A Deplorable Cad – Chapter 1C

March 1, 2017
krauserpua

The Château RSG experiment owes its genesis to a side of Tony’s character that always aggravated me. He’s a cheapskate. In all the time I’ve known him, he’s never had a real job. Every time we had team meals, he’d insist on a happy hour or a restaurant accepting the Taste London discount card. It jarred with me because I’d spent the last few years in a $100K office job and couldn’t fully appreciate the minimalist lifestyle Tony adopted.

Like most things I’d learn about game and life, I resisted it in the beginning. Watching Tony live, I’d gradually pick up on his soft, easy-going vibe, his unwillingness to be rushed or buffeted, his deep passion for the emotional pay-off of seduction, and his continuous effort to challenge and suppress his own ego. Looking back I can appreciate the profound impact he had on my eventual success. But at the time I thought he was a sanctimonious cunt and we frequently clashed.

He’s one of those guys who has always managed to get by on whatever crazy idea he’s had, sometimes much better than merely getting by. He was a competitive salsa performer and milked his salsa classes as an “ecosystem” to score girls. Being a good-looking man who kept himself in shape at the gym helped, but he still had to be able to dance and make the whole thing work… which he did with great success.

Tony’s a masculine guy and very much a hustler. He stretches each idea until it stops paying him or it starts to feel like work and then he finds something else. After the salsa became humdrum, he started selling himself to medical experiments – drug trials specifically. Those paid well, but it was feast or famine. We always knew he’d been at a trial because there’d suddenly be a plush leather recliner in his room, a new flat screen TV, and M&S food on his fridge shelf. Then he’d be back to scrutinising itemized bills at restaurants and clipping Asda coupons from newspapers to stock up on value-brand beans. Easy come, easy go. Tony very much lived for today.

At the time, I thought it was dissolution. Madness, even. I was brought up as a saver, not a spender. Later, as I continued to extricate myself from the rat race, I came to empathize with his laid-back attitude to money. Why wait for retirement before enjoying it?

Not this madness

Not this madness

I suppose the best way of summing up Tony is to say that he’ll always look for the edge in any situation. If there’s a dodge, he’ll take it. He’ll do virtually anything to make money, except getting a job. That mindset led him to hit upon the idea of property guardianship.

At any given time there are thousands of properties sitting empty in London. Perhaps the tenant has moved out and his replacement is delayed, perhaps the building is to be re-purposed and remains empty in the interim, or perhaps it’s to be rebuilt but the developers need planning permission. Amazingly, for a country with so many vacant properties, England’s legal system is very much biased against landlords. This has created an entire class of predatorial rent-seekers, be they gypsies or anarchists, who move in and steal the place.

There are all manner of sections, sub-sections, clauses and sub-clauses in English common law dating from hundreds of years ago which give squatters (i.e. Occupy Wall Street-type characters) legal rights that you wouldn’t really expect. Often, there isn’t much a landlord can do to kick him out. That makes it very easy for hustlers to move illegally into an empty property against the owner’s permission, and as long as they don’t cause any damage that can be construed as the criminal offence of “breaking and entering” the police can’t evict them. The law deems it a civil not criminal matter, thus the landlord is on his own and a squatter’s downside risk is capped at simply leaving the house and trying it on again elsewhere. Within the eviction process there are also all sorts of odd time limits and human rights laws that further complicate matters. In fact, in some cases, squatters who manage to stay put for ten years are awarded legal title to the property as “adverse possession” under the 2002 Land Registration Act.

The scammers in England, mostly Irish or Romanian gypsies, took this as a green light to break into empty properties, scam the legal system to get title to the property, sell it, make money and move on to the next score. Continental Europe’s solution to the gypsy squatter problem has, historically, been murder and mass expulsion. Being fair play, cricket-loving English, we came up with a rather less extreme solution. It’s called property guardianship.

Anyhow, I digress. There are specialist letting agencies who deal in vacant properties. They promise the owner that they’ll take over management and then introduce tenants (“guardians”) to live there. These tenants have agreed to restricted rights, including exclusions from all those laws that squatters take advantage of. An occupied building keeps the squatters out, both as a deterrent and also because if squatters enter, it’s a clear case of criminal entry and thus the police can be involved.

If they looked like this, we wouldn't need to keep them out

If they looked like this, we wouldn’t need to keep them out

The only downside for guardians is the lack of choice over where you stay. Many properties are shitholes and the plum properties go to those the agency know and trust. Tony and Jimmy were in that boat when they signed on with one of the two main agencies in London. They first moved in to a massive residential care home way out east. I visited Jimmy one evening and felt it was Project Auschwitz. It was good forty-five-minute ride on the Underground just to get a sniff of civilization from a Starbucks or Pret-A-Manger. Not only that, the place was horrible. It may have been massive, with about a hundred rooms in the whole place, but only a tiny part of it was habitable. The ceiling had fallen in and there was rubbish strewn all around.

