy.”

I asked if she’d been tested and she said, “Yeah. Last week.” I didn’t know if that was a good thing or a bad thing. She assured me she received a clean bill of health.

I asked her if the test included HIV. She said, “HIV? Are you fucking serioud? My dad died of AIDS from a dirty heroin needle, and my friend just died of an overdose yesterday. I don’t fuck around with that stuff.”

Yeahhhh… don’t think I’m putting my naked penis in your bleeding vagina…

There was something oddly gross about this girl. It definitely didn’t help that she said she “had allergies” thay also “turned into a cold.” She was annoyed, but obviously we did not have sex. Maybe next time with a lambskin condom. Anybody ever used one of those?

****

The next morning I got up to go to work. I shook her a little to say goodbye and take down her phone number. She started scratching herself and I asked if she was okay. “Sometimes I get hives,” she replied. What the fuck?!

Needless to say, I have not called her. Yet.

This gave me the confidence to open girls, sleep with them, act like a cocky asshole around them, change my attitude toward work, family, other problems that cropped up as they normally do in the course of life, etc. I was fully empowered and feeling great about it.

The Manosphere was, to me, an elite secret society. We were better than everyone else. We had the real shit.

But over time, that feeling has faded. And with it, my cocky swagger.

****

What is the root cause of this? At risk of sounding like a woman, I know what it feels like to me. But because I’m a man, I know that my feelings can be deceiving, and are not the be-all end-all verdict in determining my thoughts and actions.

This is what my logical brain has dug up:

I’m oversaturated. By reading scores of Manosphere blogs, articles about dating, writing about dating myself, and generally viewing the world through the red pill perspective, I’ve become completely desensitized to it. I’ve normalized to it. It all just feels so… ordinary. It doesn’t get me off like it used to. Now I have to to turn to midget clown porn or golden showers, just to get my kicks.

Actually something like this has occurred lately: I try stupid new things just to experiment. I don’t stick with the tried and true methods I’ve perfected. They’ve become too mundane, so I switch things up. I text girls the wrong message at the wrong time, just to be entertainment by their response. I over-game for no reason. I tell girls I took Cialis earlier in the night, just to see their reaction.

Part of this is caused by the fact that my new job has afforded me much less time and energy to devote to Game, so I either get “creative” due to lack of time, or exhaustion, or an element of desperation brought on by both.

But in my core, I know that the supernatural “glow” I once felt imbued with by the Manosphere has faded.

****

But taking a step back and looking at us again with fresh eyes and some perspective, I realize that we are still the Elite. We are still the 1% (or less). Nothing has changed, except that we’ve gotten better.

Sure, more and more guys are catching on and coming here to learn, study, and participate. But that isn’t a threat; that is a blessing. We write in order to share, and help others. We write to make the world a better place. No man who starts a blog or even leaves a comment on someone else’s has to do it. He does it because he wants to share his thoughts and experiences for the benefit of others. If we wanted to get a leg up on everyone else, we would only read, lurking silently and wishing ill upon everyone else.

****

And the numbers don’t lie. For example:

To me, Roosh and Bang are household names. They are a common part of my life. They are so common, in fact, that I am surprised when guys I’m hanging out with in random bars have not heard of them.

How skewed is my perspective?

The Celestine Prophecy is a book of New Age philosophy that has sold over 20 million copies. If I were to ask a bunch of random girls and guys in a bar if they’ve even heard of it, what percentage do you think would say yes?

Comparatively, Day Bang came out today and apparently pre-sold 130 copies. Worldwide.

I make this comparison in no way to disparage Roosh. I’ve written many times about how much I respect and have learned from him. I recently posted this review of Day Bang (now available!).

My point is, I have a warped view of the Manosphere. What is commonplace to me is still an esoteric secret to the rest of the world. I still have a rare knowledge and power that most men don’t even know exists. This is always something we should be proud of.

****

The Manosphere is not going to become mainstream overnight. But at the same time, the ideas of “Pickup Artists,” Tucker Max, etc. has become somewhat mainstream. I guess the question really is, how are you going to apply what you learn? I think our niche community does a better job of distilling and maximizing the knowledge that has been uncovered.

