Textbook Update

September 21, 2017
krauserpua

I sometimes forget where we are at in the progression of the London Daygame Model. Are we still at v2.0 or has it moved to v3.0? What I do know is where I am at in the progression of my brand new daygame textbook. So, let me update y’all.

I wrote Daygame Mastery in the latter half of 2013 and by the time it was polished and ready for release, it was February 2014. Regular readers [1] will be aware I’ve been daygaming the whole time. Four years have passed. Four years of experimentation, ruminating, and original thinking [2] have occurred. I’ve spent literally a year writing this new book.

So, how is it coming on?

TL:DR – It’s about a month from completion, but likely two months from release.

Cover draft

Two months from now, yesterday

I’ve written the entire manuscript and then done a beginning-to-end rewrite four times based on my own thoughts and on three experienced daygamers giving feedback on test reads. It’s currently with my professional editor for an additional edit.

I’m also making good progress on the cover design and layout, about 50% through that process. So far so good.

I won’t be rushing publication of this book because it’s likely my final word on daygame and I want it to exceed the quality of even something like Daygame Mastery. So I’m meticulously polishing it and trying my best to get everything just right. I’m confident that will become quickly apparent to everyone who gets their grubby mitts on it.

[1] If that’s possible given the irregularity of my posting
[2] As opposed to just ripping off Mastery, slapping a new name on it, and cashing in

Moscow Stories #6

August 11, 2017
krauserpua

Mid-way through last September’s trip to Moscow, I’m wandering through Red Square when I see a mixed-race girl with massive hooters, massive ass and…. probably…. a pretty face. But I didn’t really notice anything except the hooters and ass [1]. She exudes voluptuous fertility. I open. Something about her looking very rock’n’roll in her fashion.

It’s a normal number. Absolutely middle of the range, where she seems a bit into me and presumably available but it’s not tripping any SDL alarms nor am I wading knee-deep through pussy juice. I give her five minutes then go on my merry way. The subsequent texting goes nowhere, as you can see below.

Nigger 1

Dripping wet

Almost a year passes then I’m back in Moscow. I’ve hit the mid-way point of that trip and am somewhat frustrated by the trouble in getting girls onto dates. I’d gotten one notch and had two long game girls give LMR in the bedroom and force me to bin them (got boyfriends). I felt these results hardly befitting my stature in the community. A couple other sets were going well but frustratingly sex didn’t seem on the immediate horizon. I decide to ping every lead from last year which had at least given me a few replies. This mixed-race girl, let’s call her Vera, replies pretty well.

Nigger 2

What does it mean when a girl replies with a ton of smileys and a blatantly sexual photo inviting you to check out her ass?

I’ll tell you what it means: you invite her out as soon as you can. In my case, same day. She ended up not coming but we rescheduled for early the next evening. I haven’t bothered screen-capping those texts as they are pure logistics. As it happened, at this point I actually got my sets confused and thought Vera was a different girl. In the previous trip I’d opened another girl who’d looked a bit rock n roll and I’d thought it was her who I’d been messaging the whole time [2]

“I can’t remember what this girl looks like” I say to Roy and GG as we are standing outside The Four Seasons hotel at Red Square. “If a hot girl with a big ass walks past in the next ten minutes let me have a look at her before you open.”

Not many girls walk by but in the distance I see a silhouette that trips my RAS. A girl in a figure-hugging dress with her tits almost falling out of the low-cut neckline, gliding across the cobblestones with her hips shucking side to side. GG is about to race off to open but then I realise it’s Vera. I stress the clinginess of this dress. It was like it had been spray-painted on.

I was expecting a slim white girl and instead got a buxom half-black girl. Okay. She gives me a big smile and pushes her tits up into me as I greet her with a peck on the cheek. I’d rate her a high 6. She’s oozing sex appeal but just isn’t, on a fundamental level, especially pretty. Think of a curvy stripper gyrating in a seedy bar that you very much want to fuck even though you know she ain’t all that.

Imagine this, basically….. [3]

We walk up the bank towards Kamergirsky. Everyone is eyeballing her. The men are thinking “cor blimey, her tits and ass!” while the women are probably thinking “what a slut! but I wish I got that much attention” [4] It turns out her mother is from Burundi and her father Russian. She was born in Burundi before moving to Moscow as an infant, so technically the rare Burundi flag is at stake here [5]. I take her to Let’s Rock bar and we sit on stools at the corner of the bar.

Stools at the bar are excellent for rapid escalation. Way better than tables and chairs.

Throughout the first beer I can’t believe how easy it is. Before she’d arrived I was expecting some difficulty due to her apparent lack of interest the prior year. I thus conclude she’d always fancied me but her circumstances had changed in the interim. Most likely she had a boyfriend last September and was single now. That’s the most likely explanation for any girl doing a U-turn in interest and availability. Vera kept staring into my eyes, smiling insanely, and telling me everything I said was “cool”

I decide to move fast. It seemed the window of opportunity is open.

I prod her thighs, grab her arms to “check her gym progress”, play with her hair and all the usual stuff. She reciprocates. So then I start talking about sex, which she loves.

“I’m going to kiss you later” I say. “Not now”

She almost explodes at that, her whole body rattling around like a kettle on the boil. I walk her around the corner to the Tap & Barrel pub. She seems to keep bumping into me as we walk. I sit her down next to me in a booth and we get another beer. I tell her my DHV story about fucking a porno star in Prague last spring. She loves it.

“When I was younger, I wanted to be a porno star” she says. “I wasn’t interested in the money or the fame. I just love the idea of having sex in front of people”

I tell her about my Argentinian ex-GF’s sexual fantasty of being tied with rope, hung from the ceiling, and then licked-out by a girl while a hundred men watch and masturbate.

“Oh, that sounds amazing” she coos.

I kiss-close her then and she’s pushing right into me, moaning. Out the corner of my eye I check our drinks, which are now half empty. Okay, should try to extract in ten minutes or so.