I’m not joking when I tell you it reminded me of a Vice documentary I’d seen about Liberia – that tiny West African rat-infested toilet engaged in civil war. Part of the documentary visited the old Hilton Hotel of Monrovia. During European colonial times, it had had a top-quality restaurant, a glittering swimming pool and a roaring tourist trade, but since being handed back to the Africans it had become a crack den, not safe to walk through without armed guards. And that’s exactly how Tony and Jimmy’s first guardian property looked.

But that wasn’t the worst aspect. Already in residence were six horrendous women. They were a mix of English, American, and Dutch girls, ranging in age from their mid- to late-twenties. They didn’t like the idea of new tenants moving in to share their place, having nurtured the idea that it was their place. Rather than make the best of it with the new tenants, they wanted to drive Tony and Jimmy out. They started blanking them, locking doors on them, complaining all the time, and even hiding shower gel. It was Mean Girls in Zone Six.

Unfortunately for the girls, Jimmy and Tony are strong, resourceful characters, and they certainly weren’t about to be pushed around by a pack of soap-stealing hags. The script was soon flipped. The boys stood their ground with cocky smirks, knowing this would prompt the girls to double down on their annoying antics to no avail.

It couldn’t go on.

If you can’t bear to wait for the next instalment, buy the full book here for a reassuringly expensive £25. Otherwise, wait a few days for the next post.

A Deplorable Cad – Chapter 1B

February 27, 2017
krauserpua

Jimmy and Tony were clearly the leaders of RSG and not just because they were the founding members. Both had amassed immense experience picking up girls. Jimmy had rattled over a hundred girls since going to university. A phenomenal number for late-90s and early-00s England that simply didn’t have the “hook-up culture” of modern USA universities and metropolitan bar scenes. He also had high standards, which really depresses a man’s lay count.

Jimmy was a smart methodical man in all areas of social dynamics, and he’d work a bar with the same precision as Mystery advised. At university his creativity and strength of character had established him as leader of his small pack of bad lads, then he’d take them out drinking, causing a ruckus, then see which girls gave him the eye. In many respects, RSG was just a more grown-up version of his bad lads gang.

Tony was a sniper with women and deeply immersed in romantic fiction. He worked out, was an excellent salsa dancer, and dressed like a modern-day Valentino. He’d shaped himself into the smouldering masculine archetype women fantasise about while reading novels. He didn’t like cold approach but had learned how to ease into sets in bars or on the dance floor. Often, the women came to him. By the time I met him he’d rattled three hundred women and kept copious notes on each seduction.

The penny wouldn’t drop until much, much later, but the innovation of RSG’s coaching was our ability to blend the mechanical systematic style of Mystery Method (via Jimmy) with the masculine polarity and seductive vibe of romance fiction (via Tony). The West Coast PUA movement that had inspired us was almost entirely the former, and it felt unbalanced and hollow.

A douchebag, yesterday

A douchebag, yesterday

RSG would grow and evolve. Ace brought in his love for the douchebag game of Hank Moody in Californication. I took a one-one-one with him in Jewel bar in early 2010 and was amazed with his playful arrogance. Midway through the evening, I brought over a pair of Chinese English girls who told me they worked in city law firms. Ace sat in a chair, legs wide open, a whiskey glass dangling precariously from his hand as I approached him.

“Who are these bitches?” he asked.

Both girls cracked up laughing and couldn’t keep their hands off him the rest of the night. He never fucked them but it felt like watching a glitch in the matrix; he was so rude and they lapped it up. Later that night as we stood outside in the smoking area I said to him, “if there was anyone in RSG whose game I want to emulate, it’s yours.”

I’d learn incredible things from being surrounded 24/7 by talented seducers. “Project London” would be a pivotal period in my life and this is its story.

*************************

“We’ll each have an en-suite room,” Jimmy enthused over the phone, one month prior. “The location is amazing. It’s probably a third of the market rate, with all utilities included.” Standing in the tiny backyard of my grotty south London flat, I can’t say I wasn’t tempted.

“It’s £300 a month.”

“How?” I replied, “How is that possible?”

There had to be a catch. I lived in a ground floor one-bedroom flat in an old Victorian building, a thirty-minute walk from my office at St Paul’s on the river. I had a lounge, bedroom, small dining room, kitchen, and tiny enclosed yard. It was £900 a month rent, and another £200 to pay off the council tax and bills.
This sounds OK, right? A decent-sized flat in a central area.

No. I lived in Kennington, which is next to Elephant & Castle. The price is low (for London) because it’s a majority black and Muslim area and thus, absolutely disgusting. South London is like a suburb of Monrovia or Mogadishu. Every time I went outside I was reminded that my country was under foreign occupation, and I was being taxed to feed, cloth, house, and educate the invaders. It wasn’t good for my vibe.

“Well, it’s not exactly a typical renter’s agreement,” he responded. “We have to keep the gypsies and squatters out.”

I don’t like gypsies, their travelling parasitical lifestyle being very much at odds with the host culture in Britain. Vlad Dracul had the right idea when he invited them all to a feast then barred the door and torched the place with them still inside.

“You’ve got an hour to decide. The letting agency said they’ll hold it for us until 4pm, and after that they are calling their waiting list. Really, you don’t want to miss this.”