I know that I feel proud of what I’ve accomplished, and even if every man in the world read my blog, and Roosh’s, and Heartiste’s, and so on, I might still be way ahead of the curve.

But they don’t.

Not by a long shot.

So for now, I will take a renewed pride in the fact that, where many men see a woman, I see a hypergamy factory with a hamster CPU. Where many men lament their nagging wives, I see willing, acquiescent, pleasant young flesh.

My life has changed permanently for the better, but I must remind myself not to be jaded or complacent. We are the lucky ones. We are the few.

We are the elite.

****

Although Lain is a natural of sorts where women are concerned, he still respects those of us who set out to master the crimson arts through study. He and I have different niches and strengths, but normally we make a pretty deadly pair of wings. If we didn’t live on opposite coasts, I might very well have completed my Quest already.

On the second morning of our trip, we decided to hang out by the pool of our hotel, the Cosmopolitan. Once we realized it cost $40 for guys to enter the fancy club pool at Marquee, we decided to hang by the “peasant pool” for hotel guests instead.

We chilled in the water and scoped out the scene. Some appropriate talent, proportional to what you’d expect at the free pool.

IMPORTANT NOTE: The theory I relayed to Lain on this trip, which you might call Dagonet’s Law, is this:

Dagonet’s Law of Vacation Pickup: Find the bored girls.

Luckily the free pool is an ideal place to find bored, broke-ass sluts.

And we did.

****

Two brunettes waded into the shallow end across the pool. Lain and I both took note of them. After a few minutes, I urged Lain to come “explore” a bit, so we started moving toward the other end.

I turned around and backed into the progressively more shallow end. Eventually my ass hit the ground like a beached whale, and I had a nice sloped spot on which to sit. The two brunettes, a short one and a tall one, were wading just to my left.

Lain’s eyes widened in anticipation. He was ready to watch the master at work.

“What’s the line?” he said.

“The line?”

“Yeah come on, what’s the line?”

I looked around and saw a black straw from someone’s drink floating by me on the right. Without hesitation I picked it up and turned to the brunettes with a cocky smirk.

“Excuse me, is this your straw?”

They laughed. “No it’s not…”

I’m not sure what was said next, but Lain assures me that a few moments later I threw the straw at them haphazardly (“giving it back to them because it’s theirs”), and soon after we were all squared up in conversation.

****

I wasn’t strict with Lain about establishing “wing rules” because it seems lame sometimes, but he ended up pairing off with the girl I wanted. It’s hard to compete with him, since he looks like a bronze Roman god in the pool, so maybe part of me conceded that he would probably get the hotter girl anyway, and so it wasn’t my place to deprive him. On the other hand, my game is technically stronger and I have more balls to approach, so maybe I should have set some ground rules instead of deciding to sit back and give him more space to work. Not sure.

Wing rules do exist for a reason. In any given set only one guy can really be the star, so it’s best to support the guy who opens, peel off the target’s friend(s), and then find your own bounty next.

****

As we got the girls’ numbers and planned to meet up at the Encore’s club XS later on, I was able to set one firm strategy with Lain: Divide and conquer. Now that we each had a girl, the best thing to do was to couple up and run our game one on one to build attraction and rapport.

As we were getting ready to leave, I mentioned to Lain that I wasn’t feeling that motivated. He shook a small prescription bottle at me. “Is that what I think it is?”

“Yeah,” he said. “My Cialis. Take one of these babies and you’ll be horny as fuck for up to 36 hours.”

Lain uses them only when he’s drinking heavily, but after he assured me there were no significant risks or side effects, I decided to pop one.

I instantly felt dizzy but it was probably all in my head. I wondered nervously about what would happen.

We headed out into the virgin Vegas night.

****

A little more about the girls:

In the end they were a tossup. I’d say they were both 6′s, who could look like 7′s on their best night.

Lain got the tall one who seemed more fun (read: DTF), but who had a square face that made her look like a villain from the classic NES game Bubble Bobble.

