Drunk, broken looking homeless guy, and then all that soul and emotion, unexpected, desperate passion, he puts in that song.  The original was good stuff.  But this guy makes the lyrics mean something.  Watch him closely.

How his voice breaks at ‘I wish I was special’ and the extra rasp at ‘I’m a creep’ and the plea for a ‘brand new perfect soul’.   ‘I wish I was special.’  Not phoned in.   And then ‘whatever makes you happy’, none of the rough drunk guy sound in his voice.   He’s really telling it like you never heard it from Radiohead.  From the glazed eyes and the drank-too-often mouth twitch, whatever is in that guy is alive.  ’What the *fuck* am I doing here?!’  Raw.

A little close with the whole ‘don’t exploit the homeless for a kick’ line.  But … soul.  Compare and contrast with smug middle manager pod guy type.

Go look:  http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hXlzci1rKNM

And also there’s this.  More pictures of this might be coming soon …

Sometimes...

This goes back to the general idea of personal financial responsibility.  We have the current wonders of economic crisis and fiscal irresponsibility and big banks and corrupt politicians to debate.  I can get with that, just with anybody who doesn’t have credit card debt, a fat mortgage, making car payments, buying shit they can’t afford.  Self righteous indignation, meet blind hypocrisy.  Even living a traveling lifestyle, individual inability to live without short sighted overspending rampant.  Let’s put this in a context relevant to the vagabond and expat lifestyles – much more challenging to fund, sustainably.

This cost of living index thing (which would be awesome if reliable), with what appears to be lots of data from lots of people’s perceived spending requirements.  Take a look at this cost of living thingie:

Click to Enlarge

Mkay.  So we have 18,000 Baht for an apartment.  I’m pointing this out, because it’s a recurring theme.  I’ve lived in 12+ countries, and the expats always spend a retarded amount of money to live in a foreign city.  They insist on eating the same food they do back home, watch the same movies, speak the same language.  It’s like some kind of weird bubble, transplant, where they’re just replicating their life back home.  And they do so at exorbitant cost, much to the amusement (and fiscal benefit) of the local population.

Just for the record, the average decent apartment in Bangkok is around 3,000 to 4,000 baht.  You can rent a nice five story building, near the subway, in an interesting part of town, for about 15,000 baht.  Five.  Story.  Building.  Nice one, with rooftop views and all.  Or, you can get a ridiculous condo, with infinity rooftop pool and marble foyers and gold toilets for 15,000 baht.  Who lives like that?

So, sure.  18,000 baht.  You can spend that.  I see expats spending 30,000, 50,000, more.  If you’ve got cash to throw at everything, by all means.  You can get quite opulent and have a good time.  Most people though, have to fund that sort of thing by working … meaning time spent not enjoying life, not having interesting experiences, not building your own business, whatever.  In most cases I think the opportunity cost is too high, to go live in a condo with an infinity rooftop pool.

My place, about 4,200 baht.  It’s in a new building, nice area, and it’s also the most expensive apartment in the building.  It’s nicer than most girl’s places I’ve been to, and on the scale of things, quite a bit larger and nicer than I can afford in many other cities of this size.   4,200.  Not 18,000.  Bitches, please.

Now, utilities, another great example of delusion.  5,800 baht.  What in the fuck are these people utilizing?? Two months ago, mine was 136 baht for the month.   Last month I ran A/C almost all month, I spent 600 baht.  That includes many showers of many visiting girls, obviously computer on 24/7 and … what else is there?  People are insane.

Before I came to Bangkok I was attempting to assess cost of living.  You know the only reliable way to get an idea?  Fuck all these calculators.  You need to find out the average wage for an average management position – if you want to know what it’ll cost to live in style.  Worker wage, if you’re on a budget.  That is the true measure of a city’s cost of living.

As I roll over and open my eyes, I’m realizing the beeping coming not from someone’s mouth, but a giant Dell tablet phone thing.  It’s out of my reach too, I’m going to have to make my way over the slender girl body dressed in a tiny leopard print dress to silence it.  Silence it forever.  Fuck, who picks this alarm sound and then sleeps right through it?

The dress has slipped up her legs, past her ass.  Very, very fine ass it is.  Small, round, tan, kind of like most Thai girls.  I’m straining to recollect the events leading up to this point.

***

She just wandered off into the shower after I finished some gratuitous reminding myself of last night.   It’s time to check out her phone.