What do you think my next move was?

Go on, hazard a guess.

SherlockPipeThink

I pull over a menu as if to peruse it and then under that concealment I…… get my dick out. She stares wide-eyed. I put her hand on it and she brief wanks me off a bit but a minute later I put it away, just before the waitress comes over thinking I’m ready to order [6]

“Oh god, I’m so horny now” whimpers Vera. I can see her cheeks flush, her eyes sparkling, and her brain has clearly switched off. I down what’s left of both beers and leave cash on the table.

“Let’s go”

I walk her through the long winding corridor to the stairs up and out of the bar. Around the first corner I push her against the wall and kiss her. She’s literally weak at the knees, sagging. I put my hand down her shirt and mash her tits. She’s whimpering and moaning.

“No. Not today. I can’t!”

I put a hand on her throat to pin her to the wall, stare into her eyes, and rub her pussy with my free hand. Her eyes roll and she’d have sunk to the floor if I wasn’t pinning her. Then we walk out. I start walking her to my front door which is literally across the road but she won’t come.

“Not today”
“Next time I see you, I’m going to rip off your clothes, carry you to my room, throw you on the bed, and fuck you so hard you forget your name” I say.
“I want to suck your dick and swallow your cum” she says, then waves goodbye and trots off in a hurry. That’s the last I see of her and she doesn’t reply to my next three pings. Then I fly home.

If you like stories riddled with confusion, errors of judgement, squalor, big tits, and the getting out of the dick you may just enjoy my memoirs Balls Deep, Deplorable Cad, and Adventure Sex.

[1] Oh yeah, she had on a black leather biker jacket. I noticed that.
[2] She was white and less buxom, but Vera’s profile photo didn’t show her face and nor did the bikini shot. I assumed the darker skin was a sun tan and the big ass was just an artefact of the photo pose and angle. Silly me.

[3] But half black, obviously. And if you think “wow, Overkill is amazing” well yes it is and for only $199 you can buy it here.
[4] And likely many of them also thought “build the wall”
[5] The rare non-HIV Burundi flag, that is. I’m sure a trip to Africa would net me that flag (and several communicable diseases) in no time at all
[6] Hence why I chose a newspaper rather than menu next time I pulled this stunt. There’s a learning curve

Moscow Stories #5

August 10, 2017
krauserpua

It’s pretty rare for me to fuck up a set. Let me be precise over what I think constitutes “fucking up” rather than simply failing to bang a girl. The harsh fact of the Sexual Market Place is most girls are never going to bang you no matter what you do. It’s initially quite a sobering experience to realise just how many women find you completely unattractive. I dare say there are three billion females alive today who would never take seriously the thought of me banging them.

Three billion. That’s a lot of rejection.

This sort of thing

We shall be talking about this kind of girl, in a high-7 form

I see Game like famous football analyst Alan Hansen see’s defending: it’s a percentages game. In every situation in which you find yourself, you have incomplete and imperfect information. With that information you must make a decision over what to do (e.g. pull the trigger now, or build more comfort). In these situations there is usually a smart percentage play, and also a high-risk-high-reward play [1]. So a smart player will usually do the smart percentage play but sometimes take risks if he’s able to absorb increasing chance of failure, needs a Hail Mary, or just doesn’t much give a fuck at that point in time [2].

Playing the smart move (or the calculated risk) and then failing to get laid is not fucking up. The dice roll sometimes goes against you, and we are dealing with a deck mostly stacked against us.

Fucking up is when you don’t even know the smart play, or even worse, you know it and do the dumb move anyway. This story is about the latter.

I’m walking down Kamergirsky late one evening with the Three Stooges. We head up the incline past Cuba Libre and I see three girls sitting on the benches outside Let’s Rock bar next door. The blonde one looks nice, a high seven. We walk past then I decide to give it a try so I walk back to them, holler, and get into a chat. She seems to like me. My friends wait at a discreet distance for the five or so minutes it takes me to get the number, telling her we are going off drinking.

Having spoken to her, I don’t like her much. She’s lived in California a year, acquired a slight valley girl accent, and seems extremely pushy. The kind of girl you’d turn your back on if she was a six. Nonetheless, I’m in this to get laid and it’s more slop for the sausage machine. Also, sometimes five minutes isn’t long enough to really figure someone out.

I ping her within minutes and she’s very enthusiastic, sending me long messages with short response times wanting to meet up immediately. However something still seems a little off. She seems a bit disconnected and is bringing friends. I can’t yet tell is she’s being social-not-sexual and thus a time-waster, or if she’s just a bit aspy, or if it’s the lots-of-friends party vibe. This is how I thought at the time. Reading back the messages later, I see that I miscalibrated.

Blondie messages 1

Note all the times are really two hours later, because it was Moscow time

Miscalibration is the surest sign of an impending fuck-up.

She seems pretty keen, no? This is all good behaviour from a girl and no bullshit. However, I’d fixated on her breezy tone and her “yeah, let’s hang out” casualness to think she’s probably a time-waster friend-zone deal. It’s not how my lays usually begin. I’d failed to adequately appraise myself of her personality and her time in America (and desire to imitate US girl’s communication style), plus I was primed to filter excessively hard because I’d just had a girl waste my time on a go-nowhere date that same afternoon. Anyway, Blondie rolls up to Let’s Rock with two friends about an hour late and I briefly go outside to chat. They are carded and not allowed in.

At this stage I still think she’s uninvested. It feels more social than sexual, and she was an hour late. I keep drinking in Let’s Rock with the Three Stooges. I conclude she’s just looking for foreigners to drink with and thus deprioritise her. So, I’ve already set the foundations for a fuck up. I keep messaging and again, reading them back now I wonder where I got such silly ideas from. She’s playing it straight and yet I’ve convinced myself she’s dicking me around.