The chateau

The chateau

I looked around my pokey little flat with its chipped paint, rising damp, and bad memories. It was where my ex-wife and I had first moved in together after the wedding and where things had all fallen apart three years later. Every room held memories that scaled the full range of emotion. There was the kitchen that she’d once lovingly kitted out with red pots, pans, and other assorted utensils, and which she’d used to cook me a different meal every evening, always delicious. Now it was bare and unused as I tended to get takeaways on my way home from work. Then there was the dining room with the walnut-shaped table around which my old friends would gather every second Thursday for a poker night, until they all quietly disassociated themselves from me after my divorce. I barely saw my old friends now. Rock Solid Game was my new social circle.

I visualized my walking home every evening from the investment bank where I worked, just across the Thames; a brisk half hour’s walk ending at my 1930s-era apartment block, where I stepped in off the street and knocked on my door with an expectant smile. My wife would always be waiting for me, wearing her make-up and a beaming smile, and then stand on tiptoes to welcome me with a kiss before ushering me through to the dining room, where dinner was on the table. That felt great every single time.

But I also remembered making the same walk home in February 2009, after we’d separated, to find she’d come by in the afternoon to strip the apartment of every single one of her possessions, including all the cute accoutrements that had added life to it. She’d left £400 in an envelope with a note that it should cover the shared property she’d taken.

My flat now seemed like a dilapidated old prison. In spite of that, since becoming a player, I’d managed to fuck a bunch of new girls on the same bed (and couch, floor, and walnut-shaped table).

However, the apartment was part of my old life. I needed a clean break, so the decision wasn’t hard to make. I tipped all my bank statements into a bag, grabbed my chequebook and passport then took a tube to the agency’s offices in Islington. I was taking the room sight-unseen.

When I finally moved out a week later, as I closed the door for the final time, it felt like a grand symbolic gesture. I didn’t so much feel that I was finishing a chapter of my life, more that I was opening a brand new book.

If you liked this, then you’ll like my book. Seeing as this is in fact just a copy/paste of my book, so it’s literally the same thing.

A Deplorable Cad – Chapter 1a

February 22, 2017
krauserpua

Regular readers will have noticed how little I blog nowadays. You’ve all had a tip-off as to the reasons why with the release of my latest book A Deplorable Cad. It’s a mammoth 150k+ words, the second such behemoth I released in less than a year. Those two projects combined mopped up every last bit of energy I had for writing. The creativity required for writing is finite and must refresh, lest the writer just churn out insipid trash. I could feel this while doing the memoir so I didn’t risk blogging too much. There’ll be another announcement soon enough for the third reason I had nothing left over to put on the blog. Wait and see!

In the meantime, just as I did with Balls Deep, I’ll be serialising the first few chapters of the new book. That’ll whet the appetites of those of you thinking of buying, and placate the freeloaders too. I’d guess the early-buyers will be getting their paperback copies through the post any day now so we’ll soon see how the word of mouth is on the quality.

deplorable-cad-front-ad

Chapter One – Rock Solid Game
Jimmy Jambone thumped the long dining room table and said, with an air of finality, “We will call it Château RSG.” As if defying anyone else to disagree, he crossed his long, gangly legs at the ankles and leant so far back in his chair he was almost horizontal.

We liked the name. It was grandiose, mythological, and it spoke to an inherent style. Everything we did was designed to make ourselves larger than life, both to others and in our own minds. Thus we’d hit on a name for our rickety, old house in Hampstead, London, a cavernous former residential care home that had leaking pipes, a collapsing roof and which frequently flooded during heavy rain.

“RSG” came from abbreviating the name of the pick-up coaching company Jimmy had created: Rock Solid Game. Back in 2008 Richard LaRuina’s PUA Training company was the market leader in London and Jimmy had gone along as a student to check it out. He’d been thoroughly unimpressed and considered his own game tighter than every coach bar Rob Beckster. In his typically self-congratulatory style he’d decided, “I can do better than them.”

So Jimmy hunted around the local PUA forums and arranged meet-ups with fellow aspiring pick-up artists until he’d hand-picked the founding members of Sarge School; Tony T, Diamond, Ace, Tomas, and himself. The new group soon built an underground reputation for doing free boot-camps every other month, and by the time I encountered them in the summer of 2009 they were still only charging £99 for two days of coaching. Sarge School would expand to bring in Johnny Wisdom, Mick, Fernando, Lee, and eventually myself. By late 2010 we’d re-branded as Rock Solid Game and presented ourselves as a hybrid of a dating company and a group of rock stars.

Diamond had dropped out, and Ace left for university in his native Poland. The rest of us were now in a house meeting, sitting around a long table in the lounge listening to Jimmy. It was September 2010, and we’d all moved into the big London house a fortnight earlier.

House meetings were as common as a sighting of Lord Lucan, but there’d been a big house party the night before, and we’d all felt the reluctant call of duty to clean up. As the clock ticked on to twelve and normal productive members of society took lunch breaks from their office jobs, the reprobates of RSG emerged one by one from the deep, dark recesses of the house. I suspect several of us lay awake in bed all morning rather than go downstairs and confront the task of cleaning up the mess. It was an entirely different way of life to my previous corporate existence.

