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Roosh V Forum Reborn

A rare message to simply state that the old ‘pre Christian melt-down’ Roosh V Forum has been restored by independent forces and is now running at: https://rooshvforum.network/

 

Tom Torero

Tribute Book

A few of us are compiling a kind of ‘tribute book’ for Tom’s family. I announced this on Krauser’s blog. If you wish to contribute, submissions are still open until we say they’re not, so please send to tomtributebook and then gmail and the usual suffix.

Meetup

There is a memorial meetup in London tomorrow, as announced by Lee Cho on his Twitter and Krauser’s blog. I’ll be there if I can.

If you’re coming, please remember to email tommeetuplondon and then gmail and the usual suffix.

Cheers.

Death By a Thousand Sluts, Part Two – Ebook

I’ve just released the Ebook version of my second book. You can buy it on Lulu here.

I might even write a post to celebrate.

Cheers.

Death By A Thousand Sluts, Part Two

 

It’s been a long time coming but I’m glad to announce that my second book in the cataclysmic ‘Death By A Thousand Sluts’ series is now available.

My release page is here.

You can buy from Lulu here.

It’s paperback only and I will not release an ebook until some indeterminate point in the future.

Enjoy!

A Wolf in Rabbit’s Clothing

It’s Monday morning at Ace Recruitment agency. Gavin picks up the phone, stares into the receiver and shudders. Beside him, Kenny reclines back in his seat talking loudly and confidently into his bluetooth headset. “Oh yeah, yeah, yeah… sure, sure, sure… fo’ sure, fo’ sure” he smirks at Gavin and gives him the thumbs-up. Gavin blanches, grits his teeth and speed dials his client contact again. He can’t believe he was once naive enough to think recruiters helped connect people together. It’s sales. Pure, cold sales.

“Oh Hi Bob!” he says, voice rising desperately as he tries to sound cheerful and natural, even though it’s his thirtieth call that morning. Mid-way through his lies about getting a fantastic new CV in from a really talented Malaysian engineer his voice falters slightly. Bob senses the incongruence; the call is over. “You need to hit the phones harder, mate” grins Kenny, drumming on his desk with his forefingers.

Switch to a street in Warsaw, Poland. A daygamer is trudging round the city. This is supposed to be fun he thinks, so why does it feel so AWFUL? It’s his fifteenth set of the day. He jogs up to a girl, sighing. “Excuse me, I just noticed…” she cuts round him and walks off. How the hell do these guys do it? he wonders. Last month his wing got a fabled Same Day Lay with a Kiwi backpacker plus closed a ‘long-lead’.

I am that daygamer, and I have a terminal case of daygame revulsion. The thought of going out and doing more daygame in the style to which I have been accustomed sickens me. It’s over. Finito. That type of game is dead to me. The displeasure it causes is far, far greater than the very mild displeasure of not having new, low quality women to sleep with.

I discussed the issue with Gavin and we saw immediate parallels with daygame.

“There’s a guy on my team, he has no brain, never had a thought in his life. Can’t even hold a basic conversation. But he bills well because he does 50 calls a day and sends out 10 CV’s a day – far more than I can tolerate without having a nervous breakdown and feeling mind-raped. He has the same failure rate as everyone else (90%) but he has such low self awareness the failure rate and cheating of others doesn’t get him down. So he makes money off the times he is lucky which is more than me”.

This sounds strangely familiar and I don’t think it’s merely a Gamma reframe of oneself as ‘special’. It’s more than this. Many a time I’ve done daygame with a wing and been horribly surprised to see that opening has no emotional cost for them. They’re the same on that set as their third and how they manage to do this is alien to me. Gavin continues:

“Me, on the other hand, I can’t do it. I get depressed and worn out. I only do well when I have a quality high level role where I have exclusivity and commitment. Now, the other guy can’t do these roles because he can’t build the relationships with the clients and candidates and doesn’t have the patience to go through the longer and more detailed recruitment process”.                      

Curious and curiouser. When I look at my daygame history, I’ve had comparatively few lays, but all with girls where we both wanted to date each other, and where there was an affectionate connection. The internal and external beauty of these girls was very high.. “My approach is more headhunter type” added Gavin to the above.

There’s a clear similarity there. You can spam low volume ‘approaches’, whether they are cold-calls in an office or “You look interesting’s” on the street. Some people can cope with doing this, others cannot. Some people prefer to get one high-quality lead, or a few, and work on them slowly, demonstrating particular value relative to that situation. Others throw lots of shit and see what sticks.

The similarities between R and K selection are obvious. I don’t want to labour an explanation of it, check it here on Wikipedia, but very roughly you can think of R as a ‘reproductive strategy’ – a response to predation and abundant resources. A good example is rabbits (or welfare breeders) which pump out low-investment offspring, which repeat the trick at an early age. K can be thought of as a ‘competitive strategy’, an example being wolves (or the upper middle-class) which have a competitive, resource-sparse life so raise very few, high-quality offspring.

R/K evangelists are convinced that these two rough strategies, or rather the spectrum, influences everything in the world. Reading Anonymous Conservative’s book on the evolutionary underpinnings of modern politics it’s hard to argue otherwise.

Daygame appeals especially to R-strategists. To an R-strategist, discovering a pussy-machine at which you simply crank the handle to produce an endless stream of low-quality but acceptable pussy is all they need from life in one handy capsule. They take to it like ducks to water because like Kenny they suffer no emotional cost from doing it. Spam-approaching a thousand women and getting a couple of bangs with slutty 7’s for them is a great thing. For the K-strategist, it’s a horror. The K-strategist focuses on low volume, high quality, usually on everything in their lives. K–s are more likely to be vindictively precise engineers than they are salesman, and if they are salesman they’ll be headhunters. A K-strategist daygamer, if he follows the current popular daygame model, known as the LDM (London Daygame Model) has to shoe-horn himself into the clothes of a R-strategist*.
[*Given my previous obesity problems and wardrobe update I had to do this not only figuratively but literally.]

A K-strategist has a limited number of sets he can do before suffering irreparable daygame meltdown. At the start he can reframe everything as ‘learning the system’, something K-strategists love. This can carry him a long time, maybe to a thousand sets. He’ll be improving, and mastering his skills, so won’t have much cognitive dissonance. After this point though, he’ll reach his potential and plateau. On the way he will have a few R-style dalliances with the types of girl he’s never had before. K– males usually have never fucked R-strategist women, even once in their lives, bar some fumblings care of blind luck at college perhaps. Their first gropings with one of those women, the ones with the sultry, slutty eyes, juicy bodies, cropped vests and bad-girl attitude; well, to a man who’s had the pretty and ever-so-nice girls till now, it’s intoxicating.