Blondie messages 2.jpg

Blondie messages 3

We arrange to meet in our favourite dive bar. Now there’s a curve-ball outside my control. Roy, GG, Mr Arr and myself are all sitting in the basement around a high round-topped table. There’s one other free table in the bar, another high round one right next to us on my side. The girls arrive at precisely the time Roy is outside having a cigarette. Not having seen Blondie up close, he doesn’t know it’s my set and he opens her. He’s pretty good at game and she seems to like him.

They now come downstairs and Blondie sits on the opposite side of the spare table from me (but side-by-side with my friends) and her brunette friend on the side next to me, almost side-by-side to me. This is good for eye contact with Blondie but too far for kino. The big problem though, is her friend is completely isolated on the corner. The only people she can speak to is Blondie or me. Anything else requires her talking across us. This will become significant in precipitating my next error.

I try to bring brunette into the conversation. She’s very talkative, interesting, and seems to fancy me. No-one else talks to her (they can’t without getting up and walking around to stand next to her) and when I talk to others she just sits there looking like a third wheel. My friends don’t try to hit on Blondie but she wants to talk, so she talks to them. I can feel the momentum dying. Roy plays it aloof because he doesn’t want to hit on Blondie but the very fact of doing that, in a conversational vacuum, makes her want to talk to him. He tries to escape a few times to smoke outside but….. she’s a smoker too so she follows him out on the cigarette breaks. The couple of times I do talk to Blondie she motor-mouths prattle. So, it’s shaping up badly….

  1. Seat positions force me to be monopolised by Brunette, or look rude in de-facto excluding her.
  2. Blondie can’t just listen. She has to talk, so she fills the vacuum by talking to Roy.
  3. They end up sharing smoking breaks.
  4. I can’t bear to hear the prattle Blondie is spilling. It strikes me as valley girl-esque narcissism.
  5. And did I add that my friends somehow think Brunette is my target and I have to text them that Blondie is? Being daygamers, they don’t immediately see that “talk to the obstacle and create demand from the target” is standard Mystery Method bar game [3]

You can see where this is leading, no?

There were all sorts of solutions. I could’ve explained ahead of time or on the fly how I intended to play the set (including soft freeze-outs of Blondie). I could’ve found a pretext to change the seating arrangements. I could’ve put more energy into dominating the table so all eyes are on me. I could’ve asked my wings to go to another bar and leave me to it. There were any number of solutions but I instead chose to fuck it up. Oh, and I was a bit drunk by now too.

When Blondie came back in I struck up more conversation and then she gave me a big speech about how she’s an amazing social butterfly and she can get any man she wants. Rather than see that as fronting over low self-esteem and thus something to neg and then divert, I instead thought “fuck this pompous bitch, I’m gonna try fucking her friend”.

So I texted our WhatsApp group words to the effect of “I’m switching to the Brunette. Blondie is now fair game”. This was late on, so only Roy was really in a position to make a play. He put in a half-arsed effort and then as we all kicked out around 2am Brunette told me she was a virgin and gave me the brush off.

The girls lived near Roy so took that as a pretext to get a cab to his apartment in Arbat where he kissed both, then eventually threw them out for playing games. I went home and tried to figure out where I’d gone wrong, so having a 4am WhatsApp debrief with Roy to express our mutual frustration and bafflement [4]. If I was to put it all in simple terms I’d say the dynamic was this:

She liked both me and Roy. I got first dibs and made a mess of it until she ceased to like me. When the ball was turned over to Roy he did a better job and nearly got the lay.

 

If you like stories of me fucking up promising sets and then my wing nearly banging them, you’ll love Balls Deep because that happened plenty with Jimmy.

[1] Not unlike investing, stand-up comedy, fighting, or any other number of human endeavours that require compliance from the world to succeed.
[2] For example if a girl has middling interest in you, the smart play may fail to sufficiently raise her interest in you above the crucial threshold so suddenly the high-risk move is more attractive due to reduced opportunity cost of trying it.
[3] I stress my wings were not trying to steal my set. This was just a colossal fuck up of bad luck, bad communication, and poor judgement from myself. It was my job to run the set to my advantage and I failed to do so.

[4] Sharp readers will have observed from the screen caps I took today that she’s typing and I have unread messages. While screen-capping I decided to send a ping for first time since that Moscow weekend. She got right back to me. Interesting.

Ruminations on happiness

August 9, 2017
krauserpua

I’ve indicated many times that the Player’s Journey carries with it an undercurrent of nihilism and hedonism. We are engaged in a project which is nominally exactly what we as men are designed to do (impregnate lots of hot women, and thus by proxy seek novelty in sex) and yet it’s just not especially satisfying. I was lucky enough to spend a lot of my free time at university taking philosophy classes so I’m well aware of the Paradox Of Hedonism and the various great men’s ruminations on the nature of happiness. Of all the other Alt-Right / Game / Red Pill bloggers out there, I think Vox Day comes closest to my worldview.

He wrote a quick post on his reading of Marcus Aurelius’ Meditations which is nonetheless packed with interesting statements. Let me pick out a few of them and give my thoughts as they apply to the Player’s Journey.

“A man must be able to look honestly inside before he can look accurately outside”

Way back in late 2010 I started doing Game therapy sessions with Skeletor. I’d spent enough time studying psychology and informal logic to be well aware of human cognitive bias, ego defences, and the general inability of people to see anything rationally when the ego stakes are high. Even simple things like surveying opinions is fraught with issues and sociologists have long grappled with the simple problem that people either do not know or will not say what they really think.

I figured that with Game and it’s attendant identity overhaul, the odds of me having massive blind spots were very high. Thus I sought out Skeletor as the best-qualified man I knew to do a deep dive and identify them, then posted commentary on my blog about the sessions. His meta-theory of Game is best expressed by Vox’s above quote [1] He liked to use the metaphor of the human eye. He said you are conveying your character to the girl like light flowing through the lens of the eye. A good lens is (i) the correct shape (ii) unblemished. His principle idea was:

Sorting out your inner game is like straightening out kinks in the lens, until it is the correct shape to reflect the light. Sorting out your outer game is like cleaning the lens until it is free of blemishes that muddy the image.