Lee was sifting through some lecture notes for an accounting degree he’d started, while Mick picked at his toenails. Tony was at the head of the table, taking slow deep breaths and responding to everything in slow motion as he was wont to do. I was in the kitchen fiddling with the coffee machine and swearing loudly after stepping barefoot onto some mouldy lettuce that had been knocked off the bench where Lee had left it three days earlier.

We all sat around the table and agreed to Jimmy’s suggestion: We’d call our home Château RSG.

**************

The grand-daddy of the PUA industry is Erik Von Markovich, better known as Mystery. Although not the first man to systematise and teach seduction (Ross Jeffries and R. Don Steele were first to market), it was Mystery who shaped the industry into the form we all recognise today. His first book Mystery Method is a coherent, balanced, and beautifully presented total package that draws heavily upon cold-calling sales theory and, oddly, dog training manuals. It displays a degree of rigour and comprehensiveness that earlier writers couldn’t match. He was also the first to move pick-up coaching out of the seminar room and into the live environment of cafes, bars and nightclubs. Mystery invented the “boot camp” weekend in which students are taught early-evening in a seminar room and then taken in-field to watch coaches approach women in bars, then experiment themselves.

Mystery, yesterday

Mystery, yesterday

However, the main reason Mystery established himself as the premier pick-up artist of the 2000-2008 era was due to him befriending Neil Strauss, a Rolling Stone writer who would write the seminal The Game memoir where he featured Mystery as his mentor and main supporting character. That book was a New York Times bestseller, thrusting Mystery’s persona into the mainstream.

If there’s one thing Erik Von Markovich is absolutely excellent at, it’s gaming other men to fuel his own rise. He even managed to get a VH1 reality TV show called The Pickup Artist that ran two seasons.

Neil Strauss’s book retold the story of his entering the then underground world of pick-up artists in Los Angeles. Mystery spotted Neil’s utility as a talented writer with good connections and quickly brought him into his world. They’d then feed off each other. Neil would learn Mystery’s game while Mystery leveraged Neil’s LA connections to get into better parties and find richer students. It’s a great book, and I thoroughly recommend it. Prior to the advent of YouTube as a platform for small PUA businesses to market to prospective clients, The Game was every PUA’s gateway drug into the community.

The centrepiece of The Game is when Neil and Erik decide to rent a huge mansion in Beverly Hills where a dozen PUAs would live together and hit on girls en masse. They dubbed it “Project Hollywood” and the legend was born. It’s a habit in the seduction community to invent grandiloquent narratives for occasions when normal people would use everyday words. Project Hollywood was really just a flophouse for male virgins, but Neil’s writing had immortalised it. I mean, who wouldn’t want to live in a Beverly Hills mansion with a load of other guys, all of whom were going out to hit on women? Compare that to sitting alone on your sofa in a shit-box studio apartment watching The Sopranos on DVD.

I’d watched the show and read the book back in early 2009 when I was a nervous office drone first toying with the idea of becoming a pick-up artist. For me Project Hollywood was living the dream; a gang of expert seducers and hot bitches every night. Later, RSG felt like a rat pack when we all met up on the weekend to teach boot-camps. We’d lounge in a big private room in the East Rooms or Milk & Honey drinking beer, joking around, waiting for the students to show. It was the camaraderie I’d missed since starting my finance career in London and brought into sharp relief just how uncool my pre-game friends were (and of course, myself too).

The idea of doing a similar project sounded cool; get a big house in London, give it a great name, and move in a bunch of guys. Not only would it be fantastic motivation to build and refine our own Game, it would also bring the rat pack together on a daily basis. We figured we could do Project London better than the original Hollywood version.

The dream came true in September 2010.

The story continues soon in the next serialisation post. If you can’t possibly wait because this writing is simply too compelling, rush over to the sales page and get yourself a pristine premium paperback copy of A Deplorable Cad right now.

The Dunning Kruger Effect in PUA

February 20, 2017
krauserpua

Game involves a strong element of applied psychology, and thus it behoves the aspiring player to make a review of ‘normie’ academic psychology to plunder key concepts and get abreast of the discipline. It’s not difficult to grasp because the social sciences are – to put it mildly – not where civilisation’s finest minds go to work. [1] If you’re entirely new, I’d suggest a UK A-level textbook such as Richard Gross’s Psychology. It’s written for average IQ teenagers so my esteemed readers should have no problem whizzing through it. [2]

There are some great concepts in there, even at the A-level entry point, and one I like [3] is the Dunning Kruger effect: “a cognitive bias in which low-ability individuals suffer from illusory superiority, mistakenly assessing their ability as much higher than it really is.”

Your first reaction is likely to be a scoff, at all those stupid other people who keep falling into this trap. A few seconds later you may feel a slight wobble, a tremor from deep down, that perhaps you too could fall into this trap and not realise it. Likely, you squashed that thought and turned your mind to the more spectacular examples of Dunning Kruger on PUA YouTube [4]. Generally, the literature considers the DK effect to be a problem, because it leads to an inaccurate model of the world and encourages overconfidence.