Eventually he’ll crumble. A K-strategist is not built for low quality spamming. He’s literally not built for it, on a genetic level. Constant soul-less repetition and insincerity will eat away at his very core, lowering his self-esteem and causing anxiety. Endless exposure to low-probability odds and enormous amounts of time-wasting is an anathema to him. K-selects, in all areas of their life, are repulsed by wasted effort. Gavin adds:

“Myself I am unsuited to r style recruitment cos I get depressed due to the massive wasted effort”

Our K-selected gamer now has a problem, especially because he’s fallen for the pickup propaganda. The likelihood is that he’s purchased a few pickup ‘how to’ products and garnered his ‘system’ from them. Additionally, he’ll almost certainly have winged with various sordid characters, most of them probably R-strategists. The techniques in his toolkit will be geared towards this. He’ll believe that the remedy for poor vibe is ‘do more sets’. The remedy for poor results will be surprise surprise: ‘more sets’ or alternatively something which boils down to ‘lie better’. Perhaps to ‘bang more girls’ he’ll learn to mimic the behaviour of R-selected spivs. Fighting his natural instinct to get to know girls and win them over with character, he’ll learn how to call them squirrels, ignore their text messages and neg them. His new pickupy behaviour will define his results; he’ll get less interest from K-select girls but more interest from slutty girls. The more he does pickup the more his natural intent will wear off and be replaced by inauthenticity. He’ll fail to get the occasional good girl that he used to (and then discarded on his quest), and will probably get the lower quality of the sexier girl because he can only ever be at best a half-baked cad. He’ll be stuck in the R to K wilderness and like Gavin, the one recruiter with the pure soul, his “O.T.E earnings of £100k!” will somehow never materialise.

There’s good news and bad news for naturally K-selected wannabee spivs. The bad news first: you probably aren’t ever going to be a lady-killer, it’s not in your nature. Get a few lol stories, carefree dalliances, then get out. Anything further will result in gradual breakdown and either withdrawing from game completely or worse, falling down the rabbit hole and becoming a full blown Pickup Weirdo. The good news? He can potentially acquire a partner of a far greater quality than any R-selected spiv has any hope of getting.

If our wolf just wants to ‘finally, actually, just bang some women’ then the pickup circus is the way to go! The problem is it’s not sustainable. Like the scorpion and the frog, he won’t be able to fight his nature for long. A friend of mine got sacked twice in a row from two summer jobs. The first was in a lemon-meringue pie factory. As the pies trundled past on their conveyor belt he “took far too long” dusting them with icing sugar. “I am literally unable to take any less care!” he wept to the foreman as he was sacked. His second job was in a light engineering factory where he was “too fussy” at deburring gaskets and only produced half the required quantity of them, but to a standard the foreman described as “simply beautiful” … before firing him.

Pickup material is predominantly R-selected. This is for three reasons. Firstly, the sellers are themselves usually R-selected men, broken in some way or another. Usually, they have deep issues with connecting with women, and some are neurologically incapable of doing so, being pathological narcissists or sociopaths. With their disability, they’ve never experienced it so cannot understand what all the fuss is about; like a colour-blind person failing to be moved by an impressionist painting. To them, women are nothing but fungible things, sources of sex and gratification, measurable by nothing except age, looks, or some other measure. It’s not her personality or how she makes the PUA feel, it’s a measure of how much other men would desire her, thus revealing the root of all the fuss: ego and insecurity.

monet

Broken people, especially narcissists, like nothing better than to project*. Everyone loves pushing their frame. It’s not a hard sell, because in our second reason we can see that the majority of buyers of the material are R-selected, too. I’d have to say that after five years in pickup there’s a high percentage of low value and disconnected men. They can barely find common ground with their ‘wings’ let alone with women.
[*Don’t get all Inception on me now.]

The last reason that PUA material is R selected is because K selection doesn’t sell well. People get rich selling protein powder, not telling people they don’t need protein powder, just hard work, to get huge. It’s hard to write a ‘system’ to encourage men to just get one high quality girl. You don’t need a system. It’s easier to write a system to promise a pussy machine. Secret short cuts sell well. Yet again there’s a parallel to this in the (even more sordid than pickup) world of recruitment. In the larger firms if you try and work in a more K-select style, garnering a few select clients and taking your time with them, then there’s a raft of middle-tier managers that are constantly on your back. They define their own worth by implementing systems of KPI’s (Key Performance Indicators) such as numbers of cold calls made per day or number of CV’s sent out per day, then spending their time forcing others to adhere to them. The PUA equivalent is the approach count and the notch count.

 

street-bang

I am reminded of the story of the Indian watch sellers that Gavin told me. As he went to work each day (he works in Asia) he’d see them sit on their rugs on the pavement with their watches laid out before them. They compete on two things: first, price. This could be regarded as the size of the holes in their net. Second, the time which they remain on the pavement. This could be regarded as the size of the net. More and more Indians decided to sell watches, so they’d come, get a blanket and do exactly the same. They’d each compete with each other by spending more and more time on the pavement, or accepting an even lower price offer than their competitors. There you have the analogy with the state of modern euro-daygamers; R-select men creating as efficient a net as possible. Hours spent on the street and approaches done defines the size, and relative quality of the girl that he will accept defines the holes in the net. As more and more men start doing daygame the overall quality declines yet further for everyone. Europe is now riddled with these figurative Indian watch sellers, driving the price down for everyone.

Gavin got friendly with one of the sellers called Muthu. He was surprised when Muthu was packing up to leave at 6 p.m. one evening. He was further surprised when Muthu told him he was off to his evening class in website design. The other sellers laughed and chortled, rolling their eyes. Silly Muthu was losing sales!

As the months went by occasionally Gavin would say hello to Muthu, or perhaps get his watch battery changed. A year later Muthu handed Gavin a little card: he’d started his own Alibaba online shop and a website. A year after that Muthu wasn’t on the pavement anymore. He eventually wrangled the truth out of another seller. Muthu had “got too big for his boots”. Apparently he “was above” selling on the street now. In fact, he didn’t need to. Eventually his little website and Alibaba account sold more than he could in hours sitting on the pavement, so he didn’t bother anymore, he sat at home on the balcony of his new apartment, playing with his son and occasionally checking his email.

The chaps still on their rug hadn’t really failed, they were just different. You get the best results by following your nature. They couldn’t have done what Muthu did as much as he could endlessly tolerate what they did. They wouldn’t have had the patience or the skill. For the rug-rats, making a website was too much hard work but sitting on a rug for 18 hours a day, every day, was not.

Has anyone in pickup, especially daygame, ever said that a solution to not getting quality girls is to do less sets? If not, then I’m nailing my thesis to the door of the church right here and now. If you want a higher quality girl, stop being a pussy rat and do less sets.