I got the little short one with decent curves, but also a bunch of stretch marks on her stomach from giving birth. To a baby. That she had. When she was 18. Six years ago.

These girls gave off a nice trashy vibe, probably because they were from Phoenix.

Later on we gave them some nicknames, which were made all the creepier by the fact that the girls were proud of them. Lain’s girl was Jesus Freak. Mine was Jew For Jesus. Do I really need to elaborate on that? As an agnostic from a Jewish family, it gave me the willies. But I am non-discriminatory where pussy is concerned.

I think I had a decent shot with mine, but earlier in the day I had tried to dunk her in the pool and she dug her nails into my left arm, drawing blood. After that I stared at the wound and held it like a pussy for the next 20 minutes of our group conversation, so maybe I was ruled out as a sex partner by her id after that.

****

That night we all had a pretty good time at the club. Lain spotted me some cash to pay the obscene $75 cover, since he is a filthy rich banker (at only 24 years old, ladies!).

We danced with our girls. JFJ took a little while to warm up to me (by that point Lain’s girl was already whispering “I want you to fuck me” in his ear). We started making out and grinding more erotically, and the two girls also made out with each other a few times.

When we started grinding, I felt a strange sensation in my pants. It was like my dick was a stone that weighed five pounds. Oh, right. The Cialis.

Another thing that set me back with JFJ at the club was the fact that I only had a couple drinks and then stuck with water. I was concerned about getting a headache from dehydration, especially on the Cialis, and JFJ started asking if it was a nerdy Jewish thing. I told her it was hot in the jacket I wore, and to shut the fuck up. Though we were having fun together, I was never “the catch” that would have completely revved her up for sex.

****

After some childish machinations about Lain trying to leave with Jesus Freak and my girl cock-blocking (a sure sign she didn’t want to fuck me), we finally all left together to catch a cab.

We saw a ridiculously long queue for the taxi stand, so we figured “fuck this” and started running across the street. Luckily, we found an amoral cab driver willing to break the casino rules and let us in, despite not having waited in line.

To say that this cab driver, Peter, was amoral ended up being an understatement. Right away, the girls asked him to share freaky taxi stories with us. He regaled us with tales of hookers, johns, bodily functions. He went off on a tangent about how he used to own a hair salon in Buffalo, employing 21 girls and sleeping with 14 of them. Jesus Freak works in a gynecologist’s office, so she started asking him lots of personal questions.

“How many sexual partners have you had?”

He thought for a moment. “A thousand.”

“Yeah right,” I said bitterly.

“How many STDs have you had?”

“10.”

Lain chimed in, “That’s pretty decent odds.”

“Have you had herpes?”

“Yeah I got it when I was 20.”

“So you still have it. You have it for life.”

He chuckled. “Yep, I have herpes, never slowed me down much.”

“Have you had chlamydia?”

“Yep, I’ve had chlamydia.”

“Have you had syphilis?”

“No, but I’ve had crabs twice.”

Then he launched into some more stories of his supposed exploits.

“I ate a girl one night…” he began.

“You sound like Hannibal Lecter,” I interjected. Lain cracked up.

If Peter was offended, he hid it well. He finished his story while Lain and I laughed too hard to listen. We got to our hotel and Lain handed him a generous tip. “You earned it,” he said, smiling and shaking his head.

****

We hung at the Chandelier Bar at the Cosmopolitan for a few. Then Jew For Jesus had to answer a phone call from her mother, who was back in AZ babysitting her son. Lain and Jesus Freak seized the opportunity, and stood up. JF mouthed to her friend that they were going “for a walk” and we could come meet them in our room in a few minutes.

5 minutes later, JFJ was finally off the phone. She asked where the other two went. I told her they went upstairs to fuck.

We walked outside and planned on finding something to eat. She said she wanted to change into flipflops, so we should go back to her room. I took that as a good sign, but things still felt dead between us.

When we got back to her room at Imperial Palace (ugh), I took a quick piss and then laid down next to her on the bed. She looked like she was already passing out. I rolled her over and we started making out, but after ten seconds she rolled back on her side and closed her eyes.