I always check out girls phones.  I used to have a no-snooping policy, since many things are better left unknown.  This though, is for science.  Research.  Whatsapp and Viber and Line.  She’s fully loaded up on every messaging platform.   Whatsapp is tame.  Viber, tame.  Line, bingo.  We striketh the goldeth.  There is a long, long dialog going back several months.  Seems like an American dude, was here for a while, now back in the States.  I’m surmising that he’s planning to come back.  Talk of him already having saved up $10,000, etc etc, come back, pay her bills, feed her, it’s like a whole chaper of the return-of-the-white-knight scrolling past on the giant screen.

Thing is, this girl is no whore.  She’s actually a well educated, well employed one.  Pays her own bills.  I should know, she just spent a thousand baht on me last night, at the club.  Me, zero.  Except the donation of the large cock.  She’s the proud-to-depend-on-no-one type.  Cool chick, really.

The conversation is all full of professions of mutual love.  Her talking about how he can live with her.  Bla, bla, it’s kind of repetitious.  Last entry, yesterday evening.  Well into the proceedings between her and me.

Her and I also communicated.  All sorts of dirty, dirty, sex talk.  Cuddling, even, past all the fucking.  The whole bit, nothing tame or “I just needed some booty” category that one would want to possibly give her the benefit of the doubt with.  She’s also sleeping in, past work time, and we’re going for another two rounds.  It’s almost noon by the time her I finally give her a ride to work.

Here’s what I’m going to postulate, daringly.  You take your eyes off your girl, for one minute, and she’s susceptible to go out and bang.  She was looking for it, no less.  I wasn’t robbing the train, I just rode up next to it, and the conductor leaned up and said “well hello there fine Sir, would you like to go for a ride on this here coach?”  Also we’re not talking the dirty whore type.  You can take it from me, I love dirty whores, and dirty whores love me.  This was totally the “nice girl” category.

I love women.  I do.  This isn’t a girl hater post.  I’m not suggesting one should be jealous or possessive or going through a girl’s phone.  Au contraire, this will only hurt your own sanity, reduce your standing in the girl’s eyes, and generally do no good.  Rather it’s like living in Pompei, you just gotta know that it’s a town built on a volcano.  Prepare and live accordingly.  Maybe rent, don’t buy.  Ya know what I mean?

Don’t invest your own sanity, your own sense of self in a girl.  In cuddly feelings.  I love to love, and I get all about it.  It’s not that you have to be all jaded and shitty, but just like my paragliding gear comes with an expensive reserve parachute, you wanna know that you’re always on borrowed time.  Enjoy it accordingly, perhaps more just because of it.

Somewhere, right now is a dude, saving his pennies, writing love notes, pining after his one true love.  I got a text from his true love, incidentally, about an hour ago.

Good enough, your soulmate.  For me to bang.

Sorry. That one, it's got a dick. Some bullshit, eh?

The commentary went a ways to examplify my weaknesses, noting my choice to live in an RV, traveling around the U.S., choosing alternate means to deal with a broken laptop hard drive, and ‘running away’ to SE Asia – saying it’s the easy way out, as opposed to living a stand up life.

Here’s what’s important about this perspective, and a way to highlight a notable life fallacy:

Easy is to live in the status quo.  You find out nothing about yourself if you don’t self impose hardships.  Living in an RV?  Look up Roadtrek and see what it costs to buy one, even used.  So you spend about 10x as much as you would in rent, and you don’t have a safe, easy, societally accepted place to live, still.  I learned a lot about urban development, pod house dweller mentality, stealth, and ‘hunting’ in an urban setting.  Go find the posts if you want to read about it.  I didn’t do a good job categorizing or doing the whole experiment real justice by writing much about it.

Then find me somebody who’ll just throw the keys in a fairly pricey investment, call a friend to pick it up, and walk away – to the airport to fly across the world without any kind of plan.  No.  A ‘smart’ person would have rented an apartment.  A half smart person would have at least sold the thing before leaving.   Not just walk away.  Of course there is more there, but the point is, one thing you won’t ever find here, is the easy way out.   For now.

Try to replace shampoo with baking soda, or run your main work laptop with a marginal operating system, off a Flash drive.   What is it with society only allowing ‘easy way out’ solutions as acceptable?  A $50 new hard drive is a much easier solution.  But what do you learn about making life work, not the easy way?   Going to college, getting loans, marrying the worn out sorority slut, selling soul for mortgage.  That, I would contend, is easy.