The-Stop-of-the-95-Theses_banner

If, like me, you realize that you are a K-select, and not cut out for the rat-race, then stop scurrying in the gutter. Get a few stories to get it out your system and then concentrate on what your nature wants you to do: pursue fewer girls (probably one) of far higher quality. By ‘higher quality’, I really men ‘higher quality considering your nature’. You aren’t cut out to date the sultry eyed tempestuous ones, your lot is with the less sexy, but perhaps more classic lasses. They won’t be asking you to bugger them in the KFC toilets but they’re more likely to enjoy reading that evolutionary science book you lend them. Do that to an R select girl and it’s game over. It might take you ten dates to sleep with them, but at least you can rest assured it would take anybody else ten dates as well. Without being specific about what quality is it’s too easy to fall into the old Gamma trap of simply reframing the girls that don’t want you as ‘poor quality’.

I am here to tell you that the true depravity of pickup is the notch-count, a fiat currency pushed by broken socialists (ego-driven R-select PUA’s) which has somehow become the de-facto rate of exchange amongst the pickupsphere. Notch-counts are an utter farce, and a good example of price-fixing. When you set the price, or a fixed quantity for a certain price (of a commodity), then the quality drops.

Combat this. Abandon this worthless paper and revert to the gold standard: quality – both of looks and character. If you’re a quality man, a K-select, you will feel a soothing blissful calm the moment you romance and acquire a girl that you genuinely regard as ‘dateable’, and you will look back on your pickup career with fond puzzlement or disgust. You’ll have become a headhunter, one of the top-level recruiters who work on bespoke projects and consider it beneath them to not be paid upfront or work on more than one job a month.

Krauser recently wrote about the R and K spectrum he’d observed in girls whilst daygaming, and particularly how the Same Day Lay girls fitted the R model, which shouldn’t be surprising by now. I would go further than this and say that most girls picked up by most men from daygame are R-selects. I don’t care if they seem to be “bookish introvert virgins” but if you chat them up from the street and a week later they’re letting you bugger them in your bedsit, they are R-select girls. Any gamer who is banging more than half a dozen girls a year is R selected and is banging R selected girls. The old pickup paradigm of Alpha and Beta is dead. If you’re banging a lot girls you’re a rat. If you’re married with two kids you’re a wolf. There is no such thing as a K-select gamer that bangs a lot of girls, it is by its very definition impossible. You may be clever. You may be erudite. You may have good future projection, planning and all the wolfish traits. However, if you run about opening girls and banging low 7’s, you’re a rat.

The problem with daygame for K-selects is that as it stands, in terms of girlfriends, you almost don’t want a girlfriend that you can get by daygame. Perhaps I should amend this to “get easily”. If you have a five minute chat with a girl on the street then have sex with her a few dates later then is this really the type of girl you want to date? How high is her notch count? What does this say about her as a long term investment?

I have never seen any K-selected 8’s or above having fast sex or even adventure sex. They seem to live almost completely monogamous lives. You need long-game, patience and value to get them. Before I cause mass hysteria, let me remind you that this issue is not black and white – Anonymous Conservative himself says R and K is merely a model with which to view behaviours. There are exceptions to almost everything and nothing in human behaviour is black and white.

I am under no circumstances blowing the “there is no game” or “I’m beyond game” trumpet. I’m not suggesting any wolves-in-denial quit game and get on Guardian Soulmates, far from it. I’m suggesting they re-assess and tweak their game, but they will certainly still need it, just not so much of the tricks required to posture as the specific type of man that broken women feel compelled to fuck.

If you are looking for a quality girl please don’t think you can just “go natural”. You are going to be more authentic but you are never going to forget core game principles. You’ll be very aware of not letting neediness creep in. You’ll not get too excited and carried away, making her worried that you’re clingy. As she tests you, which even the nicest of girls will, you’ll remember your early chode days as an emotional tampon for your best ‘female friend’ (that you secretly adored) and remember you’re not her gay best friend. You’ll hold your frame, and you’ll expertly deal with any little forays into manipulation she considers. You’ll be running the type of game Athol Kay described in ‘Married Man Game’. You like her, you’re dating her, but you still need to keep an ounce of swagger on. I’m reminded of my own father, who, riddled with Alzheimer’s was bed ridden and being tended by his partner. “I love you” she said, gazing at him, eyes burning with psychotic neediness.

“I..” he mumbled.

“… love …” his voice whispered, and she leaned close to hear him say it.

“… me …”

“… too …” he finished. Superlative game, right till the end, like Han Solo being dipped in carbonite.

Now we’re back to me. This all explains my current situation. I’m sick and tired of trying to bodge myself, a square peg, into a round hole. Sleaze pickup is done and dusted. I am now adapting my game to the pursuit of a high-quality girlfriend. I usher in the era or K-select daygame! The model needs to change and the mindset needs to change. This is something I will explore and discuss further in next month’s post.

Welcome to the land of the wolves. There’ll be times of famine, and times of competition, but a whole lot of satisfaction.

pup-howlin


ps. A lot of the material in this post came from discussion with Jimmy, and to be honest he’s been saying it for years. If he was less repulsive (< 6/10) I might have listened.

I’m not sure how much of a fuck I now give (often literally)

It was an easy score. She’s 20, Uzbek and sexy – looking like a vampish Kill Bill assassin. Thin, exotic and with a great ass. A fun double date with Tom from Citydaygame, a few text messages and then a second date. That was an hour long walk in the park then a bounce to my apartment. Some LMR but then it was on… super on. This girl just adores fucking. I banged her three times, and for fun frigged her cunt till she screamed and squirted all over my rug. I surreptitiously sniffed it and proved my long-running argument with now disappeared holisticgame, ‘squirt’ is just wee!

The sex was good, but I felt fairly detached. When she went all I could think of was how I could fulfill my weaselly hints that I’d date her by giving her a fair crack to win me over. Within a day she was being a stupid cunt and trying to provoke emotional drama with silly, made-up arguments. It reminded me of how wops: Colombians, Argentinians, Italians and Filipinas in particular live their animalistically colourful lives. Fuelled by their TV addiction and tiny minds their women constantly create drama and gossip so they can enjoy daily hits on their emotional crack-pipe.

She’d started to be a pain, so I ignored her and was scot-free. She’s 20, hot, loves to fuck and I realised I simply don’t care much. I’m far more interested in knuckling down and getting some serious daily work done on DBATS 2. I want to feel the self-satisfaction of productivity (that’s the white-man version of woppy melodrama).

Warsaw is a beautiful city. Life here is so much better than in Newcastle. I stroll the streets each day and just tootle on with my life, coming to a realization:

I’m not sure how much of a shit I actually give anymore, about Game.

Is this a new meta, meta weasel? Do I just need some time off?

