Dinner ran three hours. She laughed at everything. You walked her to her car thinking this one's locked in.
Then: nothing. Two texts. No reply. What happened?
You did what most men do on a great date. You filled every silence, answered every question, and left her with nothing to wonder about. No mystery. Nothing to sit with when she got home.
Rule 3 of the "22 Rules" changes the ending: tell her a little, hold back the rest, and let her imagination do the chasing. The ghosting stops too.
You asked her if she wanted to grab coffee. Then you asked if the time worked. Then you asked if the place was okay. Then you asked if she'd prefer tea.
Four questions. Four chances for her to say no. Four signals that you're terrified of making a decision.
Plan it. Pick the place. Pick the time. Tell her where to meet you. She'll either show up or she won't.
Either way, you look like a man instead of a scared little boy.
I still have a rotation and I approach. My D won't suck itself. The flu doesn't stop getting girl. I shoot my shot.
Three seconds. That's how long it took. Your shoes. Your posture. The way you held your drink. Whether you looked at the floor or looked at her.
She already filed you away. Interesting. Boring. Safe. Bold. Before you even opened your mouth.
Everything you say after that is just her confirming what she already decided.
So stop rehearsing lines. Fix the first three seconds. Stand tall. Look up. Smile like you mean it. Walk like you belong wherever you're standing.
The words come later. The impression comes first.
BS excuse.
She is hot, we’ve been dating for 7 months. I was preaching the Bible to a friend of mine who used to be a cocaine dealer who was friends with her.
Didnt know that incel behavior. Sometimes my girl pulls out her cellphone and records me ****ing her. She shown it off to her friends and now she paranoid of some of them wanting to **** me. Either way I like recordings of my sexual exploits.
You've said it a hundred times. Maybe a thousand. And every time you say it, you train your brain to freeze the next time she walks into the room.
Leagues are a myth invented by guys who are scared of women.
She's a person. She has bad breath in the morning. She picks songs she can't sing in the shower. She overthinks her own texts.
Walk over. Say something. The league dissolves the second you open your mouth.
His name is Jerome Powell the chairmen of the federal reserve. Anything this man say affects the stock market and therefore the country. I earned quite a bit of money in the stock market from him.
Is that Moroccan girl hotter than the bartender you were with recently?
So whatever the chairman of the federal reserve says effects the stock market. That's logical, I just never thought about it.
Yes I have. There's not a single pu$$y in the world that I would think is special. Or to even care enough to put much effort into getting.
You asked her if she wanted to grab coffee. Then you asked if the time worked. Then you asked if the place was okay. Then you asked if she'd prefer tea.
Four questions. Four chances for her to say no. Four signals that you're terrified of making a decision.
Plan it. Pick the place. Pick the time. Tell her where to meet you. She'll either show up or she won't.
Either way, you look like a man instead of a scared little boy.