Another metaphor would be a cinema projector. To correctly project a movie onto a screen you must have a clean, well-formed lens. Otherwise you get the equivalent of a warped, out-of-focus image and all the dust and debris sticking to the lens is magnified onto the screen.

On the big screenImage downloaded by Gillian Abbott at 16:07 on the 20/07/12

First screening of A Deplorable Cad movie, with Idris Elba as Krauser

Thus Vox’s quote above applies to the aspiring player as much as it does the military commander, the emperor, or the husband. If your lens is damaged, you can’t see clearly through it. Inner game cannot be neglected and anyone telling you to “just do what works” and focus on technique is a buffoon [2]

“Tell yourself the unvarnished truth, even if you cannot bring yourself to admit it to anyone else”

I wrote about compliance in Daygame. Most of us live our lives insulated from real-world feedback and thus nothing pops our bubble of delusion. Reading literature, watching TV, playing video games, going to the gym, eating right, doing a hobby….. these activities rarely generate unvarnished feedback to you about who you are and how good you are at doing stuff [3].

You’ll see this everywhere, even among people who should know better. A good example of this cognitive bias going wrong (to avoid real feedback in case it’s negative) writ large is the 2008 financial crisis and ongoing response to it. Federal Reserve printing, extend-and-pretend loans, SIV shell games, abandonment of mark-to-market accounting rules, SEC regulatory forbearance….. these are all complex evasions by the financial sector to avoid the realisation that their assets are shit and their banks are insolvent. It’s exactly the same psychology as the Game forum chode who won’t cold approach but wants to tell himself and others he’s good with women.

Telling yourself the truth doesn’t just make your decisions better, nor just quicker identify your straying from the path to success. It’s also central to avoiding the dreaded Gamma and narcissist mindsets. Both are wildly delusional and spin a web of lies to themselves and others to maintain a false idealised self. The truth pricks that bubble so making it a rule to tell yourself the truth is a necessary daily discipline [4]. This is a refreshing aspect to cold approach – few things discipline you like hitting on ten pretty women and receiving their feedback.

Now let’s get to the quote that most resonated with me because of where I find myself in life in 2017.

“No amount of pleasure will ever satisfy a man. No amount of comfort will ever satisfy a woman”

For this to be properly unpacked we must differentiate between pleasure, happiness, and satisfaction. My rough-and-ready definition is [5]

Pleasure: A state of temporary well-being in the body, enjoyed in the moment, based upon what is happening right now. Chatting to a flirty woman, having sex, being drunk, and being high are all pleasurable. It is primarily sensory. Sights, sounds, smells, touch etc are pleasurable to us. It does not require a feeling of accomplishment.

Happiness: A state of well-being in the mind, enjoyed before, during and after whatever caused the happiness. Being in a new city, surrounded by friends, chasing skirt can cause happiness and that feeling remains even when you’re sitting in your apartment in the evening doing nothing in particular. There is a residual effect to happiness that doesn’t disappear as quickly as pleasure does. It requires some feeling of accomplishment, of having gotten your ducks in a row.

Satisfaction: An ongoing state of well-being best characterised as a peace of mind that your life is headed in the right direction. This can co-exist with a momentary feeling of displeasure and a current lack of happiness. Examples include the pain and stress of gym training (displeasure) while being satisfied that you are working hard and your plan is moving forwards. I felt quite a lot of satisfaction during my first 1000 sets of hell even though they were often unpleasant and I was frequently unhappy.

The paradox of hedonism advises us that the self-conscious pursuit of pleasure will necessarily lead to unhappiness. I agree. In one of his Darkstream podcasts Vox commented that happiness is a symptom of doing other things. You can’t directly pursue happiness. Rather you must have a purpose in life, move towards that, and then happiness will usually result. This is why we Euro Jaunters recommend creating ongoing projects and doing stuff other than just chasing skirt, so as to avoid hollowing out.

Bird with a big rack

High pleasure, medium happiness, low satisfaction. Yesterday

Anyone who has spent a long time chasing women will know how it relates to the Player’s Journey. Chasing skirt is chasing pleasure. The Player’s Journey is a structure that provides purpose to the process (“getting good with women”) and thus happiness. For significant periods of the past eight years I’ve had both pleasure and happiness. It’s been great. The problem comes:

  1. Pleasure is subject to diminishing returns. You can only get your first SDL once. You can only bang your first eight once. After that it’s no longer the first and you cannot recover the high of novelty because it’s no longer novel. Accumulating notches becomes less and less pleasurable [6]. For a while the gradual reduction in cost as you get better offsets the gradual reduction in benefit, so the cost-benefit calculus remains strongly favourable. Eventually your improvement slows and you lose these “super-normal profits”. Your game becomes “normal profits”.
  2. Happiness is fleeting. I believe happiness is a temporary reward that our DNA rewards our brain with for successfully advancing the DNA’s plan. The very structure of human biology means we cannot stay in a state of happiness. For happiness to motivate action in a Darwinian world, it must be periodically snatched away (by our DNA) then dangled in front of us again as a carrot. Additionally, once you’ve become “good with women” Game loses purpose. You’ve gone from swimming forwards to treading water. To be happy again you need to find a new purpose.

This is perhaps ironic. A player will gradually become unhappy as he becomes successful with Game. Personally speaking, probably the lowest ebb of my entire journey was the morning after I had four girls in my bed on the same day (and fucked three). I’d reached the highest peak I could realistically expect to reach and…… well….. now what?

Chasing skirt is like a hamster wheel. It just happens to be a very pleasurable hamster wheel, and thus a better bet than whatever wheel we were spinning pre-game (in my case, the career wheel). I haven’t yet figured out a way to structure my Game to maintain pleasure, happiness and satisfaction all together.