I’m not sure it is. In my acclaimed daygame story of Bottom-World Squalor I included a Victorian aphorism: “it costs more to revenge injuries than to bear them”. The last few years haven’t been easy and I wonder if Game has in fact resolved my ‘woman issues’ but not in the way I expected; namely that the hassle, stress, time, expense and emotional instability involved with trying to constantly, regularly fuck new women is not worth the actual reward, which seems to be a fleeting moment of carnality then a ceremonial update of a secret spreadsheet, then a bit of a smug feeling the day after.

When you’re oldish, a natural introvert, an ex-sufferer of Avoidant Personality Syndrome, no better looking than average and don’t have a cunningly engineered social system to milk then getting girls is really fucking difficult.

I don’t really care much about sex anymore. I think this is to do with getting old, AND I WELCOME IT. Life is so much more pleasant now than in my twenties or early thirties, where I’d feel physically ill from lust and slowly become mentally unstable from unresolved sexual frustration. I’m on TrT now, and the funny thing is that my testosterone is probably higher now than it ever was then. I know it is, because I have superhuman recovery ability. However, I’m still just not that bothered about sex. It used to feel like food, or a powerful drug. Now it feels like, meh, taking a shit or something, or going for a coffee. I repeat: this is great! The very last thing I want is to now revert to my earlier condition.

Before the pathetic Game-denialists start crowing there’s an important point to make: the other thing making me not give a shit anymore is the result of doing so much work and actually getting some results. Coming into Game so damaged (and old), I set my targets very low. After all, the lower they are, the easier they are to reach!Unlike some other gamers, I’m not at all motivated by competition with others. I’m internally-referenced. The thought of making a rod for my own back is horrifying.

Simpsons-Try

The initial thing that propelled me: the demons, can be described as this:

  • Fear of not getting married and dying alone
  • Fear of being unable to ever get a hot girl again
  • Haunting belief that attractive women didn’t find me attractive
  • Fear and confusion over a system I didn’t understand.

In a few dozen lays and a good few year work, these are all now resolved. They’re just not there anymore. I have had a rough couple of years, but I’ve clawed myself back, had a few hot girls, improved my inner game and it’s now pretty much done.

I’m not quite there. I’m 7 lays off my lifetime goal. These are quality lays, like non-shame, white-ish HB7’s with a decent lolz story. I know for a fact that if I wanted to I could stack up 15 lays or so over the 3 months of winter in Asia every year for another five years at least, but that doesn’t really count. Seven more, then I’m done. Calling it a day, the Notch-Count Hyena is off my back and I can relax.

I mean, I’ll probably still actually do game, but it’ll be blissful knowing I don’t have to.

I want a girlfriend, preferably after, or close to the end of my notch-gathering. During a recent mini-breakdown I consumed enough Haribo and energy drinks to have hallucinogen-level insights. It’s the Now that matters. Through notch-hunting all I’m doing is making my Now stressful in the hope of acquiring a blip in the future to make up for something that is gone and forgotten in the past. What really would improve my now is two things. First, not doing game. Second, having a girlfriend.

I didn’t mention it much, but from daygame I actually had a long term girlfriend in London. An English (yes, English!) girl 15 years my junior. I liked her. I liked dating her, and I want this experience again. I’m not throwing the baby out with the bathwater. I’m not getting all “love women bro”. Look, notches are important. You have to put the demons to rest. Once that’s done, however, what’s the point? The more game you do the more you damage your ability to connect with women, and unless you’re broken, that is the most powerful and rewarding experience.

The extent of faggotry to which I’m capable is quite breathtaking. Hardened PUAs who know me would be sickened to learn how much I enjoyed having scones and tea in quaint cafes with my patootie. Farmhouse lunches in rural artisan compote workshops. Knick-knack hunting in flea markets. Long, made-up stories complete with invented languages, exchanged by text message. I love all that shit. PUAs across the world now shudder, as they sit in their soiled Y-fronts and play their sixth consecutive hour of Call of Duty 4, or sixth consecutive hour of online convincing others that computer games are cultural enrichment.

Of course, the best laid plans of mice and men…. Girlfriends don’t grow on trees, and I’m talking about dating a really bloody nice one. Actually getting the fucker could take a year. And again, Game-denialists take note: I suggest only long-term dating a girl when several conditions are met:

  1. You’ve done enough Game to be able to manipulate women
  2. You understand women, through Red Pill work
  3. You have some understanding of your own mind
  4. You’ve banged enough girls to know with a bit of work you can probably get another one.

I have all of these. All acquired now through five years of nightmare self-development and intermittent game. I know men who settled early, who picked the girl rather than the grind, and are paying for their lack of chops right now. A shark can wear a tweed blazer and a powdered wig and sit having high tea in Claridges, but it’s still a fucking shark!

pathetic-sharks

I’ll probably cover these areas again in a future blog-post, when I possibly completely change my mind.

Colombia

trigger-baby

I had high hopes for Colombia. I’d heard many a player raving about it as the promised land. “All the girls are so hot!” and “there’s such a disparity between men and women, they love us!”. Many a misty-eyed PUA said to me: “Man…. we would be SO SHINY”. I thought I’d see for myself.

Colombia has a rich cultural heritage

Colombia has a rich cultural heritage

Medellin

Medellin is two words connected with a hyphen: over-hyped. For game, that is. We arrived in January and reconnoitred the whole city. Daygame is zero. Hot Colombianas don’t ever seem to spend a moment of their lives alone. They don’t seem to do anything at all, actually. The malls are full of families, the Universities were on holiday. That’s basically where the daygame is: in the Uni’s. If you’re young, speak Spanish and doing a course or something on campus then you can gorge and wallow in sets. Sadly, due to PUA incompetence we arrived right in the middle of their ginormous, woppy 6 week Christmas holiday.

The talked-about part of Medellin is Poblado. Meh. Fair enough, you can walk around there safely, but it’s nothing much. The bars are full of groups of Colombians that don’t mingle, or loud American ex-pats. I get the feeling the overhype about Medellin comes from exactly this source. We met plenty of young Americans who’d literally never been anywhere abroad, this was their first trip. Having hot weather, cheap food and pretty girls walking about sent them doo-laley.

You can pull in Medellin, but speaking Spanish would quadruple your chances. Spending time there and working social circle would help.

After ten days there I was bored shitless. The place has no soul. There’s nothing really cool there, there’s no vibe. Their middle class all live in big family houses and watch TV all day. There’s no history except Spanish killing people, then nothing, then drugs. Boring.

Tom and Rami, my original wings, arrived a few weeks after I left. They’d spat the dummy and refused to change their plans and listen to my hard-earned knowledge about Medellin. Cue a Youtube video full of quad biking, Escobar tours, zip-lining and other such girl-lite activities.

