There has been much discussion in Chateau RSG on how to rate girls on the 1-10 scale. We aren’t so full of ourselves that we believe girls shouldn’t be rated, as if we have somehow transcended the most basic male impulse of ranking girls. At the end of the day there is far more pleasure to be had from banging a ten than a four. The current system is thus:

<4 – Totally invisible. Utterly unthinkable

5 – You’d fuck her only if there were extreme extenuating circumstances such as violence, drugs, or a solemn obligation to a third party. Or, in Big Toe’s case, a rare flag

6 – You’d do her if it was easy, you’re horny, and you could smuggle her in and out without your friends seeing. You want her out of your house the moment you bust a nut and like eating a Big Mac meal there is a tawdy shame in the whole episode

7 – Neither shame nor glory. A nice girl who is worth some effort. Perhaps you’d take her on occasional dates and if her personality / vibe is sweet and her style your type, you’d even date her over the medium term

8 – You want to parade her around whoever will watch. You feel genuinely good about dating / fucking this girl. When your friends talk about her, they say things like “you should see his bird, she’s well hot”

9 – Simply appearing in public with her makes your heart swell with pride and random guys hate you. You consider dropping your other girls for her and occasionally calculate whether you’ve finally found the right girl to make a serious go with. She’s the realistic pinnacle of Game.

10 – She’s unrealistically hot, the sort of girl you rarely even see. When she walks into a room she’s like a beacon of value. You have no haters because men simply cannot comprehend that you’d be fucking her, so they assume you are a gay best friend. You cannot imagine any girl anywhere in the world being her superior, only an equal.

Ultimately there is no way to rate a woman on raw objective beauty. A cohesive rating system must be based on how she makes you feel and the social response you get for boning her.

It’s part of my relationship game that I teach my girlfriends about life, the universe and everything. I want to impart upon them in short order the sort of wisdom it took me a (much longer) lifetime to acquire. There’s so much bullshit and quackery in the world and I want to innoculate the girls against it before I send them back into the wild, outside my umbrella of leadership and protection.

It also gives opportunities for fun. In the case of my Barcelona trip, some tooling of Eurochodes.

I firmly believe that while the universal law of gender parity prevails in the long run, in the short run there can be wildly different mismatches in countries between the men and the women. I’m talking top-10%-of-sexual-market here. Mutants, mongs and munters are invisible in this analysis. For example:

• Britain: cool guys with style and game vs fat entitled masculine women
• Lithuania: dorky computer nerds vs curvy warm feminine sweethearts
• Russia: dorky square-headed aspy kids vs leggy smoking hot ice queens
• Italy: suave good-looking pussy-beggars vs stunning witches
• Spain: spineless pretty boys vs sultry but kinda chubby hotties

"Will settle for a six"

A skewed sample perhaps but I swear I only saw one couple in the whole of this holiday where the man wasn’t at least a point more physically attractive than his girl. That couple was Russian. Throughout the streets I see lithe tall good-looking guys being led around like puppies by fairly-hot-but-porky-bellied women. This flouts the first rule of game: You should be banging girls better looking than you are. When the sexes turn up at the evolutionary mating pit, women bring their svelte DNA. They are a nicely-formed oven for you to bake your bun in. The guy brings pretty much everything else except looks. So if you are bringing your looks it’s like the old poker table adage: every table has a sucker. If you don’t know who it is, it’s you.

I’ve been clubbing two nights in a row here with my two Lithuanian girls. One is my official girlfriend, the other is her friend and single. First night I sent my girl onto the dancefloor to sway her hips and wave her arms. Sure enough within a few minutes a chode crystal formed around her and four friends spent half an hour slitting each other’s throats trying to get at her. A horrible display of anti-wing rules and an obvious telegraphing of low value. My girl was disgusted. After giving them half an hour I jumped in with some retard dancing to AMOG and sure enough the chode crystal shattered. Not a fair battle, but a fun game.

