penkitten
Master Don Juan
Hey oldtimers, was mystery the one who wore the pirate shirt with puffy sleeves?
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.
Your buddy Dave has been single for three years and thinks "hey u up" is a valid strategy. Your other buddy Mike just got dumped and told you to "just be yourself."
You showed them her text. You asked them to decode the emoji. You drafted four responses and sent the screenshot to the group chat for a vote.
She's been waiting forty minutes.
Put the phone down. Stop crowdsourcing your love life. Type something that sounds like you. Hit send. Then go do literally anything else with your evening.
No it wasn't. Guys one this forum will say a lot of things about PUA gurus, however you will never here anybody on here they pulls chicks off their looks. If they could pull chicks just off of their personality alone, then there would have never been The Mystery Method, Real Social Dynamics, or Bang.Because every point you made was pointless.
Yes, you did.I did not dodge anything.
Since when did six paragraphs and a sentence become War and Peace? I have long posts in my approach journal and this my friend isn't a "long," post by any means. Unless of course you have ADHD.I skimmed through your lengthy post
In that rebuttual, you didn't say ****.and summarized my rebuttal in a few sentences.
The DJ Bible is cool, but comparing it to in field instruction from dudes who do this sh*t for a living is a little absurd. It's analogous to saying that you get a 175 on the LSAT simply going to the library and studying an LSAT prep book as opposed to taking a course on how to take the LSAT from Kaplan, Princeton Review, or Blueprint.And to answer your question, the boot camp provided in the DJ Bible was free and I did it independently for a while.
How do scam artists stay in business of over ten years?But to join a flock of sheep who blindly follow these scam artists, no.
1) Who cares?I'm beginning university this upcoming semester so it's busy for me this time of the year.
When did I say or imply anything about you not replying to my posts in a timely manner?I apologize if I'm unable to respond to your posts in a timely manner.
Yet another futile attempt at deflection.I hope that does not pinch another nerve.
I swear he used to wear a puffy pirate shirt.No, Mystery was invented by Dr. Suess in 1957. At that time he was known as "The Cat in The Hat".
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Unless of course you have ADHD.
You've replayed it a hundred times. She stood three feet away, scrolling her phone. You had an opening. You composed the perfect line — after she was gone.
For all you know, she's married now. To some guy who said something. Anything.
Openers are cheap. Almost any sentence works when it's delivered within three seconds. The expensive part is the standing there, drafting and deleting, while the window quietly closes.
The "22 Rules" stripped out my hesitation. What to open with, how to keep it alive, and the one habit that costs guys more women than anything else: waiting for perfect.
I didn't ask, nor did I care. That was your lame ass attempt at ducking the points I brought up.I take it you did not read the posts where I stated that I had errands to run or that I have a busy week.
I didn't and you just realize that there's no logical way you counter any point that I brought, which explains why you brought up sh*t that wasn't even germane to the conversation.What makes you think someone like you who has his head stuck up his ass would even attempt to rebuttal any counter argument claim I give?
It only goes to prove your idiocy.By the way, breaking down each sentence bits by bits only proves how buttmad you are.
Again, going completely and totally off topic with some sh*t that wasn't even in the initial conversation. When did I ever ask for an apology?I'm still not apologizing for insulting your idols.
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.
I did a search and didn't find him in a puffy shirt. You're not thinking of Seinfeld, are you? I know they did an episode on that.I swear he used to wear a puffy pirate shirt.
I didn't ask, nor did I care. That was your lame ass attempt at ducking the points I brought up.
I didn't and you just realize that there's no logical way you counter any point that I brought, which explains why you brought up sh*t that wasn't even germane to the conversation.
It only goes to prove your idiocy.
Again, going completely and totally off topic with some sh*t that wasn't even in the initial conversation. When did I ever ask for an apology?
That sentence contains at least five follow-up questions she WANTS you to ask. Where in Florida? What brought you here? How long have you been in the area? What do you miss? How does it compare to here?
She handed them to you on a silver platter. And you said, "Oh cool. I come here every week. I love this band. Ummm... pretty crowded tonight."
She smiled politely. Nodded. And never texted you back.
I was that guy for years. Talking too much. Listening too little. Panicking about my next sentence while she was literally feeding me the answers.
Then I found 22 rules that fixed the whole thing. Rule number one: shut up and listen. She'll tell you exactly what to say.
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.