Overconfidence? you say.

"Yeah mate, I'm gonna be banging girls like this"

“Yeah mate, I’m gonna be banging girls like this”

Yes.

And that’s why PUAs have a unique relationship to the DK effect. If you’re trying to build a bridge over the Rio Grande, you’d better have an accurate estimation of your engineering skills. If you’re trying to smoke out globalist traitors from the highest levels of the NSA, CIA and FBI [5], you’d better have an accurate assessment of the world.

But if you’re trying to pick up women? Well, as Heartiste has so often advised us, overconfidence is king. I don’t refer to him as often as I should so let’s lavish a full quote box on his advice, from the Sixteen Commandments Of Poon:

XI. Be irrationally self-confident
No matter what your station in life, stride through the world without apology or excuse. It does not matter if objectively you are not the best man a woman can get; what matters is that you think and act like you are. Women have a dog’s instinct for uncovering weakness in men; don’t make it easy for them. Self-confidence, warranted or not, triggers submissive emotional responses in women. Irrational self-confidence will get you more pussy than rational defeatism.

Delusions of grandeur are absolutely essential for the aspiring PUA. Speaking from my own experience, if I’d known how low my SMV really was, how bad my Game was, and how difficult the road ahead was…. I’d have given up at the beginning. The quest to bang youngerhottertighter is a foolhardy one in which we are trying to beat Nature at her own game. Most aspiring players are fucking insane for even thinking they can do it.

And yet they try, and more of them succeed in rapid escalating and first-date sodomising Mother Nature than we’d ever expect. How? How is this possible? Let’s first consider the problem. The best way to have casual sex with many pretty women is to be (i) high SMV (ii) surpremely confident (iii) sure of your eventual success. Most aspiring PUAs face the following problems:

  1. Low SMV
  2. Low confidence
  3. Persistent uncertainty

Fortunately the PUA industry has engineered a meta-game to keep its apprentices on the right path to learning the skills. It does this by engaging in the following tricks.

HEROinfo4

1. The Monomyth
Joseph Campbell wrote a masterwork distilling the key dramatic elements of literature into a single all-purpose monomyth. His book is The Hero With A Thousand Faces and I’ve written about it before. The key takeway is that when the aspiring player conceives of himself as the hero and the Player’s Journey [6] as a proxy to the Hero’s Journey he is leveraging a deep DNA-level semantic structure within his brain. He is no longer a bumbling fool engaged in a hopeless waste of time that’ll probably end in tears. Rather, he has heeded the call to adventure.

Consider the structure of typical novels and movies. As the Aaron Sorkin Masterclass makes beautifully clear, drama requires Intention and Obstacle. This is what distinguishes it from mere journalism. There is something the hero wants (in our case to bang hot birds) and there is something/s preventing him getting it (being shit with women, being sexually deselected, Nature itself…. this list is very long). The plot structure guides the hero in his quest to overcome the obstacles until finally he achieves his goal. Art house movies aside, he always achieves his goal. When inserting oneself into the monomyth, one gains a deep feeling of inevitability about success. Believe me, you’ll need that.  (Here’s an example of the daygame monomyth in action, leading to results after a tough start)

2. The Path
I remember Tyler once saying, off-hand, in his Blueprint Decoded video seminar words to the effect of “the path is there, all you have to do is walk it”. That’s a little like saying “the mountain is there, all you have to do is climb it” but the point is in the subtext. It’s not random, it’s not a jungle wilderness. There is a path. That implies:

  • People have walked it before you
  • It is well-trodden and thus easier to walk than jungle thickets
  • It leads somewhere worth going
  • It has an end

The most powerful inner game is that which rests outside our conscious mind, our assumptions and world view that inform the decisions made consciously. By conceiving of the Player’s Journey as following a path we acquire direction, purpose, and the confidence that we’re not wasting our time on a wild goose chase. That’s powerful considering our path is just an abstraction and that running around chatting up women is fundamentally a rather random act.

3. The Secret Method
Game was originally marketed just like those scam products on how to beat the lottery or the secrets to self defence. If you’re an average man, you don’t expect to achieve above-average results on a level playing field – be it sports, business or girls. The outsize results come when you deploy a tactical advantage unavailable to your competitors such as the Mohammedan hordes using heavy cavalry to colonise Europe, or Charles Martel developing heavy infantry to finally push them back. PUA promises you access to a secret system that provides a tactical advantage over not just the girls you’re seducing, but the rival males (‘chodes’) also competing for them.

When you believe you’re bringing a gun to a knife fight, you develop confidence and a sense of inevitable victory.

So how does this tie in with the Dunning Kruger effect?

Your early dabblings in pick-up will be met with crushing failure and yet…… it won’t feel that way. An objective assessment of my first thousand sets would be: “Banged two mediocre birds. Waste of time”. Yet for all my failure, pain, and despair in that first year I never truly wavered from The Path. The PUA industry had supplied me with all kinds of rationalisations to cushion the pain of reality and to nurture the flame of hope.