After eight years, this suggests to me that it simply isn’t possible. Game will give you pleasure and often make you happy, but it won’t ever satisfy you. The thing is, if you don’t go through the journey you’re likely even worse off [7]

If you liked this post you’ll probably not like my memoirs. They are all fun stories of chasing skirt and loving it.

[1] Smarter PUAs have long said that Game success is 90% inner game and 10% technique. I think this overstates the case but the general thrust is accurate.
[2] Or a knowing charlatan who has figured out that most money is to be made in the Purple Pill area where you give the customer some Red Pill tactics that seem edgy and underground, but never require him to abandon his Blue Pill pretty lies. It’s how Oprah and Tony Robbins got rich.
[3] Within reason. If you want to nit-pick there is an element of compliance. For example, you need a certain literacy, intelligence and patience to understand some books. Challenging games require competence to complete. If you have SMART gym goals then the discipline of the scales, tape and caliper present potential fail states. Competitive hobbies such as 5-a-Side football feedback on your fitness, skill, teamplay etc. Sitting watching Netflix, however, is zero compliance.
[4] I tried very hard from the beginning to share harsh truths about myself on this blog and even then, lots of delusion crept it. Imagine the delusion if I’d never even tried.
[5] Yes, I’m pulling these definitions out of my arse. They are intended to be effective only for the duration of this post.
[6] Though never actually bad. It ceases to feel like winning at life, but it is still lots of fun.
[7] At no point am I regretting my own path. I’ve had a great time and my life is far better now. The problem doesn’t appear to be my life choices but rather the intrinsic nature of the human to never maintain a state of happiness.

Moscow Stories #4

August 7, 2017
krauserpua

I’m lying in bed at noon, tapping away on WhatsApp conversations and trying to rouse myself to action. There are a few parallel conversations running. I’m sorting out the afternoon’s daygame plans but toying with ideas of lunch first. The Three Stooges R’s (Roy, Ricky and Mr R) are still in town but Ricky is leaving imminently and wants to have one last big night out. SevenDG is visiting for the weekend so he’s with us. [1]

Aside from the usual text game with girls I’m also canvassing opinions and schedules of the VIP Inner Circle of Euro Daygame [2] to decide which city is next on my list. I’m halfway through the Moscow trip and getting tired of all the rain. Plus there’s the usual daily updates demanded by Little Finger, my British friend in Belgium. He takes an unnerving glee in all things squalid about the life and appears to be positioning himself as the central clearing house for filthy stories and gossip. Sometimes I feel like my real role on jaunts is as his intelligence asset, scraping up stories of filth, squalor and hubris that he can add to his Rolodex.

Game of Thrones - Littlefinger

Is RVF aware of this tall story?

“Are you not doing nightgame?” he prods, hoping to manipulate me into getting drunk, disgracing myself, then telling him the story the next day.
“Not my thing. The others are well up for it though. All they do is drink” [3]
“RVF-talk is that Gypsy and Icon are where the action is at” he counters. “Give it a go”

I’d been to Icon the previous summer and was thoroughly unimpressed. I can see why the forums like it, because with certain prerequisites, it appears to be pussy paradise. What are those prerequisites you ask?

  • You are used to chasing skirt in the Anglosphere, South America or South East Asia and haven’t yet acclimatised to the vastly superior quality in Central and Eastern Europe. You still think a six is an eight because you just haven’t seen the real top end of skirt.
  • You haven’t yet developed the experienced player’s ability to X-ray a girl to determine how hot she really is. You’re still blinded by make-up, tight clothes, heels, and dark lighting. [4]
  • You need to get drunk before opening.
russian_girls_look_dramatically_different_after_makeup_640_10

Now, I’m not saying I wouldn’t fuck her….

I find that nightclubs in the FSU are simply not the place to find the hot girls. If I was to estimate the pecking order of where to find the hotties I’d say it’s as follows, starting with the best:

  1. Nice cafes in the affluent part of town. The problem is these girls teleport into them and aren’t seen outside of their huddle at the table.
  2. Nice malls selling brand name clothes. The problem here is the girls arrive in taxis or flash cars, walk around in pairs with a best friend, a parent, or a sponsor. There’s also very very few of them to be seen any given day.
  3. University buildings at kicking out time. You need to time these places for the ends of lectures. The problem is the girls are nearly always in groups, there’s lots of peer pressure even on solo girls, and the universities are often nowhere near the other good daygame spots so there’s tonnes of dead time.
  4. Normal daygame in Old Town, normal malls, central parks, and busy shopping streets. This is the only place you get decent footfall but suffer a quality-per-vag drop-off compared to the top three places. On balance, it’s still the best bet overall.
  5. Bars not frequented by tourists. Usually you have to go a bit outside the main areas for them but rarely more than one metro stop. The problem is the girls are usually in social groups and there’s very few sets over the course of the night. Also, quality is skewed towards girls who like to drink, who are rarely as hot as those who don’t.
  6. Nightclubs that tourists would know about. This is where Icon and Gypsy fit in.

The single biggest problem with these kinds of clubs is the calibre of girls in them. Almost exclusively the age skews upwards, probably averaging well over twenty-five, and the tourists attract scammers. Arena City in Kiev is a good example of that: the entire complex exists to let ageing women scam Turks and forum chodes out of drinks. If you look good, you might get picked for free but don’t count on it.

So, back to Icon…….

We pound back beers at our favourite dive bar by Kamergirsky then take taxis towards the riverside bar area where the clubs are. We end up in a nice bar overlooking the river and I bump into a blonde I’d number-closed a week earlier. More on that in another post. We soon stumble over to Icon and I’m blasted by the godawful dance music. Aside from that, it’s lively and there’s some decent skirt. We all start opening. Let me tell you a little about Icon so it makes sense.