I’m ranting again, but I’m on it … I get this quite a bit in real life too.  People go, “oh wow that sucks, you live in a van”.  Man, that van costs more than your entire net worth!  Shit.  STFU.

Or my favorite, so many people categorize Thailand as the place people run away to when they give up.  Living here, I can safely tell you that this isn’t the place you want to be if you want to play it safe.  I just touched on the subject recently, in the Wild Wild East.  Sure, it’s pussy paradise.  Come here and try to stay single and keep your wits and cash.  Tell me that eating street food and riding motorbikes in Bangkok traffic is taking the easy, safe way in life.  Chris over at LivingThai just had a good post on one of those facets.   Beta dudes could *not* roll with Thai girls, I promise.  Sure pick up a bar slut, but actually play here?  Ha.  Let’s see it.

It’s not wrong to play it safe.  I have a great friend, two kids, married, enjoying it tons.  Totally cool.  That’s not what this blog is currently about though.  This bit here is about poking under the hood a little.

I’m not better than anybody else.  Far from it.  I question my choices frequently.  There are lots of business undertakings I neglect far more than I should.  I’m sitting on a paradigm shifting solution, developed and all, that’s just kind of dragging along because I refuse to focus on it properly.  I could go on for days on my failings.

Taking it easy in life, ain’t one of them.

Though it touches a nerve, since I do always feel that I’m taking it too easy.  Then I have to leave the air conditioning off in the apartment and sleep in ridiculous heat, since that’s how must average Thais do it, and they’re just fine.  Whatever.  I’m out of my mind.

Whatever you do, just remember this – you *are* good enough.

And that's a dude. Welcome to Thailand, playah.

I know a few guys I would consider to be real players.

For example … the very eccentric older dude, SB.  First time I met him, in Tampa, Florida, he was introduced to me by a mutual friend.  It was back before I even thought about ever getting into this category.  Or that it is even a category.

So this guy shows up at my friend’s house, visiting in town for a few days.  Stopping by to come out for drinks that evening.  I come outside to meet him.   Unassuming.  Nice enough guy, maybe early 50′s.  The immediately odd thing about him, his sport coat.  It’s white, and it’s … painted.  Like, I don’t know, finger paint.  It’s not stupid looking, just a bit, you know, odd.  He also wears these big blue beads around his neck.  He manages not to look like a clown or crazy old man but it’s definitely eccentric.   In hindsight I realize that it takes a lot of presence to pull that off.

SB.  His name also, clearly something he made up.  He has it on a business card, with just his number on it.  Hm, ok.  It is odd, but again, at the time it didn’t feel full on weird.   So we go off to some bar together.

My buddy tells me to pick out a girl for him.  Keep in mind, this was like 10 years ago, and I have no clue that picking up is a skill one could learn.  Game didn’t even occur to me back then.  So I point at an early 20′s hottie at the other side of the bar from us.  ”Her.”  SB gets up, walks over there.  He says something, she says something, he sits down, they chat.  Ten minutes later, she stands up, behind him, starts giving him a neck massage.  At the bar.  Another ten minutes later, they leave together.  The end.  I was mesmerized like a kid watching a magic trick.  And nobody would tell me how he did it.

I met him again, when I was hanging in the Dominican Republic.  Super chill guy.  His house is on the side of a cliff, with stairs carved out of the rock leading down to caves and hot tubs.   Story has it that he had the house taken apart from it’s original location in California and moved here.  Now before you say “yea yea easy, he’s rich” … I know lots of super rich dudes with absolutely no pimp-ness going on.  As a matter of fact, I think money and a guy over 50 usually means a fat old wife and a boring ass life.

He’d been married four or five times before.  Talking to him always felt like talking to an old friend.  His house, always at least a few sexy fine girls just hanging out.  The guy was just chill time incarnate.

I’ve gotten a few things from him, mostly the sort of stuff I didn’t understand at the time.  The way one might think of the Buddhist monk telling you things you won’t understand till you experience them – only then will the combination of experience and words let you see what’s what.  His whole thing was about living life.  Taking lumps, taking chances, always taking time to enjoy it, never to get greedy.  To never stop aspiring.

You can’t fake it, no matter how many balding guys with game blogs in their 30s tell you about ‘game’.  Life experience, being interesting, having had enough women to know.  I know that I’m just like a little kid compared to that guy.

