hb
Master Don Juan
yo crotch sniffer, dont try to play me ni99a i'll herb you too
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.
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.
You have the nerve to call somebody a camel stroking....your all the same ilk to me...why don't you go find your magic carpet and fly the fawk back to ya desert.Originally posted by Starman
How quaint, a chronic masturbator/self proclaimed ladies man, A black poster boy for depends and a well oiled, camel stroking humperdink all going at it
let me know when the party gets started
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.
whatever, boyeeee, my posts are NEVA as long as Played Outs posts....
Originally posted by iqqi
grabs Giggy be his ear, and smacks him with her 13 inch c0ck>
well babygirl, anytime you want a private photo of what I'm working with I will try to fit it into a photo and send it to ya.Originally posted by iqqi
player sardine, you know what they say about men with long posts....
trying to er, em, make up for something else???
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.
you heard wrongOriginally posted by Player_Supreme
Now I hear your working with a set of double AA's
hahahahahahahahha!!!! that was funny!!!And one more thing Iggsta my nigsta
Scratches head in confusion at Iqqi's ****.Originally posted by iqqi
whatever, boyeeee, my posts are NEVA as long as Played Outs posts....
<grabs Giggy be his ear, and smacks him with her 13 inch c0ck>
Er.....do you mean "reeks?"Originally posted by DJ Jr.
This thread just wreaks of intelligence...
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.
And there it is - what Crotch Sniffer says to his mirror every morning.No wonder the chicks run away at the sight of you.
You are a waste of human flesh.
You will never be a DJ. EVER. So just give up already. Stay home. Watch a bunch of Star Trek marathons and collect fukking comics till you are 47.
Throughout these lonely years, get used to that hand of yours because it is the only thing in the world that could possibly be seduced by someone as retarded, smelly and physically repulsive as you.
You truly disgust me in every way imaginable.
I see you jumped on this post pretty fast.Originally posted by PlayerSupreme
Still sifting through the rubble huh joey
Next Monday you'll feel more confident. After the gym you'll feel more confident. After one more drink you'll feel more confident. After you get a better haircut, a better jacket, a better job.
You've been "getting ready" for two years.
She's standing ten feet away right now. She'll be gone in four minutes. No amount of preparation will manufacture the courage that only comes from moving your feet.
Walk over. Stumble through the first sentence. Let it be clumsy. Let it be imperfect. You will feel more alive in those ten seconds than you have all month.