“Every rejection is another brick in my palace of Awesomeness”

I truly believed I was better than I really was [7] and that my results were better than they were. I always believed the tsunami of hot pussy was just around the next corner. My Dunning Kruger effect – let’s call it the Stunning Krauser effect – led me like a carrot in front of a donkey. It was my visualisation of the new identity I was growing into. Each time my real abilities advanced (as they necessarily will when you put in the work) my delusional self-image would advance with it.

Your reality may never catch up with your delusion, but so long as both move forward in lock-step, you will get better with women.

"I fucked a six! I'm halfway up!"

“I fucked a six! I’m halfway up!”

It is only when you take a pause on your journey up Relativity Mountain and gaze back at what you were that you truly appreciate how far you’ve come. Looking backwards you can drop the ego and face reality. You can say “actually, that bird was a bit minging” or “that text game was awful” and it doesn’t sting, nor does it knock you off your perilously narrow path forwards.

For the aspiring PUA, the Dunning Kruger effect is a cognitive bias that keeps you afloat while you’re learning to swim. Don’t try to overcome it.

[1] Sociology in particular is a swamp of Marxist filth that makes no effort at doing real science but takes great pains to pretend it does.
[2] A general rule when dealing with social sciences is to avoid anything written in the last twenty years, as unlike the hard sciences, the social sciences usually move backwards over time because they are so pozzed. The best work in the entire field was conducted in the fifty years leading up to 1960. I read the 1991 edition so I’ve no idea if later editions have become pozzed.
[3] By “like” I mean “recently accused of personifying, by Jimmy”
[4] I feel like Deepak Wayne deserves a nod here.
[5] Obligatory pro-Trump reference.
[6] It’s no coincidence that I coined this phrase to describe our efforts to get better with women.
[7] Still do. No reason to dismantle a successful delusion mechanism.

If you like the idea of inserting yourself into a monomyth in order to chart your progress upon the Player’s Journey, you might well like my book. It’s the most detailed map of The Path ever written.

A Deplorable Cad

February 12, 2017
krauserpua

deplorable-cad-banner-spine

 

THE BACKDROP

Three years ago I embarked upon a wildly ambitious project. As an aspiring player I’d read Neil Strauss’s famous memoir The Game in which he describes his entry into the underground world of pick up artists. Reading those pages I felt like I was along for the ride, living the successes and failures with Neil. It’s a good book.

Unfortunately, it’s also a bit light. In order to squeeze everything into a single volume to sit on a bookstore shelf, Neil packed a long timescale into few pages. By necessity, he skips over so many things that I had wanted to read about in detail. It felt like eating a chocolate bar when my stomach rumbled for a three course meal.  FRUSTRATING!

What I would have liked was more  detail.

– How exactly did he meet these girls and how did the dates go?

– What was it like to deal with anxiety and self-doubt on a daily basis?

– How did he deal with women he actually succeeded with?

It’s one thing to simply tell a good story. I also wanted to learn. I looked around and tried many books but none were able to walk me through the Player’s Journey in real live detail, red in tooth and claw.

Fortunately for you scamps – Enter the Nick Krauser Memoirs!

 

THE BOOK

By mid-2014 I’d achieved all my goals in Game. I’d been hitting on girls for six years straight, learning, improving and ultimately writing best-in-class material on how to daygame. Now I wanted to tell my story. I didn’t want to perform a victory lap, telling everyone how awesome I am (though I’ll admit that’s highly tempting….)

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..I wanted to write a memoir that would help my fellow players improve.

..I wanted to write a book rich with detail, depth and above all wisdom.

..I wanted to chart the Player’s Journey so every man following in my steps knew exactly where to go and exactly what to expect.

 

This was a wildly ambitious project, to write however much needed to be written to convey my knowledge. To write until it was done – however many pages it took to get there. The Nick Krauser memoir is neither a cash-in nor a victory lap. My vision was to plant my flag, to blaze a trail and leave a map for other men to follow.

Because it’s not all fun and games. It’s a tough path to follow.

 

WHY YOU NEED TO READ THIS BOOK

From my many years coaching students I’ve been shocked at how many men fall by the wayside. It’s no exaggeration to say over 90% of men give up, having cracked under the pressure and fallen short of their goals. NINETY PERCENT!

Those of you who’ve daygamed understand why. You know how it is to trudge through the rainy streets, your mind racing with anxiety and self-doubt, wondering if you’ll ever really make it. You know how it feels to have four dates lined up and then three cancel at short notice. You know how hard the downside hits you. It can sap you of the will to continue.

Believe me, I know how this feels. I lived it.

I know how important it was to have my friends around me, riding the same waves up and down. I could look at their experiences to be inspired by their successes and commiserated by their failures. It was so very important to have someone next to me, taking the same blows, and we pulled each other forwards.

 

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AN ENTERTAINING INNER GAME BIBLE

A Deplorable Cad isn’t just a story. It isn’t just an entertaining recounting of my sexual escapades. This book is LOADED with heartfelt emotion and deep introspection. At every stage of my journey, at every key event, I explore how it made me FEEL and how I summoned the willpower to proceed.

Yes, I just said this book is full of FEELZ.

“How gay”, you laugh.

