"I just moved here from Florida."

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.

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"Donor Show"

Deep Dish

Master Don Juan
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Yesterday I learned about a Dutch television show called the Donor Show which essentially is Big Brother except the winner wins a kidney transplant from a terminally ill woman with cancer. It's almost impossible for me to get offended by anything, even if I don't like it, but this program accomplished the near impossible.

The concept is just unethically wrong. For one, for the contestants it's a matter of life and death. I am reminded of an episode of the reinvigorated series Doctor Who where there is a version of Big Brother in which you get vaporized if you get voted out of the house. Secondly, while it's technically true the contestants consent to be a contestant on the show, in reality they don't really have the option to not apply and refuse to be a contestant if offered the position. Thirdly, the donor is terminally ill with cancer. Fourth, kidney transplant donors and receivers are not just indiscriminately matched up on a blind date; you must have a good match... unless you want to kill the receiver, no?

How cruel is that, forcing desperate people onto a show, humiliating them in the process, and feeding all but one what ultimately is false hope of a kidney transplant, with the cruel sick humor of the cancer twist. And possibly vaporizing them afterwards, of course.

:mad:
 

"She's Out of Your League"

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.

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RedPill

Master Don Juan
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This turned out to be a hoax.
 
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