There are several of these kinds of dudes, most I met before the ‘game’ days.  Not all rich, but mostly all pretty comfortable.  Not all.  One of them comes to mind, lived in a converted rented shack behind a house, on the West coast of Florida.  Balding, 40′s, overweight, unkempt, a total mess.  Him and I spent time together going out, and his ‘game’ was super intense.  I remember times meeting him at the local Starbucks, with a crowd of 10 plus people around him, listening intently to his hilarious recounts of various stories in his life.  The man was a modern day pirate, and hot as fuck spoiled little Florida gold diggers would go back to his house-shack every weekend.  He never once talked or bragged about being a pickup artist, in any format, any words.  He was just the man.  Also, there was the infamous “there is more coke at my house” line … even though there never was.

Those guys, they’re all like magic because they live large lives, in their own way.  They don’t live the status quo consumer sheeple life, it’s their very own creation.  Aptly describing them would take a book, not a blog post.

There’s the guy who was going to be an accountant and instead got into some computer biz.  Never became actually rich but always stayed free.  Bought a used 36″ Hatteras with a few friends, took it to Cuba for a month at at time.  He lives in another Third World country now where he runs a casino / brothel, ties to Chinese mob and all that stuff.  He’s a pretty weird dude, but in all his weirdness, women gravitate to him no matter what.  His thing was to drive around in a few year old non-descript F150 pickup truck and just stop and talk to girls walking down the street.  How creepy is that?  I thought so, till I saw how fine as hell college students actually come with him.  Frequently.

Or my close friend E in his mid 60′s, who I mention sometimes.  He’s not even really cool per se, in the sense of today pop culture style.  His girl pickup mode is like some sort of politician on a campaign trail thing.  But the photos of 19 year old girls on his bed tell no lies.  He’s a wise dude, I want to be that with it in 30 years.

Or my friend S who wears leopard print fur lined flip flops to clubs (not because he’s trying to ‘Peacock’ either), is about 5’7″, and has parties at his house that I have to usually leave before 1AM … because I just can’t roll with drug infused orgies and massages and overwhelming nudity like that.  It’s not a bad thing, just so far out of my league or comfort zone, I just have to call it.

None of those guys have blogs.  Or Facebook.  They don’t think about it as ‘game’, they would laugh at you if you called them ‘pickup artists’.  Women are part of their lives, like a good dinner.  They’re not hard up for the next ‘lay’, ‘notch’, the next ‘day game’ book.  They don’t spend time like me, blogging about some teen bimbo that tried to suck my soul straight through my hard cock.  Though that was pretty funny in its own right.

In other bits, last night.  Went prospecting, figuring out where the part-time-for-sale uni girls are.  Also there is a new rumor that casino girl went crying to daddy.  Oh-oh.

Coming, soon.

Ok, your turn. Girl or not girl?

Buying expensive fast bike and ride off into the sunset.  I really hung on to that one, but it’s just totally silly.  A decent bike costs the equivalent of 2 to 3 years of a Thai’s salary.  I use my bike to go to girl’s houses and often it just sits outside of a nightclub till the morning.  Not safe places.  Considering that it just takes wheeling the thing onto the back of a truck, a fast bike is more of an ego trip than actually fun or practical.

Nix that one.

Next idea, Nepal.  Paragliding is amazing.  I do also have it on good authority that the place is a shit hole.   Not much in terms of local girl action at all.  Infrastructure of suck, power outages, water outages.  So it’s just a flying locale.  I might do it as a trip sometime.  But as a ‘next step’, meh.  No.

And then there is Bangkok.  Option three was originally to invest in a local business and make some money.  But after a long walk and some thinking, I realized something kind of important.  Fuck work.  Seriously.  I don’t need to.  Worrying about cash flow, dealing with locals, spending my time making a buck?  Nah.  I have a few projects already underway, they’re perfectly fine as future investments.

Instead, the next six months, my general strategy is to crank the hedonism to 11.  I haven’t done a bunch of things in Bangkok.  Haven’t bought the little uni student freelance occasional hookers.  Haven’t done the massage rounds.  I’ve been dabbling, maybe a new girl every two weeks, keeping a little rotation, chilling out.  It’s been *tame*.  I need to get into some of the things that currency can leverage.  Dig into the local hot spots, negotiate, bang, do all the wrong, wrong, funnnn things that sanity may advise against.