Eurochodeland

Next night was worse. We went to Razmatazz, a “cool” club, shortly after 1pm. As expected it was a sausage factory mixing local Spaniards and assorted other Eurochodes. Soon lots of painted up 6s arrived to attention whore. I didn’t spot an eight or better all night. Me and my girl tried reading the club and were amazed that nobody was having fun. The guy’s all stood awkwardly near the dancefloor value-scanning or else danced awkwardly off time to the music, or did chode-hopping displays. At no point did any guy seem to be dancing for the sheer joy of it. Most of the girls were just positioning themselves into sight lines to shake their arses in little rapo games. As the night progressed things improved a little and people started to chill a little but that’s when the pussy-beggars went into overdrive.

Again I sent my girl out to dance and she was opened about ten times in half an hour. I say “opened” but I think only one guy did it fairly well – it was like a mild version of 60’s rapid escalation. I’d call it Tepid Escalation. He came in full-on and started a challenging conversation but unfortunately telegraphed too much dependence and crumbled when my bird gave him the Russian Minute. Then he just got creepy until dismissed. Some fat omega begged her friend for a photo. Other guys did really half-arsed grinds or walk-by stares. At no point did any guy seriously commit to the open in a manner that put his balls on the line. These pretty boys are terrified of real rejection. It wasn’t really an environment conducive to indirect game. No one was having enough fun to be the warm end of the pool to draw women in unopened.

So me and my bird just did retard dancing all night and had a great time.

I never considered myself good at club game but I’ve realised just how poor most of the competition is. These guys had nothing behind their looks. I saw guys being tooled all night long. Tall, suave male 8s and 9s getting tooled by little fat 6s. Horrible.

We all age. Your game should mature as you do, like a fine wine.

Exhibit 1: The eligible bachelor

Something RSD Jeffy said in one of his talks resonated with me. Getting into the community is like going to university. It’s a phase in your life where you reorient yourself, develop your skills, and then….. leave. Get on with your life. The game never goes away but you take the core concepts on board and then move on to your next mission. That’s pretty much how I view it. I don’t want to be doing 20 approaches every Saturday into perpetuity. There’s guys who have been “in the community” for a decade and while their skills are sometimes fantastic I just wonder what is missing from their life that they still identify. It’s almost like those perma-students you see in graduate school – soaking up Daddy’s allowance with perpetual masters degrees. They just need to get a real job.

Exhibit 2: nothing is ever too serious

I envision my future outside the community to be about living a life of financial and geographical freedom. Sitting at a beach bar dive in Jamaica sipping rum with my buddies before taking my young hottie home for the evening. Another month passes and I’m in a Rio BJJ gym rolling with the other guys, then a big steak at a carvery before sitting at home reading a novel. Whatever, wherever, whenever just living life to follow my interests.

Exhibit 3: poise and balance

As a young man you can get by on looks, testosterone and sexual persistence. That’s how most young guys get most of their sex and female company. As you mature, you… mature. I look around for good role models. Guys who embody the type of man and lifestyle I want ten or twenty years from now. A lifestyle that is intensely attractive to women but not driven by the hunt for fresh pussy. Men of means, wit, and wisdom. I love the three photos I’ve posted here. Every one of them speaks to me even if they are posed to represent an idea rather than to true life of the man posing for it.

I’m sitting in a tapas bar in Barcelona as the cool breeze wafts in from the sea. I have piled-up plates of patatas bravas and tortilla on the small upturned barrel in front of me that is used as a table. The waiters have not yet cleared away two empty glasses of Estrella lager. I look down at my arms. Freckles dot my limbs in close order right up to my t-shirt sleeve line. I have as close to a t-shirt tan as a pasty Englishman can muster. Reminiscing I realise I haven’t been this freckled since I was a young boy. Not since then have I spent such long summers outdoors. The intervening time has always seen me couped up in a schoolroom, lecture theatre, or office during the peak daytime hours of summer.

I reflect on how my life has changed.

Last year I quit my job and freed myself from the office grind. It was common for me to work 60-hour weeks, suited and booted. I had a team to look after and a boss to answer to. Deadlines stressed me and there were nights where I’d struggle to sleep as I pondered work issues, unable to let go. Feeling responsible. Feeling guilty for calling in sick unless genuinely bed-ridden lest I let down my co-workers.