After walking in you are in a long lobby area lined with sofas and a bar at the end with some stools. It’s the only quiet room in the club and it gets footfall because every girl walks through it to enter, again to leave, and the toilets are just outside it’s connecting door to the first dance floor. It’s as close as you can get to bar/street game in a club that doesn’t have an outdoor smoking balcony. We spent nearly all of our time there because you can open without shouting.

The next room is a large dance-floor with a long bar, upon which a couple of semi-naked women dance. It’s rammed on weekends with about 60/40 men-to-women. You can just about talk if you really raise your voice but it’s mostly dance-floor game in the middle, or talk-into-the-ear-of-a-wallflower game around the edges. I number closed a pretty synchronised swimmer there but mostly had conversations-to-nowhere. This room is where all the men trying to get laid ply their craft. It can get a little wild.

stoner dog

Who’s a good girl?

Finally, accessible only by running the dance-floor gauntlet, is the “here for the music” room where the worst possible electronic dance music plays at full volume with accompanying strobe lights. It’s where the “DJs” play [5] and vacuous fools stare at them. It’s also where the VIP tables are so expect to see fat old men pouring vodka from a bottle for nicely-done-up girls who then dance on the spot at the edge of the area.

I ended up drunk

It was a night where all the sets blur. At any moment I could look around and see at least three of my four companions working a set, usually by the bar. We picked up momentum and the girls were usually game for a chat. Numbers were collected. For me, the only number that went anywhere went like this…..

I’m standing kicking my heels by the bar in the quiet room when two girls stream past. The one who catches my eye has incredibly good hair: thick, black, glossy, and literally to her ass. It shamed most shampoo commercial hair and I doubt I’ve ever seen better. She also had a bright orange dress and black heels. Without seeing her face I catch up with her.

“You. Stop. Two things”
She smiles. She must have at least some English
“First, you have amazing hair. I love it. Like a shampoo commercial.”
She smiles again. Dare I say she shifts her hips and settles into giving me a shot.
“Second, your dress. You look like a tangerine rolling down a hill. I just saw a blur of orange.”

I see she’s actually ethnically Korean, though born and raised in Moscow and tells me she’s never been to Korea and can’t speak the language [6]. She even has a Russian name. Let’s call her Natalia.

c50fb802a7d501339756955dad22187d--asian-ladies-very-long-hair

But a bit thicker. And not just her hair.

She’s entirely self-composed and starts chatting with me, giving some gentle banter and encouraging me to keep trying it on. Out of nowhere a drunken Mr Arr comes in and starts using loud code-words to indicate it’s his set because he’s number closed her on the dance-floor an hour earlier [7]. This presented a tough judgement call. On the one hand, wing rules determine that whoever opens the set owns the set (and thus it’s his set). On the other, we’d all been spamming the club so there wasn’t really any set discipline. At this point it was just a quick chat so I decide to back out. I let Mr Arr run the conversation and I mostly look away, staring at other girls and looking for the right moment to leave. It doesn’t come for a minute or two because every other friend is in a set.

“You stopped talking” says the girl.
“Yeah. Wing rules” I mutter absently-mindedly
“What rules?”
“Wing rules. He chatted to you first, in the other room, so I must gracefully withdraw.”
“Oh”

Finally Roy comes out of his set so I join him and knock back a whiskey. Twenty minutes later I’m pushing through a pack of locals on the dance-floor as I’m doing a circuit of the club to eye up fresh talent. I squeeze past Natalia from behind. Her friend sees me, taps her and points me out.

“Oh hello again” she says. “How is your night?”

I’m drawn into conversation for about thirty seconds then escape. Not before she’s rested her hand on my forearm and give me a strong look. I continue on and probably open a couple more sets over the next half hour.

It’s getting late and now more girls are leaving than entering. I’m back in the quiet room at the bar when Natalia and her friend come past, going home. She turns and gives me a big smile and a wave, then seems to pause. I have a difficult judgement call.

Being drunk and horny, I resolve the conflict in my favour. There’s a subtle shift in cosmic karma as the gods of daygame inform me that it is, indeed, my set now. I go over and take her number. An hour later I’m wandering through central Moscow with SevenDG as we both bang on about the pleasure of the Player’s Journey, then I get some sleep.

More to follow.

If you like the idea of running around chasing skirt during the daytime you really ought to read my book Daygame Mastery. Until I release Daygame Infinite, it’s the best there is.

[1] I may be garbling some of the details here. One reason I’m blogging this stuff now is to get it written down before my memory fades entirely.
[2] Yes, that’s facetious
[3] A little unfair. All Roy does is drink. Mr Arr is fuelled more by an obsession to never quit. One sentence I’ve never once heard him utter, “you know what lads, I think it’s time we called it a session and went home”
[4] I am interested in fucking the girl, not the dolled-up costume avatar of the girl, nor the shared-with-your-friends-on-whatsapp Instagram oil painting of the girl
[5] I refuse to speak of DJs with anything other than utter contempt. The emperor has no clothes.
[6] Nonetheless, I’m forced to score this one as a gook. Sadly.
[7] Which I hadn’t seen or been told about until now. He’s telling the truth, though, and Natalia confirms it.

What are the best daygame blogs?

August 6, 2017
krauserpua

That’s the click-bait title out of the way, so let’s get to the point. A good while back, well over a year now, I wrote a post giving my advice on how to write a Player’s Journey blog. Some enterprising fellows took me up on that advice and it inspired some existing bloggers to post more [1]

azV71nN_700b

“click-bait” you say?

I promised to feature the ones I liked, but then I just kinda forgot about it. Well, I’ve remembered. So, this is what I’ll do……. This is an open casting call for all of you on the Player’s Journey to inform my readership of your own humble efforts. Submit a short one-paragraph description of your blog, and a link. I’ll then edit this post (and my sidebar links) to neatly list them all so that enterprising fellow daygamers know what’s out there.

