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Here is how I responded (or would respond) to the game challenges I posed in Tuesday’s post.
“You’re ten minutes late.”
“I don’t *feel* tardy.”
She doesn’t laugh. “Are you always late for dates?”
You pause. She’s reacting to your lack of punctuality worse than most women.
What do you do?
I stared at her for an uncomfortable two seconds, mentally wrote her off as a date-worthy prospect, and said “The problem is that you came right on time. No DC girl does that.” This reply seemed to mollify the bitch in her. Thinking back, the emphasis I gave to the words *RIGHT ON TIME* implied that she was more invested in the date than I was. I believe this caused a subtle shift in power to my benefit.
Best reader answers
el chief and his classic Asshole game (although I’d just use his second line):
Look around like Stevie Wonder, and say in a German accent: “Mother is that you? I’m sorry mother. I von’t be bad again.” Then laugh. Then order a beer.
If she presses say “Gimme a fuckin break. I thought you said you were fun and easygoing?”
Another version of Asshole game is One Word Game. One commenter suggested answering her pointed question like this: “Maybe.” Short, sweet, leaves ‘em wanting more of your dominance.
I think One Word Game will be the next big thing in pickup science. It is my contribution to expanding the oeuvre. Look at the pros and cons. Pros: It’s mysterious, requires little memorization, saves you from paralysis by analysis, doesn’t smack of try-hard, gets you into her head, and captures the essence of ambiguity that so tempts the typical woman to fantasize scenarios involving your penis in her vagina. Cons: Can be misconstrued.
roosh’s genuine but uncompromising Superior Man game:
“If you’re in a bad mood we can reschedule the date no problem.” Definitely no smirk or smiles. Laser eye contact. If she leaves then you just saved yourself a couple hours of hell.
Brad demonstrates the power of Turn-The-Tables game:
I smile, stare at her right in the eye, HOLD… HOLD… and then say: “You missed me that much, huh? Well, I guess I can understand that..”
Firepower drops funnyman game:
“chill, baby – I’m only late when I’m pulling babies from burning buildings…and, maybe for girls I like.”
I’d dispense with the second half of his response. Similarly, I think a funny answer that could work would be: “Yeah, it was a rush for me to get here, but I had to take my sick mother to the doctor and feed orphaned babies, and I figured you’d be understanding about that. Like, WOW, I’d hate to meet a girl who was against sick mothers and orphaned babies!”
Fenton offered an example of witty game that works (i.e. note the succinctness):
“Well, you’ve been waiting four days, what’s ten more minutes?”
Most of the rest of you gave answers that were too nasty, too defensive, or too clever by half. Your goal isn’t to piss the girl off, nor is it to impress her with your Shakespearean wit. She isn’t worth your effort, yet, right?
To the commenter who wrote that the best reply is the Cary Grant “Big Face” push followed by draining her drink while signaling the waitress to come over for another order, I commend you sir. If anything will set America back on the path of world-bestriding hyperpuissance, it will be the big face.
Cuntrag, as usual, gave the opposite answer of what you should do.
Your date mentions she reads local DC blogs and likes most of them, and you wonder about bringing up your fandom […]
There is only one acceptable response to this situation. You steal my ideas to use as conversational fodder without mentioning you read me. I am such a fucking humanitarian.
Same as above, except this time, before you have decided whether to announce your everlasting platonic love, your date mentions she has read and hates him. […]
Your response should be the same as Part B. Don’t reveal you’re a reader, then change the subject. What are you, my eunuch servant who screens concubines for me? If she hates me, she’s masturbating to thoughts of me at night. Why boost my status even higher?
There is a catch in this particular situation. You have the option to play beta white knight to the hilt (see: Keith, Cliff Arroyo, DA, Jessica Valenti’s husband, any random urban liberal SWPL off the street) and say you have read as well and TOTALLY agree with her that he is a foul, bitter misogynist who probably doesn’t get laid and his ideas are all wrong, 1950s Ozzie and Harriet throwback shit and he uses women like a sperm receptacle. Then tell her how you feel privileged to have almost been aborted by your mother, and the biggest injustice in the world is that gay marriage isn’t yet accepted by Afghan goat herders. After you have massaged her ego, you slyly wonder aloud if maybe he is right about this or that subject and suddenly you are having a rollicking conversation with her and your hand is resting too high up her thigh.
I should bottle this magic.
You are me. You are on the date with the girl from the above story and have been talking with her about the book you are writing. She is intrigued. A little later in the date, she mentions she reads a lot of local blogs. She says there are some she reads that she really hates. You nod again. Then she asks you if you write a blog.
What do you say?
She also mentions she ran a triathlon the day before.
Now what do you do?
Go big or go home. Same night lay or number deletion. Chicks who participate in triathlons are almost universally unfeminine. And by unfeminine, I don’t mean her looks, I mean her attitude. These kinds of women are at war with their femininity. It is the essence of yang polarity to take up personal challenges and compete against the limits of one’s endurance and pain threshold. This is what men do. When women do it, it’s unnatural, a big middle finger to the sex she was born as. While women like this can fuck like champs, they will invariably fall short in the areas that matter to men for long term relationships — generosity, nurturance, compassion, submissiveness, alluring coyness, and proper female deference.
I asked her if she was a tomboy growing up, then I ran the digit ratio routine on her. She had a masculine ratio. I told her that meant she was “ambitious”, which is a nice way to tidy up the word “bitch”. I am now going to craft an Andrew Sullivan-like neologism: Ambitchious!
Where’s my Atlantic Monthly paycheck?