That’s the problem we face as men. You can’t talk about it with your mates.  It feels weird, right? And Youtube and websites are full of coaches puffing themselves up like supermen who never suffer self-doubt or fear of failure.

Let’s put that shit to rest right now.

I’m a  successful player yet self-doubt and fear of failure kept me company throughout the entirety of my journey. Denying it to your audience doesn’t make it go away. If anything, it hurts your audience, makes them wonder if they are the only people who doubt themselves.

A Deplorable Cad is an inner game book.  The next time you struggle – the next time a girl cancels a hot date with no explanation.  The next time you see your dream girl glide by, but you just CANNOT approach her no matter what – you will recall that I’ve been through this EXACT experience, and overcome it.  You’ll feel the comfort of knowing you’re not the only one.  The self doubt will dissipate and you will find the will to push forward.

And you won’t need to have embarrassing confessional sessions with your mates to do it!

I lived this life. My friends lived this life. And now I can take you along for the ride.

thanks for listening,

 

Nick Krauser

Buy my new book A Deplorable Cad in paperback here. Enter codes FWD15 and SHIPFEB17 at checkout for 15% discount and free shipping.

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A Deplorable Cad – Quick View

January 20, 2017
krauserpua

I know, I know!

“Just release the bloody book, will you” my readership cries. Well, here’s an update.

Volume Two of my epic vanity project daygame memoir is ready and has been for some time. I finished the final rewrite while sitting in a Bali coffee shop in the first week of December then sent it off to my layout designer. It takes a surprising amount of work to move from manuscript to final book. There’s layout, custom artwork, cover design and…..

“Just shut up and take my money!” you shout.

Okay. Sorry! I’m stuck out in Bangkok until the end of the month so I arranged to have a test copy sent to a hanger-on friend in Europe who promised to look through it for printing errors. If he gives the thumbs up (that should come within a week) the book will be released. However, if Lulu fucked up the printing, it’ll be delayed another two weeks to fix any issues and order another test copy. I’ve lavished extreme care on this project so I’m not shoving it out the door half-arsed.

In the meantime, here’s the very first section from the book to whet your appetite.

Oooooh yeeeeessssss!

Oooooh yeeeeessssss!

Introduction
In the spring of 2011 I was thirty-six years old and life was good. I was living in a huge house in the nicest part of North London with ten of my best friends. Every day I’d sleep in till late, wander down into the communal areas and ‘shoot the shit’ (as Americans would say) without any job, commitment, or entanglement interfering with my day. When the weather was nice we’d lie on hammocks in the tree-lined back garden, soaking up the sun, and reading pulp fiction. Sometimes we’d take the Number 13 bus into Central London and hit on girls.

We were “daygamers.” Pick-up artists. Each of us had developed an obsession with chasing skirt, treating it as a skill to be learned, honed, and eventually mastered. We’d moved into our Hampstead mansion to create the best possible environment to focus on this goal. There were the old hands who’d been rattling new girls for years – Tony and Jimmy – and also the new kids who were still flush with excitement at the endless potential our quest seemed to offer. Together we called ourselves Rock Solid Game and made money on the side teaching other men what we’d learned so far.

Two years earlier I’d been a completely different man; socially awkward, bitter, and lonely. My wife had left me after a nine-year relationship, and I’d turned to the underground art of “game” to try to find a new girlfriend. Volume One of this memoir, Balls Deep, charts my path in those first two years. It’s mostly a story of misery and desperate hope. Judging from book reviews, readers liked the sheer bleakness of it all.

By 2011, after multiple mental breakdowns and an ungodly amount of time on the streets approaching pretty women, I’d had a year of consistent success. I was a long way from banging supermodels, but I’d been laid with a pretty new girl every month for almost a year and had just slotted a bona fide Russian catwalk model who was now angling to become my girlfriend. My life was changing. I felt like I was on the cusp of a new chapter – I no longer merely fantasised about becoming a “player.” The fantasy had taken shape and was now a realistic goal.

This volume is the story of the next two years. It’s the story of ten men with nothing better to do than chase skirt, each with his own personality quirks and with different demons chasing him away from the normal life of office, wife, and mortgage. You’ll see the beginnings of “daygame” as a way of life soon to be practiced by hundreds of other men not dissimilar from yourself. You’ll read of close friendships and unexpected betrayals as each man tried to balance his moral code against his own personal quest, all the time struggling under the immense emotional pressure exerted by the “players journey.”

We moved into “Château RSG” because we’d become tired of reading adventure stories. We wanted our own adventures. We wanted to travel the world, drink the bars dry, and bang the hottest girls we could get in front of.

This is how I became an International Man Of Mystery. This is how I came to Live The Dream. It’s rather more squalid than you may expect. I hope you like it because there’s plenty more where this came from!

Nick Krauser
Moscow, September 2016

Another Potemkin Club

January 19, 2017
krauserpua

[I’ve already told this story but I decided to rewrite it in the context of a similar fake club experience in Thailand]

It’s late spring 2016 and I’m a little bored after a week in Warsaw. My good friend El Commandante messages me on WhatsApp, “let’s do a trip Big Bro”. I’m not really in the mood for more travel but he talks enthusiastically about Odessa, Ukraine.