Granted, this isn’t a serious plan, but that’s where el capitain is pointing the rudder.  Work on my software distribution network, the other thingie project, and the rest of the time, find every possible way to fuck and experience, and immerse and go nuts.

So, yea.  If you’re tired of stories of girls and whatnot, then this might turn into an intensely boring time.  I even put my camera on the charger and everything.

Also thanks for all the commentary on the suit subject.  Glad to know that you guys are having some interesting perspectives, and sure, sometimes, in some places suits are cool.  It was fun to read stuff after writing stuff.  Thaaanks!

Don’t forget … you *are* good enough.  For this blog.

Dick, or no dick?

One, every time I read G-Manifesto, I cringe uncontrollably and want to vomit.  I don’t do it often, but just the other day it was a Twitter link, well disguised, and by the time it forwarded me to his site, it was too late.  Train wreck, must be observed.

He might be a cool guy.  It’s entirely possible.  It’s the writing and advice and style that makes me ill.

Because, really.  You brag about your drug consumption and illegal lifestyle in *every* fucking post?  Meanwhile, you don’t know that we quit referring to MDMA as ‘tabs’ in what, the 80s?  Right. Also, crime is just the small business version of what any government does – but if you brag about home invasions, then you’re not cool.  Dime crime.  The kind of stuff that harms individuals, not greedy corporations.  Things that get people killed.  Also, if any of it were true and you can’t even shut up about it on a fucking blog, you’d be in jail by now.  Take it from a source who knows more than dime-crime-man about the topic, it’s total hood rat and also just made up.

A true player would be bragging about some crime with a little vision, like having your minions moving a hundred keys at a time, or being in manufacturing, or brokering small arms deals.  *Not* home invasions and jewelry heists.  It’s so ghetto, I can’t even describe how low on the scale, and how nerdy sit-in-moms-basement the guys are who think that’s aspirational material.  Think ‘rapper bragging about getting job at 7-Eleven’.

Yea, I’m ranting.  We’ll get to the point.  The suits.  Here’s what a suit is, once and for all.  I’ll break it down for you, in all aspects of the facts.

A suit is a wage earner’s uniform.

Am I wrong?  Mkay.  How many times have you seen Steve Jobs in a suit?  The guy who drove his car without a license plate and parked in handicapped spots.  The guy who fucking *defined* class and style and the entire planet voted for it, via their wallets.  The guy who used *style* to build the richest company in the world.  Sure, I don’t like Apple.  However, did or did not Apple define the stratosphere for revenue-per-square feet in retail?  If there is one guy who embodies knowing what style is, it’s Jobs.  If he doesn’t wear a suit, then I shouldn’t have to keep belaboring this point.  Right?  Remember, this isn’t me saying that suits don’t look good – I’m saying that they are for beta bitches.  I could point to Jonny Ive, next.  But whatever.

Or Mark Zuckerberg.  Suit?  No.  100 Billion dollars at 26, and he’s wearing hoodies at investor meetings.  Because why?  He ain’t nobody’s bitch.  A bitch wears a suit.  His fucking accountant, wears suit.  Did you read the book, remember what he put on his business card?

A suit, ladies and gentlemen, says “I am the bitch of somebody important.”

A hood rat bragging about dime crime would think that this is a step up.  And it is, from that lifestyle.  Think about it … bragging about impersonating somebody who kisses the ass of important people.

There are reasons to wear suits, of course.  Like for example, the time machine just took you back to 1937.  Or, to …

Blend in, like a snake in the grass.

If you go pick up married women at work conference in hotel bars, you might want to wear a suit.  Don’t give away your position too early on.   And sure, a nicely tailored suit can look classy.  Suits *do* look good.  So does the hooker on my bed that I gave a hundred bucks to degrade her with my giant, veiny cock.  Suits are handy, especially in the two out of a thousand remaining venues where a free man would wear such a thing.

How many places do you wear a fucking suit at, besides your dead end job at Bank of America?  Funerals?  Weddings?

And before we get all confused and think Jake doesn’t roll in those circles, let me explain.  I do, admittedly, like to roll in the simple parts of society.  There is just more of that, it’s less resource intensive, the girls don’t require a hundred dollar lunch to not feel hungry.  If I can get the same pussy, at one-one-hundredths of the effort, will I?  Duh.  No sir, I want to buy the gallon of milk that costs $200.