A few conditions are attached. Your blog will only be accepted in this list if it meets them:

  • No commercial sites. My goal is to help the community side of daygame here, not the business. If you have both a commercial page and a genuinely non-commercial blog, I’ll link the latter [2]
  • You must be producing original content based on your own daygame experiences. By this I mean you’re out daygaming and then telling stories or reflecting on your adventures. It’s fine if you’re a beginner, not getting laid, and feel like you don’t have any special insight. So long as you are trying to express your own player’s journey in your own words, you’re in. Such blogs are still valuable moral support for guys near your level. I won’t link Armchair PUA blogs [3]
  • I’m not linking blogs that cannibalise other people’s material or general community wisdom, even if you’re doing so with honourable intentions to help others. So if your blog is “Five steps to stand out on Tinder” or “What Is An Alpha Male” you are outside the narrow scope of this list.
  • I don’t mind if you follow material from other daygame theorists. This isn’t the Team Krauser list. I also don’t mind if you are critical of my material, so long as it’s not hating on me [4]

Here’s a starting list based on blogs I know fit the bill. If the proprietors of said blogs wish to change the one-paragraph summary (I wrote them from memory without double-checking), let me know in the comments.

Roy Walker Daygame – An early thirties Irishman living in London and taking his Euro Jaunts when he can. Getting laid and telling mostly war stories. Heavy statistical focus, tracking open/number/close/date ratios. Very much in the LDM style of game and writing.

Ricky Roma Blog – An early thirties office lad living in London and Euro Jaunting anywhere that might have Russian girls. Getting laid and telling war stories. Focus is narrative-based, expressing how it is to live the life. LDM style game and writing.

City Daygame – Three mid-thirties Brits living in London and forming a mini-rat pack for pick-up. Stories are varied between London and travel, each man writing under his own handle. A mix of daygame, nightgame and online. Mostly war stories but some reflection pieces. LDM style game and writing.

Seven Daygame – A French-born Asian man’s journey, starting in Ireland, then Tallinn and now St Petersberg. Lots of content and step-by-step field reports with lots of detail. Getting laid, too. Written in the LDM style.

Days Of Game – An American guy with a passion for Japanese jaunting. Very frequent posting, split between war stories (including field reports that don’t result in lays) and theoretical discussion. Quite wonkish at times. LDM style but also talks a lot about RSD material.

TD Daygame – A thirty-ish Pole in Warsaw writing a hybrid field-report / coaching blog in both Polish and English (separate sites). LDM style street game and a heavily technical focus, but some war stories.

Mickey Miller – A forty-ish Aussie living in Brisbane and jaunting to Asia. A mix between lay reports, inner game introspection, and theory. Probably the most personal blog for openly discussing inner game issues and private thoughts. LDM style.

VicVega – A forty-ish Italian nomad travelling around Central and Eastern Europe chasing skirt with a mix of nightgame and daygame. Lots of field reports and think pieces. He’s recently announced he’s going to focus on the latter.

The Alpha Teacher – A late-thirties Brazilian man playing poker and chasing skirt mostly in his home country. Suave was my first good daygame wing and features in my memoirs. One of the original London daygamers and Chateau RSG tenants. He still posts frequently.

Authentic Attraction – Another hybrid field-report / coaching blog, this time from two Aussies. A series of war stories and some reflection pieces.

Rusty Daygame – A new blog from a Kiwi guy doing the LDM style. Not much content yet.

Rambo PUA – I’m not sure if this blog is still active. An LDM daygamer writing field reports of his successes and failures.

Jimmy Jambone – Not very frequently updated, this is a blog opining on game and life, wrapped up in a narrative style of war stories. One of the original London daygamers and Chateau RSG tenants.

If you like reading war stories of chasing skirt you’ll love my memoirs Balls Deep, Deplorable Cad and Adventure Sex. If you don’t like paying to do so, check out the list above.

[1] I never stop with the grandiosity. Get used to it.
[2] There’s a grey area, such as TD’s blog, where he prominently mentions he’s a coach but puts up enough helpful free content that it’s not just a commercial site. So, I’ve linked him.
[3] I like some Armchair PUA blogs, but this list is Player’s Journey blogs which is a different category
[4] I draw the line if you voted Hillary or Bernie.

Prague Stories #1

August 5, 2017
krauserpua

My winter was another experiment in getting the fuck out of Dodge. Since becoming all unplugged and stuff I’ve become constitutionally incapable of tolerating the cold British winter. I’ve come to believe it’s against my ‘uman rights.

UN charter

I looked it up

So I spent two months in Thailand with some friends then wrote a book about it when I got home in early February [1]. Having spent time in the third world surrounded by trannies, Aussies, whores and mudslime I was rather keen to just chill out in Newcastle playing video games and reading paperback fiction. By March I was anxious to travel again.

Problem is, March is a shitty month. It’s just about warm enough that you know you could daygame, but not warm enough that you actually should. So I had the choice of either wasting my time on a jaunt, or feeling guilty for not going somewhere and doing something. I thought it through and booked two weeks in Prague.

Believe it or not, my goal wasn’t to get laid. Really.

Since the God Emperor won the presidency I’d been at a loose end over what to do with myself. Men need a purpose in life and some kind of project to work on. Shitposting and tweeting in the run up to the US election had been great fun and diverted me from the central issue in my life: game has become meh. As readers of Adventure Sex know [2], by the end of 2014 I’d reached the end of my Player’s Journey and was now just staggering around on autopilot without a grand over-arching goal.

Sure, I had goals: write a book, lose weight, finish all Skyrim guild questlines etc. What I didn’t have was a grand goal [3]. Nihilism and hedonism will always be undercurrents to the player’s lifestyle but I’d at least had the progression and purpose of getting good with women. But now I was. What next?

Dawn of the dead

Palladium, yesterday

Two months of debauchery in Thailand [4] was an exclamation point on the nihilism and hedonism. The last thing I wanted was to become an ex-pat loser in South East Asia, clacking sub-par brown skirt, telling bullshit stories on RVF to build rep points, and engaging in substance abuse with fellow forum-chodes and calling it “high value lifestyle”.