Bogota

I moaned that Medellin had so little cosmopolitan middle-class that I never even saw a hipster. I walked around in Bogota the first day and saw a couple in my first hour. Yes! Something here must at least be interesting. I stayed in Chapinero and it was nicer than Medellin. Actual salad bars, cafes, and restaurants that had food other than disgusting Colombian food or pizzas/burgers. Normal, mid-20’s, professional people walking around.

I did a lot of walking in Bogota. You can actually walk round it, which you can’t in Medellin, where you have to drive to areas then walk round those areas. Bogota has an old area, Candlearia, which is quite interesting. Museums, galleries, traditional food, guinea-pig races, it’s at least something.

Pablo was nervous - if he didn't beat Scamps and Wee-Wee in this heat the cartel would slit his throat.

Pablo was nervous – if he didn’t beat Scamps and Wee-Wee in this heat the cartel would slit his throat.

Daygame in Bogota was better than Medellin by far. For a start there were actually parts of the city that people walked around. Ontop of this in Bogota, as I cleverly predicted, all the mid 20’s professionals who haven’t managed to leave Colombia come here to work. There are targets. It’s not great though: not speaking Spanish is a massive hindrance. Ontop of this the Colombian girls themselves are a massive hindrance (see below). It was nothing special. No better than Europe. Mostly the game just resulted in timewasters. I spotted a perfect target sittig reading a book in a mall (a rare activity for a Colombian), ran shit-hot game on her and banged her a bit later. An 8, a professional dancer, she’s actually been in one of those ludicrous RnB videos. Big shakira hair, pretty, amazing body. Very sweet girl. Crap sex- like I care.

My verdict on Colombia? I definitely will not be returning. You can find out why below.

Here are Bodi’s observations about Colombia:

It’s not as dangerous as people say.

It’s fine. I mean, I’ve felt more threatened in London. I didn’t see any crime at all. The difference is this: you probably see more petty crime in London, but in London if you piss someone off the chances of them hiring someone to disembowl your family in front of you then burn your children alive are pretty much zero. Not so in Colombia!

The Colombians are utterly paranoid

I’ve never seen paranoia at the level of Colombia, and I’ve lived in China amongst a suspicious, white-hating race. The Colombians take it to a new level. Every shop has an armed guard on the door. I had my bag rifled and they wrote out a special chitty and affixed it to my half full bottle of water, and they don’t even sell water. It was a fucking book shop! In supermarkets the tills only held about £1 in change; any more and the manager would have to intervene. I regularly got asked for my passport when using my Visa card. Like a fucking tall, white foreigner is the one to worry about! Virtually every Airbnb listing had a huge set of rules listed on it. When the cleaner came to clean our apartment the owner came and literally followed her round watching everything she did. In coffee shops all toilet doors were security coded and they wouldn’t even give you the code, they’d come across, cover it with their hand then secretly punch it in. All Colombians think that all areas of their cities are no-go zones. If you tell them “I’m going to x” then they shudder and tell you “eets so dangerouzz”. They say that about everywhere. I had people telling me not to go to the mall incase I was kidnapped or shot. It’s like one of the most modern malls I’ve seen. I get there and mothers, toddlers and old people are wandering about. Just madness.

Tiny minds

Colombians are generally pretty stupid. After a day or so in Medellin I realised quite how stupid they were. “Jesus, this is Africa level stupid!” I told my mate. Checking online I wasn’t surprised to see the average IQ in Colombia is apparenty 84. Every day in Colombia you’d constantly see examples of outrageous, flagrant idiocy. People would drive their cars backwards and crash into walls. Shop assistants would tie my bags shut and not understand that this prevented the handles from being used. After a week it got to me, the dim eyes, without a flicker of intelligence in them. Colombians make Mexicans look smart. Razor smart!

Ego without achievement

There’s a whole “racist” sociology book here. This condition is something I also observed strongly in Argentina, I suspect is prevalent in Brazil and is absent in Mexico. Firstly, the Colombians, I would say, generally have a higher default self-esteem than the British. This is sort of good. On the other hand they lack that gnawing anxiety, the sense that they have to be somewhere, working for something or other, achieving something to make up for lacking something, that is the coal powering the engine of British Beta-Male industriousness, and thus society. It’s not just self-esteem, however, they have bloated and incredibly brittle egos, like giant eggshells. They strut round as a default just thinking they’re the shit, and at the slightest perceived infraction fly into a hysterical fit, displaying all the sense of morality or reasonableness you’d expect from an inner-city black person or a woman.

In Buenos Aires I observed the most amazing sociological phenomena ever, and I encourage you, like taking a trip to see the Northern Lights, to fly to BA and witness… The Invisible Pomp Eggshell. You see, on the evening in the better parts of BA couples often like to take a walk together, or I should say promenade. I would see older couples, arm in arm, expensive cashmere sweaters draped over shoulders, immaculately made up, carefully and precisely walking, almost strutting along the pavements, heads held high and radiating a massive, precious bubble of pomp and ego around themselves. Now, if a similar Pomp-couple would come the other way then at the point they came close on the pavement they would stop, stuck, about 8 feet apart, unable to pass each other. Both couples were literally about eight feet apart but would act like they were unable to pass, and watching the awkward and weird shuffling, stilted nods, arrogant hand-waves, and barely contained rage behind masks of over-politeness you would think each couple had a large, invisible force-field around them preventing them from passing. It was exquisite to watch!

Colombians dont’ quite match Buenos Airesian (I forget the special name they have for these people) Argentian’s levels of pomp, but it’s there.

Face vs Achievement

After a few weeks we finally worked out the truth about Colombians and it was awful. As soon as I understood it I had to leave, because as an Englishman it runs counter to everything I believe in. In Colombia achivement is your public image, your ‘face’, regardless of what you actually have achieved. Your pride, your sense of self, is this bubble of image which others can see, and the important thing is this image, not at all what you actually do inside the bubble. This explains everything. This is why Colombia is rife with corruption and criminality, not because “zee Goverment eez so bad”, but because Colombian people are bad. The vast majority of them would do exactly the same: do anything and everything possible to achieve image, because the image itself, the status itself, is the morality, and the actions executed to achieve this status are not the morality.

This is a total inversion of British and European values. In our culture it is not so much your image, your face, your swagger, but how you act and treat people for real, what you have achieved, what adversity you have overcome, how you have treat people, what value you have produced. In terms or morality, the Colombians have far more in common with the Chinese than they do the British.