Because, I’m worth it!  *Fail at life dot com*

That all ranted, before we get all confused, I do have access to more of the elusive circles than most people.  Family of doctors, old money royalty ties back to the French revolution, fancy titles.  What-fucking-ever.  I don’t go hang out there.  But you’ve probably noticed the random pictures of me in Ferraris and 30 million dollar houses and private jets, occasionally creeping up in random posts.  They aren’t mine.  Name dropping is gay, but you’d be suitably impressed by the roll call.  If I really got in trouble here in Thailand, I’ve got the number really, really high to the top to take care of some shit.  It’s not like I’m unfamiliar with the suit-world as it were.  I’m just not thumbing my chest in every post of how I used to hang out in 7-11 parking lots to pick up chicks … and now I moved up to pretending to be a rich guy’s bitch.

You can be a pimp in a suit.  I’m not saying there aren’t exceptions.  For example, you don’t want to get a real job, and you don’t have some entrepreneurial thing going on.  You want to just pick up rich divorcees to finance your lifestyle.  Props to you.  Obviously, in cases like that, the same way a bank robber wears a mask, you might put on a suit.

There is another thing about suits, which is that it immediately qualifies you in one of the only two categories that a woman is capable to think about.  Even if you get laid, even if you roll high, even if you wear a suit because it’s dress code in the casino VIP, it’s a significant handicap to clean, high quality, straight-up fucking it hard game.  I’ll explain fully in a future post.

Unless you’re using it a diversion, a suit isn’t good game.  t’s not fair to just pick on G here, it’s just as easy to pick on a guy like me who squanders his intellectual ability and connections and resources just for a pursuit of pussy and adrenaline rush.  I get that.  G’s just the catalyst for my little expose about stupid-ass suits, and sure, he might be an ok guy in real life.

The other thing that’s going on here, is that I’m totally tired of the word ‘beta’ and all of its references in game.  If somebody goes into huge diatribes about alpha and beta, post a few months of discovering the concept (yea, I went through that phase too), they’re probably living in mom’s basement.  Post title?  The whole post?  Making fun of the clenched fist gamerisms.

I’ll explain next time about why a suit, unquestionably and without a doubt, fucks up your potential game.

Also remember, you *are* good enough.  And see below, that’s a dude.  Dressed up to be your bitch.  Ahhh look, it’s a suit!! Har.

Or in suit-man's world, that's a hot chick.

There’s this young dude from the U.K. having lunch.  And this Asian chick from Hong Kong having lunch at the next table from him.  I missed the beginning, caught it just as the guest house owner tells the girl of how the dude fights in local competitions, Thai boxing, and of how he kicks everybody’s ass.

Meanwhile, this guy, super polite, no attitude, friendly.  British accent.  Chilling in his wife beater, having lunch.  Answering her questions.

I wish I had video of this.  The girl is just short of ripping off her pants and begging to ride on his cock right here in the coffee shop.  She’s asking one pointless question after another, there’s probably drool on her shirt.

What more could one say to illustrate the value of a vagina tickling type of lifestyle, hobbies?  And some friends that do the approach for you?  And also, chicks do dig guys who have violent hobbies way more than kind, friendly, intellectual ones.

I’ve experimented with different answers to the “what do you do” question myself.  Here’s a few of them:

I own a software company.

Mostly that’s just accurate as facts go.  Results?  Feigned interest, can see their hamster milling about, deciding if there are enough redeeming qualities to justify fucking me long enough to get to the money.

I’m just traveling, unemployed right now.

*crickets*  Might as well wear some fisherman pants and have some dreads while you’re at it.  You think it’s cool, nobody else does.

I freelance Web design.

I used that one only because it’s so common around here, and I want to gauge the responses.   It’s a bit like biting into a McDonalds hamburger bun.  Like an unnatural sort of unoffensive neutral-ness.  Squishy, yet unremarkable.   Same as “I teach English”.

I’m a drug dealer.

Not recommended in Thailand, due to death penalty for convictions and whatnot.  Also it’s kind of polarizing, mostly if you’re a drug dealer it should become clear by the lack of saying it and just appearing shady in general.  It’s somewhat amusing though, kind of like “I’m a sex tourist” – which I still use if the person asking is some dweeby dude or a fat chick, in particular.

I contract some work with a local casino.