I was out with a couple of my old friends last weekend for a post-work drink (their work, not mine). Great guys, great friends but thoroughly plugged into the matrix. I brought my Thai girl with me – an ex girlfriend but now simply a friend, I’m like her big brother now – and we started drinking. Then she went home and my girlfriend joined us. We got smashed. The next day my girl commented that the three guys had been watching us intently, trying to figure out how we were having so much fun, how I was able to open so many other girls for good interactions, and how this young busty chick was just hanging off me all night. I realised that what is normal to me is extraordinary to my friends. Extraordinary to me less than two years ago.

Now I’m sitting in Barcelona with two 21 year old Lithuanian girls who adore me. I’d banged one for an hour last night while her friend pretended to sleep next to us. Yesterday morning while waiting at the gate to board, two different tall hot 20 year old girls texted me to say they’d finished masturbating while thinking of me. A few nights previously I’d had a gin-soaked foursome with a wing and a couple of lovely young girls. The large-breasted Canadian stripper I banged a while ago has started text-stalking me. The beautiful young Italian who added me to facebook by accident (we’d never met) has been telling me how she once had a threesome and fancies another, and by the way can she come around my house to challenge me at video games? I turned down a late-night booty call from a tall teenage black girl because my girlfriend is still in the country.

I like Barcelona. We’ve just been swimming in the sea. I say to the girls I might come and live here for a month next time London gets cold. I’m joking. But I ruminate on the idea and I realise nothing is stopping me. I am so close to financial and geographical independence. So much so that I’m working on my exit to the “community”. No more bootcamps, no more teaching, no more forums and blogs. Just sell my books (two more in the works) and update the blog from any beach with WiFi.

I honestly never dreamed I’d be in this position. At the drop of a hat I can book a flight to any country I please and just live there. Our rat pack means there’s always a couple of guys up for adventure. We have the money and freedom. We have contacts and girls in every port. Just show up, daygame a few hours, hit a bar to meet some cool guys and that’s it. A new base set up within 24 hours.

I love it.

UPDATE: Some dude just linked this in a list of other related posts. They are all great. Check them out here

Never underestimate the chodiness of the average chode. Once you’ve done a few hundred street stops it becomes part of your reality that if you see a girl you like you go talk to her. It seems…. just….. obvious. Why wouldn’t you talk to her? Taking some weird circuitous route seems so weird and circuitous.

I mean, what kind of man can’t talk to a girl he likes?

A pussy. That’s who. Girls already have a pussy of their own. They don’t need another. Fortunately for us the world is absolutely awash in male pussies. They are terrified of approaching and just stand there holding their cocks when a hot girl ambles past.

Unsurpringly whole industries have grown up around this fear of approaching. You have Game companies that teach you how to approach. And you also have internet dating sites that pretend you don’t need to. What is news to me is there are companies determined to fall between two stools: daygame companies for guys who won’t approach.

Witness this:

http://www.loadofshite.com

And this godawful moneypit. (mind you, it’s advanced level!!!!)

From today’s Daily Telegraph

“……Prince Harry has broken off his romance with the lingerie model Florence Brudenell-Bruce, it has been reported. The Prince, 26, told friends he wants to focus on his Apache helicopter training and does not want to be “tied down”.

Harry began dating the 25-year-old lingerie model, nicknamed Flee, in June but has now broken off the relationship. “Harry has a lot on his mind at the moment. He is concentrating on his Apache helicopter training. After that, he’s expecting to return to Afghanistan,” a source told the Daily Mirror.

“Harry enjoyed spending time with friends over the summer, but he doesn’t want to be tied down in a relationship when training, so he called time on Flee.” Miss Brudenell-Bruce, who has fronted campaigns for John Lewis, Adidas and Knickerbox, was keen for Harry to join her on holiday in Ibiza this month……”

Sloppy seconds of Prince Harry and Jenson Button

It’s an open secret in the UK that Prince Harry and Prince William are half-brothers, sharing only the genes of their bed-hopping suicidal bulemic whore of a mother Princess Diana. This despicable little bitch caused much national shame so I wasn’t the least upset when she got herself driven into a wall at high speed. In fact, I remember where I was when the news of her death came out – I was walking into a bar in Tenerife with my girlfriend to watch the Newcastle-Liverpool game on SkySports, the season after the two famous 4-3 thrillers. As I walked in, the conversation went like this:

Me: Excuse mate, are you not putting the match on? It starts in five minutes

Barman: The match is cancelled

Me: Uh, why?