When I finally understood this, I despised them. (not one a one-to-one basis, but on a kind of macro level)

Spiteful/cockblocking

Not only are the Colombians paranoid and stupid, they’re also very spiteful. Unlike the Mexicans, Argentinians (and I would guess the Chileans and Brazilians), who counter laziness and sloppiness with warmth and happiness, a good deal of the Colombians counter paranoia with a good serving of spite. Whereas Mexicans (and to a lesser-extent) Argentinians deliberately look for ways to be friendly or to make you feel good (smiling as they give you your change, holding doors open for you, etc) Colombians are like Russians, they deliberately look for petty ways to be a cunt. Not since Belarus have I seen people deliberately telling me their shop didn’t stock something which I could plainly see that it did, or slamming change down to be rude. The above-mentioned Airbnb rules nearly always include cockblocking clauses too. Colombians are convinced that all tourists are sex-tourists (well I was, except I wanted it for free) and failing that, they just can’t live with the thought of anyone else having fun. Colombians adore bureaucracy and following petty rules. They relish them. I remember in my gym they would lock the huge class room inbetween classes. The gym was pretty cramped so I asked if they could open it so that people could go stretch in there. Stop the world! Outrage! Their tiny minds overloaded and they started shrieking. The blank-eyed male on the desk started saying “they steal! they steal!” and pointing to the room. “Mate” I told him, “the room is literally empty. There is nothing that can be stolen, except air”. They babbled amongst themselves and gave me dark, suspicious looks.

There’s something just a bit odd about them. A good example is the decaff coffee issue. Colombia is the only country I’ve ever been to where staff lied about having decaff coffee. I learned the Spanish to ask if they had it, and would ask them, and they’d generally just say yes immediately. For a few days I’d rave about Colombia having amazingly good coffee, then I finally realised they were just lying and poisoning me with the real stuff. I started asking them twice, then checking they understood, then standing there watching as they’d literally go and fill the machine-handle-thing from the regular grinder. I’d call them over and remind them decaff and they’d just stare blankly or look sheepish. This became an obsessive phenomeon, an ad-hoc sociology research experiment for me and my wing. We’d keep asking for decaff and collate the results and observed behaviour. Eventually we realised it was a combination of a few things:

Decaff Experiment Conclusion: why do they do it?

  1. They have an inability to actually listen to what is being said to them which makes the Chinese seem like modafinil-drugged autists. Their brains are so fuzzy they struggle to absorb words.
  2. They are lazy, shifty and don’t value human life as much as Westerners, so they simply take the easiest and most lucrative option: pretending they have decaff, taking the money and not caring about the fact they’ve lied and caused a chemical effect on someone (ok it’s not deadly but I’m making a point).
  3. When they don’t understand something, either spoken Spanish or even what the hell this “café sin cafeína” is then to protect their swollen pride they just lie.

Colombia is like China, the main reason they all want to leave is so they don’t have to live with other Colombians, or to be more correct they don’t want to live in a society of mainly Colombians.

The food is horrible

I thought Colombian cuisine would be nice. It’s disgusting, just disgusting. A pile of rice, a flavourless arepa, a fried hot-dog, a fried banana, a piece of fried pig-skin and a piece of avocado: this is a typical Colombian meal: fucking horrible. The only nice thing they have is a traditional soup with big lumps of chicken in it. Every food except the local muck is just burgers or pizza.

The women are insanely hot

"Let me rest these bags on something a moment, they're so heavy" said Conchita.

“Let me rest these bags on something a moment, they’re so heavy” said Conchita.

It’s true, there are lots of crazy hot Colombianas. Additionally, Colombian men seem short, pudgy and like to wear tank-tops. The hotness of their women is not countered by hordes of square jawed, dusky male models (like Argentia or Brazil) but lots of little toads. It doesn’t really matter, though: they don’t just drop their boyfriends because a random westerner comes along – The Group is everything (see below). Medellin has hotter women per head than Bogota and surgery there is very common. The average Medellin chick is pretty hot and most seem to have tiny waists, gigantic, Jen-Selter type asses sticking out, and also big jugs (which are nearly all silicon). Bogota has far fewer hot girls per head, and much more that look European and white. However, you can still see, you know, four or five 9’s a day whereas in London you’d see zero.

In my gym every time I went I’d see at least two girls that were fitness-model hot, with tiny wasp-like waists and huge, round asses sticking out like a shelf, plus massive fake tits. They’d invariably be wearing a tiny, tiny pair of lyrca shorts (which if they farted and relaxed would probably get hoovered up their ass hole) or some sprayed-on leggings, plus bare midriff displaying washboard abs then a crop top. The other women weren’t too shabby too, even the MILFS were worth banging. All that Colombian girls do in the gym is 5 minutes of crunches then 2 hours of ass.

This is common.

This is common.

They just do hours of ass exercises; nothing else. Squats, lunges, reverse step-offs, cable rear extensions, supermans, jumping squats, adducttor flyes, everything. Whilst doing these they stare constantly at their big asses in the gym mirrors observing every inch of gluteal acreage and mentally willing it to become huger and firmer. Their mind to ass connection is stronger than the mind  to muscle connection of the most dedicated bodybuilder.

Bigger. Bigger! Marta willed it to grow ever larger.

Bigger. Bigger! Marta willed it to grow ever larger.

I’d often see one particular small whore, obviously on Anavar or something with her combination of curvy muscles yet sunken cheeks (face obviously, not ass) and ripped abs, do a whole 45 minute stepper workout whilst twisted around watching her backside going up and down in the mirror. It’s a wonder she doesn’t get chronic back pain. After their workouts they often go and jump on the machines, spread their legs wide and take semi-pornographic selfies in front of the whole gym.

Colombian gyms are great.

Finally, Margarita felt like the squats were doing something: she'd passed the Bodi Cup-Test.

Finally, Margarita felt like the squats were doing something: she’d passed the Bodi Cup-Test.

The women are morons

By and large our greatest stumbling block with Colombian women was their own tiny minds. They are truly stupid. A lot of them couldn’t remember their own phone numbers, or email adddresses. They’d forget what they were walking along the street for. Not only that, but they’re incredibly vapid. I never, ever thought I’d big up the horror-pigs that are British women but compared to their 98lb-lighter counterparts they are brimming with quirkiness and character. They seem to do nothing but sit at home and watch TV or surf Facebook. They had little to talk about at all. Conversation was difficult. Ok, a little diversion here but… this interested me because seeing they had lower IQ’s and were more vapid than British women then why were they  so much more attractive and pleasant? I ended up writing so much to explain this that I’ve cut it out and will publish it as a seperate post, soon.

For any aspiring players in Colombia I’ll give you a priceless system on how to game in Colombia:

  1. Do not try and schedule dates, Colombianas are not capable of any forward planning at all.
  2. What you do is this: collect a load of numbers, several dozen at least, from whatever source, and engage them in relentless, time-consuming Whatsapp chats full of selfies and smilies. Run these chats over days and days.
  3. Regularly go out to a bar with friends and then mass-text your entire list with an awesome selfie featuring A GROUP having LOTS OF MINDBLOWING FUN, tell them you’re having an amazing time and they should come
  4. This will trigger their vibe-parasitism and provide a group for them to flourish and attention-whore in, so maybe one or two (out of 50) would turn up.
  5. Make them jealous of each other, pick the one that fondles you the most then run normal game. No Colombian man actually has game: it’ll work.

