SELF-MASTERY
Banned
- Joined
- Dec 15, 2004
- Messages
- 1,971
- Reaction score
- 7
The nastiest thing that I have every done is.........
taste my own shyt and my own urine.
taste my own shyt and my own urine.
You made your case like a lawyer. Stable job. Good guy. Ready for something real. All true. All irrelevant.
She weighed your points, nodded along, felt nothing — then fell hard for some tattooed bartender with a motorcycle and a gambling problem.
Logic is where attraction goes to die. The "22 Rules" work a level deeper, on the subconscious switches that decide within minutes whether you register as a MAN or as part of the furniture.
Stop presenting evidence. Start flipping switches.
She calls you when her car breaks down. When she needs help moving. When some guy she's actually dating treats her badly.
You're the listener. The reliable one. The guy who would treat her so much better, if she'd just open her eyes.
She won't. You trained her to see you as the low-effort option — the friend who requires zero risk and zero investment. Every favor dug the hole deeper.
The "22 Rules" break the pattern. You'll stop auditioning for a role she already cast and become the man she chases instead. It starts with Rule 1.
yeah right...TyTe`EyEs said:This must be Mastery's attempt at getting banned. It was inevitable...
She asks it casually, mid-sip. And you feel the floor open up, because the honest answer is work, gym, and a couple shows you're half-watching.
Women rarely say this out loud, but a man with a life is attractive before he says a word. The guy who spent Saturday deep-sea fishing and came back with photos and a story — he walks in already interesting.
The "22 Rules" pushed me to build a life worth talking about. Turns out the fastest way to be interesting to women is to be interested in your own life first.
Did you make it up to her??? I know she was pissed at you.Taviii said:I pucked in a girls bag of clothes right before new years eve so ruining the event for her.
I, for one, don't find this as nasty as many people would.SELF-MASTERY said:The nastiest thing that I have every done is.........
taste my own shyt and my own urine.
You made your case like a lawyer. Stable job. Good guy. Ready for something real. All true. All irrelevant.
She weighed your points, nodded along, felt nothing — then fell hard for some tattooed bartender with a motorcycle and a gambling problem.
Logic is where attraction goes to die. The "22 Rules" work a level deeper, on the subconscious switches that decide within minutes whether you register as a MAN or as part of the furniture.
Stop presenting evidence. Start flipping switches.
Common sense almost made me apologise, but I fought the urge and didnt even look at her.SELF-MASTERY said:Did you make it up to her??? I know she was pissed at you.
Dude, I can beat that. I listened to an entire album by the B-52s.The nastiest thing that I have every done is.........
taste my own shyt and my own urine.
Oh man, I'm a sick fuq then... I've listened to the whole Aqua album.Desdinova said:Dude, I can beat that. I listened to an entire album by the B-52s.
Warm and full-bodied, with earthy, nutty overtones and hints of berries that dwindle to a bitter, smokey finish...pooparu said:What did that c*m taste like though man, I'm too ***** to taste my own lol.
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.
OMG this thread is so funny :crackup:Vulpine said:Hell, I can't go out to eat anywhere without going home and blasting hot, frothy jets of liquid fire through a screen door....
I guess there was this time that I got snowballed during naughty-drunken sex.... I can't really comment on how good or bad it tasted: it's not like I'm a connoiseur and have tasted any other loads to compare it to.... and spit it back out all over her face - like a "3rd hand money shot".
Then I got up and got a big drink of water.
LMAO, nah bro its cool i'll take your word for it.Vulpine said:Warm and full-bodied, with earthy, nutty overtones and hints of berries that dwindle to a bitter, smokey finish...
Come on, dude, what the fuq do you want me to tell you?
It's bitter, salty, and gives you a weird stinging, scratchy feeling in your throat. Everyone has different tastes - some don't like olives, pineapple, or coconut. So, some people spit, some swallow... Mine might taste like pumpkin pie compared to some others - I wouldn't know.
Try your own spunk and get back to us, pooparu. Go. Now. Go shake one out into a shot glass and neck it.
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.