This blog is basically a memoir to myself, but in the interests of methodological rigour I ought to clarify my terms, ratings, and purpose.

Purpose: This is a chronological record of my development from latent-alpha / betatised divorced chode (April 2009) to master pick up artist (the future). When read from oldest-to-newest posts it should show clear progression. I’ve made a lot of progress so reading the blog this way should inspire fellow travellers taking their first steps. In the beginning I was so bad that if I fell into a bucket of tits I’d come out sucking my thumb. Now I’ve been banging catwalk models, strippers and virgins. Use this blog to motivate yourself, if it helps. Also, I believe in openess and full disclosure. This blog includes my fuck-ups and my uninspired moments too. I’m not an omnipotent guru, so don’t set me up as one.

Stats: I stopped tracking my stats after about my 500th open. I’d recommend beginners keep a spreadsheet / blog / notebook but eventually you’ll grow out of it. Excessive stat-tracking hurts your frame and gets you away from the main goals of game. If you want to know my lays, click on lay reports. I don’t count my approaches anymore. I’d guess that as of May 2011 I’d done over 2,000.

Girl Ratings: I go for young, slim, medium height, fairly curvy girls. Preferably of exotic looks (relative to white Brits). While no class of girl is truly ruled out I will generally avoid Muslims (to avoid their cross-eyed inbred cousins throwing acid on me) and 1st-generation African immigrants (so my cock doesn’t fall off from Ebola or HIV). I will happily bang girls who have Pakistani / Somali / Kenyan etc ancestry. So long as they aren’t Burqa-veiled HIV factories.

I don’t use the 1-10 scale much anymore, especially HB-this HB-that. That’s just a training wheels thing for beginners. One important thing I learned is I’d rather date a “7” who is my type than a “10” who isn’t.

This is obviously the CocaCola / Microsoft / McDonalds of the pick up community. Unsurprisingly it was also my first real learning aid (as mentioned below The Lay Guide was my introduction, but that’s just a shameless rip-off of the Gunwitch ebook and is more like a journalist’s cut’n’paste job than a unified theory of pick up artistry).

I loved the VH1 show. There’s something about seeing total dweebs plugging away and handling horrid rejections, then gradually improving, it just gives that same feeling as Royce Gracie beating the ninjas in the Octagon – the little guy can win! Ok, so it’s a constructed narrative and the first few episodes are shamelessly point’n’laugh TV but there’s a real demonstrative effect. Remember, I hadn’t been to any boot camps at this stage, nor did I have any mentors. Just what cowboys might call “book larnin'”

Pros

• Indirect method is a great way to open big sets when you’re a beginner
• Routines give a crutch to get some air-time in set
• Theoretical underpinning always gives a sense of where to go next. The A1-S3 model is analagous to the Brazilian Ju-Jitsu position progression
• Peacocking gives confidence
• MM is fun to do

Cons

• It’s clearly tailored to help tall magicians get the hottest girl in the room
• It’s way more advanced than necessary to pick up a girl around your level
• Going indirect creates new roadblocks, such as how to escalate
• You can learn to be a social robot that has some success without ever reconstructing the chode heart that beats within

So I try Mystery Method one night – Cargo nightclub, Old Street, 19th June 2009

First thing I see is a massive queue outside with literally hundreds of people in. I’m with a wing and his girlfriend who has agreed to pivot. I walk up to a pair of young guys near the front of the queue:

Krauser: Hey lads. Quick question. If you could have any superpower, you know like you’d just been invited to join the X-Men, what would it be?

Guys: blah blah blah
* Krauser locks into queue. 2 min later wing and pivot join. 1 hour queueing avoided. Thanks Mystery*

Early on my wing opens a 2-set of Italians standing against a wall in the beer garden. I join in and he lets me run the set. I run some routines, tell some DHV stories. Girls coo and say “you are really good at telling stories, you should write a book” etc. Some random chodes start tapping the targets shoulder from behind to get her attention. She turns around, so I say “Hey, the show is this way”, she laughs and the chodes disappear. Later two Portuguese interrupt, who she knows, and she practices her Portuguese with them. I’m stumped. I roll off rather than chode out. Five minutes later the guy from the queue says hello to me. Great, instant pawn. I pull him to the set, interrupt with “Hey, you’re Italian right. Where did you say your holiday way in Italy *to the dude*” and the Portuguese chodes are blown out. I run the set again.

I email close and its a flake. But I’m extremely friggin’ happy because I just ran a thirty minute 2-set using MM dealing with interrupts, pawns and got a close. She was an HB8.

I also encountered a noob problem with MM – I was the entertainer guy. The dancing monkey. I didn’t escalate, didn’t peel them off the wall, didn’t do anything except hold their attention and make ’em laugh.

I’d never believed any of this shit.

Not consciously anyway. I figured women were equal, they like nice guys, they want to be respected, they want you to ask their opinions. I figured romantic gestures make their hearts melt.

Of course I’d never actually done any of that lame beta-boy shit. I met my wife in a bar in Old Street while drunk. She’d wandered in with two friends, I’d wandered over and just started spouting inane gibberish at her. But I was super confident, not even vaguely interested in pulling her, and I was surrounded by friends trying to get me to follow them to the next bar.