They are group animals

Everything in Colombia seems to be done in a group. People live in big family houses. They go shopping together. They work together, they socialize together. When they have nothing to do in a group then they just do nothing: hence the TV watching. They are sometimes suspicious about doing things one to one, and will then soon try and invite along other friends. For a Englishman I found this all a bit oppressive. I’m not a fucking rabbit, I’m a wolf.


I’ve now been to three countries in South America: Argentina, Mexico and Colombia. My general conclusion is this:  South America is over-hyped by wops, but in reality is a bit shit and Europe is better, for lifestyle and for women. Although I’m pretty sure I could bang an HB8 every month or two in Colombia, there’s more to life than women and it’s more important to me to not live in Colombia than it is to bang hot Colombian women.

Reclaiming this blog

For a long time I have had absolutely zero urge to blog. Why is this? I used to enjoy it and found it helpful. Now it seems like an unpleasant task which I keep shirking.

I don’t like what I’ve slipped into with this blog. It was always a virtually hidden, underground blog which had one thing: it was an utterly truthful account of someone struggling with game and the red pill. I’m not saying I haven’t been truthful of course, but what I mean is I think I’ve gradually started writing for an audience, rather than writing for myself. It used to feel like therapy, sorting out my thoughts and pushing that button to pump them out there – much better than just writing a journal. Now it just seems like a chore, and irrelevant to my life.

citizensmith

I changed the theme. I made a silly background for a while. I got a dot com URL. I wrote some posts which were great, and people thought my writing was funny, but it was seductive. Then I wrote the book. I don’t suppose the Twitter feed helps.

I’m not a “PUA name”, even thought I know quite a few of them. I don’t ever want to be, yet I was kind of getting a little bit ‘known’. (I don’t regret the podcasts, however, they were great fun and I will do more). I hate the PUA circus.

This post is ten times easier to write than anything I’ve written in six months. This is because it’s old Bodi. It’s just ME and my thoughts. I miss my old blog. I still have a lot of thinking and development to do. I might move back there if I can remember the log-in.

I suppose the other tiring thing is the haters. Eventually they found me and started spouting their weird, warped crap, usually along the lines of finding a blog about someone openly struggling with their weaknesses and then criticizing me for them or my lack of success (as these fantasist bedroom virgins define it).

Please stop reading my blog. I want a couple dozen readers: that’s enough. I half wish I’d never written that book but it’s done and sometimes it buys me a coffee or two so I’ll leave it, and being a completist I’ll release the second one too or I’ll die of convulsions.

Maybe I’m just tired of writing about game and red pill. After all, it’s been a long time – over five years. Christ. This has been a lot harder and more awful than I ever anticipated. Surprisingly, I’m not tired of still pursuing my goals, as in real life I’m still out there putting one foot in front of the other, like the guy who got dropped down the crevasse and broke his legs and had to crawl miles back to camp (Touching the Void). I wonder if I’ll reach the point where I just no longer care, after all they say it’s easier to bear injuries than avenge them.

I have a reasonable chance of fucking a catwalk model soon, so I won’t call it quits quite yet.

Mehico

[Ok, it’s a bit flat, but I’ve finally written a post. Rather than prevaricate futher, I’ll publish it and get the wheels turning.]

 

 

Since my last post I’ve been busy. A winter in South America and now back to the UK, ready to start the Euro-jaunt season. Thinner, wiser, browner and more dashingly handsome than ever.

My goal had been to find a winter bolt-hole, somewhere I could bugger off to each year in November and return from in late February, having simply bypassed all those wasted months of life, huddled inside a heated house as the rain and gales lash the cold, windy streets outside. As most men over 35 have realised, time is their greatest commodity. Staying in the UK over winter effectively wastes 25% of your life, every year. As I sauntered the sunny streets of South America, and later Singapore, sitting outside in the blazing sun and drinking coffee, I looked at text messages from my family complaining of gales and snow and I just thought “why?”.

South America was on the slates again, after my previous foray to Argentina, because of the same basic reasons:
-warm
-cheap
-possibly as weird and interesting as Asia
-women are passable as white women, more or less, so are hotter and feel like less of a compromise than Asian women

Where to go? I’d tried Argentina last year and wasn’t inspired enough by it to return. Hysterical children waving their hands about in their chaotic and retarded country, with beautiful, manipulative women, so asexual you’d think they’d all had cliterodectomies at birth…. no thanks. Chile, Peru, Bolivia, all those sounded a bit grubby and pokey. Jesus, what if there was no Starbucks? Central America… too squalid and dangerous. Sitting on a bus with peasants and chickens is to me no longer ‘fun’. I’d try the two most obvious ones: Mexico and Colombia. At least if they were good then I could focus on learning Spanish and use it in two countries. Brazil? Expensive, squalid and dangerous, and I’d heard that the women are nowhere near as hot as you’d expect.

First stop was Mexico City, and I arrived at the end of last November. The plan was simple. First, do my usual trick and join a boxing gym. This provides structure to the week and stops any “what am I doing?” midnight wig-outs brought on by too much money and too little responsibility. On top of this I’d learn some Spanish and then chase some local birds.

Things went swimmingly. I found an old-school local boxing gym and started training there every day or so (thanks, TrT). With my pattern broken, I went cold turkey off caffeine (which for me, due to issues with my receptors, is quite a big deal) and after an initial 5 day period of bleak depression soon became happier and more stable. Even better, my friend DesiTornado had foolishly taken my advice at an inner-game consult I’d done for him and was sojourning for the winter season in South America. He’d already banged two girls (I take all credit) and was a great tonic for me, his relentless positivity fighting against my forays into cynicism.

I was in Mexico City for about five weeks. Let me categorize and give you my thoughts on a few things, and then I’ll finish up by talking about game and chicks (but not too deep, as I’ll milk that for more blog posts!).

Danger
It’s not dangerous. In five weeks there I didn’t witness a single crime. Police are everywhere. There are no drugs, gangs or shifty men in suits. Nada. I felt significantly safer than in London. The subway is safe. You can take Uber everywhere. The Mexicans are less genetically prone to everyday aggression than the Anglo Saxons (with disclaimers). Of course, let’s not forget I was living in a bubble. I didn’t venture out of Mexico City and I’ve heard that it’s not long before it all turns to shit. Even more, I was living in a bubble within a bubble, lodging in the middle class La Condessa area. Fuck ‘slumming it’.

People
I like Mexicans. In general I found them warm, friendly, trusting and welcoming. Even in a touristy suburb and working in crappy jobs, such as runnig a taco stand, they still smiled, took care to say hello and were genuine. Mexicans have a genuine interest in others.