Barman: Diana is dead

Me: But why is the match cancelled?

Anyhow, I digress….. Whereas Prince William has bought the cow at a moment of sweet irony for me, Harry is busy with his boys in Afghanistan and dating lingerie models. He takes after his dad, the cad of cads. So check out this article. Harry has his mission, and there’s no lingerie models in the treehouse.

… but I’ve broken at least 3 so far, and probably 6 or 7. Here is an old audio recording of the last chat I had with my Russian catwalk model before I dumped her. We’d been seeing each other as irregular fuck buddies for a while after the Istanbul Incident and while I was happy with that I totally underestimated how much she was hooked on me.

Snapped from her portfolio

This is a girl who is constantly hit on by millionaires and movie stars. Her latest suitor is a former military commander and now millionaire businessman who is trying to marry her. She hasn’t even kissed him. So she flakes on a date with him to fuck me.

In her own words…..

Gentleman, while it feels great to wield this kind of power over a high-value woman’s heart I strongly advise against making a habit of it. It really hurts your self-image as a good man to put women through this kind of angst. But let it also be a case study in how game works. I have “no positive qualities” and still beat out a high-achieving millionaire effortlessly. Go me!

This is true because Assanova says it’s true. Thanks fella.

Krauser, yesterday

One of Game’s best bloggers and the paragon of style vs an Aussie burrito eater. Nice try, Burto. There’s a big blogmogging in the pipeline just for you.

A new study is out decrying the dangers of romantic fiction for women in how it sets out unrealistic expectations and dysfunctional relationship practices for the Twilight moms who revel in it. Says the article:

Women who read romance novels can “suspend rationality” in favour of romanticism, Miss Quilliam said, including “not using protection with a new man because she wants to be swept up by the moment as a heroine would” or being persuaded to give up contraception a few months into a relationship.

“It might mean terminating a pregnancy (or continuing with one) against all her moral codes because that same man asks her to… or judging that if romance has died then so has love, and that rather than working at her relationship she should be hitching her star to a new romance.”

Back in my modelling days

Colour me unsurprised on this one. One of the many anti-male double standards in Western society is that it’s socially acceptable for women to gush about their porn (romantic fiction = emotional porn) but disgusting for men to talk about theirs. This is written into legalese. Compare the treatment of a man caught looking at porn at work during lunch hour [disciplinary action] and a secretary sitting reading the latest Jackie Collins twirling a pen between her lips.

And another article penned by Captain Obvious…. hahahahahaha. Without a man, there is no order. There is no natural check on the hissy-fit-throwing-narcisism of women and women-lite.

I don’t push commerical products on this blog. There’s a commerical tab at the top for anyone who wants to stump up the cash and learn from the Rock Solid Game crew. So in a rare departure from blog policy, let me tell you of two events:

1. Rock Solid Game free bootcamp
The team will be having a meet’n’greet on Sunday 13th March in Central London. There’ll be five lectures (including me, Jambone, Moran, Tony T) and some Q&A. We are charging five English pounds per student to cover costs. So if you’re local and want to meet the men behind the bullshit, sign up through the www.rocksolidgame.co.uk website link.

The RSG Dream Team

2. I’m doing 1-on-1s
For a long time I’ve been resistant to teaching like this. It’s laziness mostly. However of late I’ve been helping Moran and Burto with their students and decided I’m gonna save up for a new laptop. So for a limited time I’ll be doing 1-on-1 sessions, until I’ve trousered enough loot to buy this.

Crysis, Empire, Civilisation

Contact me by email at krauser [at] rocksolidgame [dot] co [dot] uk for rates and times.