State. Outcome independence. Social proof.

She listened, she giggled, I busted on her. And finally I allowed her to give me her number. I said I might call but I was pretty busy this week. When we finally met up I took her to a pub for a few hours until my friends arrived, then gave her a kiss and left with them. For the second date I home cooked her some cheap sushi and then fucked her.

Cocky-funny. None-neediness. Escalation.

She semi-flaked on the next date. Some bullshit about her dance class overrunning and not being able to call me till it finished. I told her I’m not taking that shit and she can either come to me on my terms tomorrow or we are done. She came, and I fucked her.

Dominance. Willingness to walk away.

A couple of months later I get my first big shit test. We are getting ready for bed and I’m tired and need to get up early. She says some bullshit, I tell her to shut up. She throws the contents of her Volvic water bottle over me. I go fucking apeshit. I roar upwards, grab the bottle, push her of the bed and shout “Get the fuck out of my house now, you fucking bitch!”. I grab her clothers (she’s bra and panties), thrust them into her arms and push her out the bedroom.

Shock and awe from the woman. She floods the room with tears, apologies, and begs to stay. Her eyes light up with horniness. I magnanamously allow her to stay, putting a towel over the wet sheets and telling her to sleep on the wet side. After twenty minutes I grab her and allow her to cuddle me. No more shit tests for seven years.

Aggression. Wildness. Enforcing boundaries.

I’m reading “The Lay Guide” (which I had to re-order on Amazon) and I’m starting to slot the pieces together. For eight years I had a perfect 10 (she was a model and professional dancer, star athlete in high school, and damn smart too) absolutely blissfully madly in love with me. And is it a coincidence that from the very beginning I’d inadvertently followed all the guiding principles of Game?

I think not.

I heard an analogy recently. A guy gives you a shovel, points to the ground and says “There be diamonds down there”. How deep would you dig? If you think he’s full of shit I’d wager you’d give up after the first few minutes. Contrarily, if you believe him you’d dig for weeks. So long as you have the certainty that the digging will eventually result in diamonds, you’ll dig.

That there is me and pick-up. I know it’s the mother lode. I just have to keep digging.

[UPDATE: I’ve left this post as originally written because it captures the type of anger and bitterness I was holding when I first got into Game. I see the same process all the time with students – the start off angry and gradually mellow out as they make progress on their inner game and start getting good responses from good women.    K]

[UPDATE: I’ve left this post as originally written, because it captures my mood and vibe at the time I first got into Game and started blogging.   K.]

I got divorced early 2009, very much against my wishes. We’d been together for nine years, married for three and despite troubles surfacing throughout 2008 I’d assumed that the absolute bliss of the preceding eight years meant we were gonna get through it.

But no. The worthless skank decided her “feelings” had changed, and therefore that’s that. Fuck her vows, fuck her promises, and fuck our marriage. She walked out and my life nearly fell apart.

My response bothered me. Most of my life I’ve been hovering between lower alpha / higher beta behaviours. At some imperceptible point in our marriage, probably about a year after the wedding itself, I slipped into real chode-ish betaness. I became boring, home-centred, and a provider. When she started acting up, instead of just kicking the bitch onto the street like a real man, I became clingy, needy and lame. That just wasn’t me.

For three months I tumbled into the depths. Objectively, I handled it all well. My work didn’t suffer, my health didn’t suffer, and I didn’t follow any self-destructive impulses. But for weeks on end I’d struggle to hold back fits of tears. Anything could trigger it – a love song on the radio, an off-hand comment from a colleague. The divorce wasnt’ even a difficult one – no kids, no house, no shared assets, no divorce-theft legal claims. Just a clean break. Yet I was absolutely crushed by seeing my whole future collapse.

Three months of hurt. Then I hit bottom and started figuring things out. I had two choices:

(i) I can wail and gnash my teeth, shout “why, cruel world!” and sink into a woman-less refuge of video games and porn, hoping somehow I’ll be introduced to some girl through my social circle. I’ve got a friend who did just this seven years ago. Since then he’s gotten very good at Scuba and darts.

(ii) Take control. Learn to be the agent of my own success with women. Fucking man-up and rediscover my balls.

I chose the latter. A few years ago I’d read “The Lay Guide” by Tony Clink. Just some paperback in HMV offering the (as I thought then) ridiculous promise of teaching you to sleep with a different hottie every night of the week. I bought it as a diversion, expecting my still-beta romantic mind to rip it apart. But no. It was great. I filtered it’s teachings through my own successes and failures and thought this shit is the goods

A pivotal moment in my life

I didn’t need it back then, so it stayed on my shelf gathering dust till I finally loaned it out. One night in April 2009 as I lay alone on my sofa, wondering why I couldn’t enjoy Bad Company on my Playstation 3 I had that gestalt moment.

I’m gonna be a pick up artist.

This is gonna be my new hobby. I shall dedicate the next six months to learning. If it’s the goods, I’ll continue. Thus was born Krauser’s PUA adventure.

Do I want my future to be this....

.... or this?