Fuck that.

Frankly, I was worried that all this travelling and shagging had completely ruined my ability to make emotional connections. I wondered if the absence of accountability in my last eight years had made changes that can’t be undone. So I thought about it a while and decided to put it to the test:

Can I enjoy hanging out with pretty women without trying to shag them?

Prague was a natural testing ground because I know many women there who I’d already slotted but were now in relationships. They’d still chat to me on WhatsApp. I decided to meet four of them and hang out. Crucially, I wouldn’t try to fuck any of them again. I flew out in mid-March and as luck would have it Nicolas Drillman was there so there’d be some male company too.

Much of the first week was spent discussing life with the friendly Hun. He’s not much younger than me and has done plenty of Euro Jaunting and skirt chasing so we were on the same page. I expounded my current thoughts on daygame and in particular how to integrate it in a sustainable manner as you get older and less enthused with the thrill of adventure. We discussed meta-level models of human learning and how beyond a certain level of experience and competence, all skills are learned the same way and mindsets converge. We did some sets but it was cold, wet and miserable. Very few girls worth chasing and neither of us really care to do more than a couple of sets a day. By day four I didn’t even want to chase skirt.

I was testing myself. Do I enjoy Euro travelling even when I’m not chasing the skirt? Apparently I do. I had a nice apartment, a stack of paperbacks, and just walking around was pleasant. El Commandante visited form Turkey for a weekend so that too was nice. If I remember right, GG popped in for a few days too. Probably a couple of other men too – my apologies if I forget.

And the skirt?

Readers of A Deplorable Cad [5] will remember a Croatian girl called Zehra who I banged in 2012 and became rather sweet on. I hadn’t seen her since but she’d recently gotten a job in Prague and moved over, so we met for coffee on a Saturday afternoon. That coffee became another, then a walk, then dinner, then beers. We spent all of Sunday together too.

No, I didn’t try to fuck her [6]

My mind was put to rest. For nearly twelve hours I chatted with an old friend, rekindled our emotional connection, and we had a great time. At no point did I get the familiar feelings of “let’s just escalate and get on with the fucking”. There was also a nice highlight in Battalion Bar.

We were sitting on the high stool near the entrance with a bottle of beer each. I was explaining pizzagate to her, outlining the basic charges levelled against Hillary, Bill, Epstein, the Podestas, Alefantis and so on. I spent a while explaining how Trump had suddenly excluded Epstein from his social circle over a decade ago without explanation and then in his famous Al Smith roast speech following the third presidential debate he’d made an odd quip about Hillary [7]

“Hillary famously said it takes a village. Which is interesting, because in Haiti she’s taken a few”

That quip is incomprehensible unless you fill in two datapoints: (i) Hillary’s quote that it takes a village to raise a child and (ii) the allegations that Hillary intervened to save Laura Silby from child trafficking charges after she was arrested crossing the Haiti/Dominican Republic border with a bus load of unaccompanied children.

“Trump knows!” I told my Croatian friend. “That’s why his son Donald Jnr always looks like he wants to literally kill Hillary. It’s why she said he’d have them all hanging from nooses”

A burly Irishman at the next table chimed in.

“Excuse me, I couldn’t help but hear you mention Donald Trump. I have to ask you – what do you think of him?”

I knew where this would lead. His manner, his tone, and the fact he’d poked his nose in all suggested a typical SJW tactic: Politely inquiry intended to get to you formally utter crimethink, that they can then attack you for. You’ll see this in offices every day in the UK.

“I think he’s a hero. The only man in the world I idolise” I replied

The next five minutes involved him trying to maintain his calm (unsuccessfully) while pretending to earnestly inquire into my position and to helpfully point out where I’m mistaken. By then steam was coming out of his ears because at no point did I back down and recognise that Trump is stupid, or psychotic, or sexists etc. Finally he went into a rant about the Middle East.

“But Trump is going to start wars. He’s violent and dangerous. He said he wants to bomb the Middle East” he spluttered.
“No he doesn’t. He said he wants to destroy ISIS. He’s never beat the drum for war against any Middle Eastern country”
“He wanted war in Iraq!”
“No he didn’t. He’s on the record, on video, years ago saying the war in Iraq was wrong. He’s already avoided war with Russia. Believe me, if Hillary had won we’d already be in World War III. Trump was the only candidate on either side who was against war with Russia”
“but but but….”
“Hillary stated she wants Ukraine and Georgia in NATO and a No-Fly zone enforced against Russia in Syria. That guarantees war. Just look at a map – Russian cannot possibly accept NATO forces on it’s borders.”

It was at this moment his fat girlfriend chipped in, having been mostly silent. She told me how they’d both lived in New York and it was common knowledge that Trump was a racist who called Mexicans rapists.

“Trump was the exisiting immigration laws enforced. That’s really not extreme” I said.
“I had many very nice Mexican friends in New York. At least I’m not racist” she finished, flicking her hair in a triumphant flourish at unloading her big guns.

“I am” I replied.

racist rat

The Irishman kicked off and needed his girlfriend to restrain him as he backed off out the bar. Looking at the Croatian girl I probably could’ve fucked her at this point, but it was against the plan.

If you like hearing the same basic story told in dozens of different ways then you’ll love my memoir series Balls Deep, A Deplorable Cad and Adventure Sex

[1] I still haven’t decided to release it as is, or fold it into a bigger memoir with the Euro stuff
[2] Well spotted. Yes, it’s an up-sell
[3] I suppose you could call that grandiosity
[4] Most of which was squeezed into the first week after which I had a rapid adverse reaction to the sleaziness of it
[5] Well, fancy that! Another up-sell
[6] She looked great, though. Slim, curvy, and still with her amazing hair.
[7] I’m pretty sure I’ve told this story before but I’m writing these posts with a different goal in mind.