This could also be somewhat true, if it weren’t incriminating in a public forum.  I’ve got a whole list of variations in this area.  Kind of interesting as an angle.  Much of it being in the delivery, non-smirky and non shady and dismissively.  Casinos aren’t legal.  Therefore, already profoundly questionable as occupation is concerned.  But it doesn’t sound as unquestionably bad like ‘drug dealer’.  I don’t have tattoos or a gangster look.  She wants to believe that I’m all right.  Also, why would I ‘contract’ for a casino, what does that mean?  So now we have illegal, delivered in a casual matter-of-factness, plus a pile of unanswered questions that she doesn’t even know how to start asking.  Do you start with, “uhm, are you a criminal” or “why are you not a full time employee of a criminal enterprise” or just “so is that  a telescoping baton in your pocket?”

There is no one shot answer that works really well though.  Good girls would prefer to hear about some stable career.  Something that says “I’ll be here for the long haul and I can feed our future children.”  It’s not like the West, where income equality removes that consideration from their minds.  Something a little illegal may add some excitement, if balanced with being dressed fairly well and appearing trustworthy.

It’s all retarded, really.  I don’t like the “what do you do” question one bit.  But since it’s intent is to quickly assess and categorize you, why not have some fun with it.  Mostly I think it’s all about adding a reason to make her think, the more and longer she has to contemplate, the more interesting you become.  Also, a murky, potentially but not 100% obviously shady profession is a great and fertile ground to mix friendly, trust inspiring body language with occasional, random, thrown in caveman vibe.

Part of the frame game is to remove as much of the straight trajectory, potential for prediction from her brain as possible.  The less she can decide how she feels, the more you own it.

Also since watching some long ass game seminar thing on YouTube K. sent via e-mail, I’m kind of feeling weird about talking about this at all.  Ever since hearing the opening statement of the dude being “you are good enough, you have to remember this in social settings, if you want to get girls”, yikes, yiiiikes, I’m just creeped out by all things game-talk.  Really, if that’s where you’re at, I don’t even know what to say.  Except, yikes.  Please don’t ever put me in that category.  I’m not trying to be that dude.  Ok, that’s all.

And remember, you *are* good enough.

I want to buy a fast motorbike and ride it off somewhere, direction unknown.  Maybe not quite enough of a cash stash to buy a Ducati (local prices for foreign bikes are a little intense), but at least something with excessive cc’s.  I miss riding a ducky duck, for sure.

That’s the dumbest idea, fiscally speaking, and my favorite also.

Then, there’s following through with the original plan and migrate to Nepal.  Amazing paragliding.  Himalayas.  Shit hole town possibly, probably not a stream of hotties, but work on flying skills.  Do something different.   Middle ground in some ways.

That’s what would make sense, considering the eight thousand dollars in brand new gear I lugged to the other side of the world to do it in the first place.

And then, there is Bangkok.  Endless days and nights, sexy girls in an endless procession through my life and bed, learning Thai, great food, a really amazing city at a very low cost of living.  But I’ve already been here.  And now the cash stash could get eaten by a guest house investment.  Possibly, potentially a good choice for future finances.  But that would mean no fast motorbike, no soaring a paraglider over mountain ranges.  Just sexy hoes and whatnot.  Heh.

It’s kind of the least adventurous option.  It’s the only one that would give the cash stash an opportunity to possibly generate some residual.  Or … just disappear in a learning experience.  Meh.  I don’t really do well with these crossroads days.

I’m online looking at motorbikes and plane tickets.  And I kinda need to make up my mind.

And more of all that.

Maybe one day it’ll grow up and be worthy of sumfkin.  Eh?

So, my current mini thought on the ‘how-to’ part of the previous post, which suggested that one *should* be giving the bone to the sexy teenage pussy.

Of course there can’t be a really good how-to of something like this.  Not from me, at least.  But there are some obvious things, applicable to many other things, that I feel the urge to pontificate in this format, with you, right now.

The whole thought started with one of the comments, about the idea of the “old perv type trying to pick up teenage chicks”.  That, I think, is rule number one.

Rule Number One

You can’t go *to* the high quality stuffs.  I think of it like a tiger’s hunting strategy.  You want to figure out where your prey will be, and get there first.  Because if you don’t, they’ll see you and freak out and run away.  I don’t spend that much time actively picking up girls randomly as I walk around.  Mostly I’m looking for the watering holes of the tasty gazelles, places I can hide my stripey tiger ass, and wait for them to show up.  So here we have that first rule:

Put yourself where the hotties will end up being.