Taco Stands
Taco stands are everywhere: I think they are to Mexico what pubs were to England. I suspect there are a multitude of cultural aphorisms along the lines of “I heard it at the taco stand”. Indeed, Mexicans LOVE tacos. The stands are crowded with people holding tiny plates up to their mouths and delicately, artfully, eating tacos with their hands. There’s a real skill and art to this, and how they liked to chuckle as my taco fell apart onto my face. Sadly, once can’t eat at taco stands for long; the white intestinal tract cannot take it. Once you take out Tacos, the national cuisine seems to be pizza.

More people
Sitting down at any stand I barely needed to bumble through a sentence of retard-Spanish before total strangers were introducing themselves, welcoming me and assisting me in ordering. SEVERAL times total strangers insisted on paying for my lunch for me simply “to welcome me to Mexico”.

In shops and restaurants it was similar. I think that Mexicans just don’t really take work that seriously. They have a laconic rthym which is almost unshakeable. Mexicans just don’t have the gnawing sense of panic and low self-esteem that the British do,  which makes them (the British) bust their guts at work. The Mexican exists in a network which the Brit does not: the family. A Mexican has dozens of friends and a large, extended family to call on in any circumstance. Gossip, television, babies, grandparents, Jesus and napping play a far larger important than they do to the average Westerner.

Sure, I’m not completely misty-eyed. In the crowded downtown area there were plenty of hustlers and shifty types, but that was the only place I saw them.

In every airbnb place I stayed the hosts were effusively welcoming and brought me into their social circle. They were just interested in a way that jaded and skeptical Europeans rarely are. The sad thing is that I see with their trusting, warm natures and er, laconic, attitude how easy it would be for a bunch of Spaniards or whities with muskets and rage to simply butcher them all by the drove.

After my time in Mexico I’d rate Mexican girls as ‘high interest’ on the personality side for dateability. Also, if I was socializing and met Mexicans, I’d make more of an effort with them than other nationalities, as I’m now more interested in having them as friends and see that they are a race with which genuine connection is possible.

City
Mexico City is apparently very big, but doesn’t feel remotely as big as London. It has a decent Metro system and shitty roads, clogged solid with the Mexicans’ obsession with car ownership. It’s fairly Western, with millions of Starbucks, cafes, restaurants, ATMs banks and shops. Everything you want, really. However, it just looks scruffier than most European cities. The classic, beautiful, colonial architecture of the city is left to degrade and ruin; the Mexicans don’t seem capable of maintaining it. In fact, the Mexicans don’t seem capable of really that much in terms of efficient government or logistics. More than once, more than once a day really, I was left with the eerie feeling I was watching little brown Aztecs playing round in the trappings left behind by a more advanced civilization. I went for the day to Teotihuacan, an ancient and fantastical city built around two pyramids. The Mexican daytrippers wandered about, scrambling and trampling over everything, blowing bird whistles to endlessly amuse themselves, then sitting on priceless ruins to stuff their faces with yet more tacos. Obvlivious, disinterested. Mexico struggles with the same problems that most countries in South America do: when anyone gets power they become corrupt, and few people can organize or execute things efficiently.

After five weeks in Mexico City I started to feel something I didn’t expect: boredom. There’s just not that much to actually do. The nice bit is small, the food is monotonous and there’s not much culture. There aren’t even any nice malls to walk around. Most of the city has a grubbiness that makes it not worth walking round. More street markets? More taco stands?

Going North
I thought that going to the USA to work would be a common thread amongst the Mexicans. It’s not. I hung out with a lot of middle class Mexicans and it was barely mentioned. Mexicans look for jobs in Mexico, then complain about them. The same goes for the less well off Mexicans. It seems that most people going to America are either a) placed there by their company, and have a good job b) are looking for a get-rich-quick scheme. I saw the same phenomena in China. Leaving Asia to work in the West is rarely considered as an option for middle class Chinese. Why? Because without crippling UK socialism they can have a better standard of living in China. Generally the only people who go abroad are from the shifty groups of the lower class, lured by *other Chinese people* into various get rich quick abroad schemes.

Girls
The problem with Mexico is quality. Outside of middle class urbanized areas the majority of people are short, brown, squat Mayans. They have bulldog necks and nearly all have stovepipe torsos with little bellies. The only really hot girls you’ll see are middle class and in middle class areas, and as a ratio of the population this is tiny. Walking round downtown Mexico city the standard of totty is far, far below that of a city like London, and seismically below that of Eastern Europe. Even in a posh, middle class area, you are lucky to see a couple of HB8’s in a single day. When I stayed in Zagreb I remember once going to the corner shop to buy a bottle of milk and counting NINE HB8’s on the way.

Mexico is where you come if you have low standards and want to bang a lot of 6’s from Tinder.

Daygame
Daygame in Mexico is difficult, entirely due to the above reason. Even sniping at adhoc sets, you can still struggle to get any volume of girls to approach. When you finally do find one, two thirds won’t speak good enough English to make the interaction work. When one does, however, it will usually go pretty well. The hottest girl I’ve ever stopped was in La Condessa, a 21 year old stunning model, and she showed genuine interest. Sadly it died on the text exchange.

Mexico City is a city where people don’t really walk much. Mexicans seem to want to ape the americans. Anyone who can afford to gets a car and then drives everywhere. There is no culture of perambulation. There are no real areas of shops around which one walks. You drive to location X, then to Y, then to Z.
We tried Universities but the problem there is social pressure. Mexicans are far more involved with and concerned about their peer group than Europeans. Most people on campuses walk round in groups. Sounds odd but I’m serious: you literally get less people walking round on their own than in the west. At any point we stopped a girl she was immediately worried about what others would think.

Tinder

By the time I arrived DesiTornado had already clacked two senioritas. One, he shamefacedly admitted, was a “Tinder fattie”, which he’d done to ‘warm up’. The second was a HB8, 23yo genuine hotty, done from blind luck and hostel game. I decided I really needed to “oil the wheels” on the holiday and get laid fast, so I’d fuck myself a Tinder Hog as well. Hopefully, once I’d stuck it in a hog, the worry about not getting laid at all would subside and I could relax a bit.

Coming up next: Tinder Hog-Farming

Coming up soon: Colombia, Singapore, Lay reports

Ebook release

Finally, I’ve got round to releasing Death By A Thousand Sluts as an ebook. You can buy it here.

It’s formatted as PDF, which although being ‘non-flow’ at least preserves the layout with footnotes, pop-out boxes etc.

This is how it looks on my Kindle paperwhite:

kindle-preview

 

And this is how it looks on the Kindle app on a Samsung S4 phone (this is a screenshot of the whole screen):

Screenshot_2016-03-15-12-22-48

Enjoy.