I’ll spare you the details of the ensuing twenty minutes, but suffice it to say it was tedious. I tried every trick in the book: kissing/licking her neck, tickling her, talking dirty, putting on my shoes to leave, telling her about the other girl texting me back at my hotel… and still no interest. She just wanted to sleep. She said she wasn’t that kind of girl. Right, that’s why you have a six-year-old son.

****

I looked over at her nightstand and saw a big bottle of Lubriderm calling out to my hard Cialis cock. I was getting desperate, which brought the chances of sex with this girl down to almost zero.

I decided to go for a Hail Mary, figuring it would at least make a good story:

“Can I tell you something?”

“Okay.”

“Lain brought some Cialis– he can’t get hard when he drinks but that’s not important right now– and before we left tonight I took one.”

“Why?”

“I just wanted to see what would happen. So anyway, right now my dick is 50% bigger and harder than normal, and I really need to do something with it. So it can either be your hand or mine.”

“I guess it has to be your hand.”

Really, what the fuck did I expect with this retarded strategy? This would only work in an American Pie movie.

I put my jacket on and told her I’d just go meet up with the chicks at our hotel in the bachelorette party that had been texting me. She wanted me to stay and cuddle, but I wanted no part of it.

****

On my way back, I stopped at my Bellagio secret spot and grabbed a couple of early morning pastries. One nice little moment at least.

****

When I got back to our hotel, I found the bachelorette girl alone at a roulette table. Where were her numerous hot friends?

“Everyone is either sleeping or went home.”

Now mind you, this was the girl who had confessed the previous night that even though she was engaged, we had a better chance of banging her than her bitchy cocktease friend, but nonetheless, she was not worth staying up for. I headed upstairs to get some sleep, hoping that Lain was done ravaging Jesus Freak by now. I found out the next day that Nicky Hilton and her entourage showed up at the roulette table just after I left, but I don’t really give a fuck.

****

Upstairs I found Lain alone, washing up. He told me he already knew about my failures, since my girl had called his just after I left.

He then described his tryst with Jesus Freak. He said she was a freak in bed, totally wild, although being a gynecologist’s assistant, she made him wear a condom. He was pissed about that. High class problems, I tell you.

I asked if he had used the bench at the end of his bed to fuck her doggy style, since he had noted earlier in the trip that it would be perfect for it. He had not, and kicked himself for forgetting.

Then I related my tale of the evening, and finally got to my questionable, last-ditch effort. “I tried everything… and then I did something you’re probably gonna be pissed about.”

“You did not say Cialis… bro… you did not say Cialis.”

“I told her everything, man.”

He buried his face in his hands, exhausted. “Why would you do that?”

“I tried everything. I just thought being totally honest and talking about my dick might work. Or at least make for a good story.”

“And you told her why I have it?”

“Yeah what’s the difference? I knew you were already banging Jesus Freak.”

“Yeah but I think your girl said something on the phone. She gave me this weird look. I’m going to Phoenix on business, I was gonna see this girl again. Fuck.”

“She might not take it seriously, dude. Or care.”

I felt bad for outing him like that; it seemed like a bitch move in retrospect, though I thought it was funny at the time.

He went to bed and I went into the bathroom to rub one out.

****

The next morning, Lain looked up Jesus Freak on facebook. As he searched for her, he kept repeating, “She better look good in this photo…”

He finally found her. “Oh fuck, that’s a horrible picture. Fuck that I’m not friending her.”

“It’s better to just remember her as she was in your mind.”

“Yeah bro…”

We headed downstairs to get some food and count some cards before I had to hit the road. It had been an interesting trip, to be sure.

We remembered back to the previous morning, hanging in the pool and waiting to open our two brunettes.

“You just started talking to them about a straw. And then you fucking threw it at them.”

“Yeah,” I laughed. “And it got you laid.”

“I’m gonna remember that moment as long as I live,” he mused.

In lieu of getting my own notch, I’ll gladly take that as consolation.