And I don’t mean go to an underage rave and be that weird old guy.  It’s not tiger-goes-to-watering-hole, stands-by-watering-hole, waits-for-gazelle-to-walk-up-to-him.  Bushes.  Cover.  A reason.

For example.  When I was in college, I had this professor.  Older dude, didn’t give a fuuuuck about his class.  That much was obvious.  He was an ex CEO, fat pad on the beach, teaching on the merit of his “real world experience”.   He’d come in, assert his dominant role as the professor, crack some jokes, furrow his brow and tell us about how we had to pass the test.

I used to hang out at his house.  No joke.  He never ever admitted to anything, there were on naked co-eds in the hot tub, he didn’t brag.  You see stripes though, you see yellow eyes, a tail, a bush around it all, you know it’s a damn tiger in there.  The man was a plaaaayer.  He didn’t need the money, he didn’t give a fuck about validating his ego to some 19 year old dudes trying to pass Economics 102.  You know he was there to pick up that prime, prime pussy.

Also, that man was never missing from any graduation ceremony.

You get where I’m going?  Steady flow.  No screwing up his gig.  He’s got the recent graduates lining his bed, whilst priming the freshmen with his authority.  It’s how a retired CEO thinks, a man who knew how to get what he wants in life.

Take that same dude, put him in a bar in Bangkok.  Sucker bet.  Or at a teenage rave.  Fail.  But he’s not that kinda guy.  He went around the watering holes, figured out where the bushes are, and pimped his pimp man game.  I bet there’s some wet pussy right now, as you read this, in his bed, and he’s all up in that, grading her paper.

Shit, maybe there is only one rule.

In there somewhere I guess was the bit about establishing one’s dominance, value, stuff, whatever.  So it’s a two-in-one rule.  If we try, we can squeeze out another one.

Rule Number Two

Don’t be fucking old.

That’s a good rule, me thinks.  You don’t want the bitches to be embarrassed to be seen with gramps, right?  Stay in shape.  Go to the gym.  Don’t do a comb-over.  Do some shit that’s relevant, stay on top of technology, watch YouTube, don’t geezer out.

Maybe that’s really number two.  Don’t geezer out.

That’s a big subject, and a little chicken and egg … you will stay young if you have young girlfriends, and you will have young girlfriends if you’re a mature guy with resources and experience – while maintaining connection to cultural changes defining youth today.

Rule Number Three

Invest your resources in method, not execution.

This kind of ties in with rule number one, and is really worthy of a whole post of its own.  Your brain will trick you.  It’s like your subconscious is your parents, and it will punish you via strong lovey feelings, if you use up too many resources to accomplish a single, relatively minor meager goal (ie. banging one chick).

What I mean is, if your watering hole is a one time shot, but it took you a ton of cash and time to get there, the resource investment is high, return is low.  You got just one sexy bang out of it.

Your subconscious brain will now make you all in love with this bitch.  Because, it doesn’t want you to kill yourself doing this over and over again.  It’ll stop your shit, make you overvalue your bounty, just to slow your roll.

To pre-empt this sort of shit from happening, you must invest energy NOT in hunting down pray, but to create the method.  Effort invested once to continue slaying.  Not effort invested in slaying itself.  Because that kind of effort leads to overvaluation of the pussy.  Like professor guy, probably went through a lot of effort to get that job.  Much more effort than to jump on a plane to Thailand.  But he keeps getting paid (in pussy) over and over, without having to re-up the original investment.

There, that’s three nugglets for you.  Clearly there are more, strategy and process and execution and whatnots, but I’m all out of ambition to give away brilliance for free right now.  Just rule one by itself, big subject.  Realizing what’s important in your life (or not, perhaps), and adjusting the big picture, and your day to day progress.  Number two, a daily investment to stay relevant.  Big commitment.  This post here, it’s all just a quick peak at what it really takes if you want to consistently dip your big toe thingie into the fountain of youth.  It’s a whole serious of lifestyle choices.  Ones that not only mean chasing “wet holes” but also give you a reason to not watch porn and eat Happy Meals all day.

Also, to you 1% of peeps reading, who *comment*.  Thanks to YOU guys for your feedback and ideas.  Everybody else reading, it’s that kind of apathetically passive consumption of information that causes atrophy-of-the-cock.

"You look so tall and many from down here, professor!"