“I’ve heard it’s good, bro. There’s a big nightclub complex on the beach called Arcadia”

I’d quite liked Kiev so I wondered if the coastal old resort town of Odessa might be a hidden gem. I only knew one daygamer who’d ever been and he’d given an inconclusive report. There were short direct flights out of Warsaw airport so I allowed my arm to be twisted. It would be the first new city I’d explore that year.
Coming out of the ramshackle airport I find the shuttle bus station and it’s literally – I shit you not – a corrugated iron shed. There’s one bus every half hour and it’s a battered old mini-bus. That bus ride through the outskirts of Odessa made me appreciate just how poor and backward much of Ukraine is. No wonder the Russians look down on them.

Only Moldova is worse

Only Moldova is worse

That’s not to say they are bad people. I’ve met a lot of Ukrainians I like. But fucking hell, it was barely a step up from Africa. As soon as I dumped my bag at a swanky Old Town hotel it started to rain. That rain only stopped for brief intervals over the next five days. Fuck.

It was Friday so El Commandante and I took a walk around the main tourist street. It was deadsville. All the foot traffic was families on holiday or unattractive locals. I saw literally one set in two hours. Kiev this wasn’t.

“Let’s get a taxi to the club, bro” said my friend.

It was quite a hike to Arcadia but as we rolled in around midnight it was pretty clear that every attractive girl in town was there. Strolling down the central plaza we passed small mixed groups sitting on benches eating ice cream and gaggles of high-heeled girls stumbling towards the nightclubs at the far end. We tried some club whose name I forget. It was pleasant. The rain had stopped so dozens of people lounged around tables in the open air and what looked like a hen party danced to cheesy music. There were a few hot girls but it was somewhat underwhelming given Odessa’s reputation.

“Let’s try next door” I offered. We walked into Ibiza club.

Nighttime is same girls in better clothes

Nighttime is same girls in better clothes

“Fucking hell!” we both shouted. “This is pussy paradise!”

I have never – before or since – seen so many beautiful women in one place. The club had space for several hundred patrons and it was full. I quickly did a count of all the eights and stopped after five minutes when I reached 25. There were actually enough nines to make it worth counting. It’s no joke to say it was like the Victoria Secrets catwalk was a nightclub. Absolute stunners in abundance, all dolled up to the max.

“I don’t think I’ll ever leave this place” I said. And yet I’ve never been back. Why?

El Commandante and I started opening. The girls were friendly but we just couldn’t get any compliance. Laughs and chat were easy but trying to bounce them anywhere was impossible. They just stood in the same spot forever. After eight or nine sets I ran out of steam, sensing the futility. We posted up at a bar towards the beach which offered good sight lines of the outdoor dance floor and it’s surrounding areas. We watched.

“At least a third of these girls came in with their boyfriends” I noticed. The couples and groups were having great fun but completely insular, just sequestering themselves away from the crowd on pool chairs. All the other girls were in groups of three or more.

“Have you seen a single girl move from her spot?” I asked my Turkish friend. “It’s like they are mannequins in a shop window.”

Shortly after 1am the PUAs came in. There were five of them and each seemed aware of the other’s presence without actually being friends. We then watched as each of the five opened literally every girl in the nightclub who wasn’t with a boyfriend. Literally every girl had her turn with each PUA. There were also a few non-community guys trying to get laid. One Turk caught my eye because he looked like Dwayne Johnson. Big, jacked, handsome, and very well dressed he’d dance near girls and start trying to get their attention. After a few minutes he’d say a few words.

There was a quartet of foreign guys wearing t-shirts of the same surf shop who I assume live there as instructors. One was pretty cool, looking like James Franco in Pineapple Express and with a good outgoing vibe. He clearly led his gang, who deferred to him. I first picked them out when I saw them on the edge of the dance floor talking to two low-eights. My head also turned when a huge American guy ordered a drink next to me. Imagine Zach Galfianakas from The Hangover but jacked like He-Man and very good looking – pretty close to a male ten and with physical presence.

Add many points

Add many points

For the next five hours, until sun-up and closing time, I watched these men try to get laid. This is what I saw.

  • None of the five PUAs got anything. Nothing at all. They never once kissed a girl or even moved her from one part of the club to another. Zero compliance.
  • The Rock didn’t get a thing. He ended the night propped against the bar with a whiskey in his hand and a defeated look in his eyes, as if he couldn’t believe a man of his value could work so hard and get so little. The next night when I returned to Ibiza he’d bought a VIP table and bottle service, looking glassy eyed as an obvious hooker kept him company.
  • The surfers spent literally all night working the same two set and then around 4am the girls waved goodbye and went home alone. The surfers spent the next hour muttering darkly amongst themselves.
  • A drunk unattractive blonde – quite possibly the ugliest girl in the nightclub – threw herself at Zach so he made out with her and then took her home. She was four points below him.
  • El Commandante and myself got nothing either.
Insufficient value to get it for free

Insufficient value to get it for free

A couple of months later I received a message from my enthusiastic Danish friend who looks like Jason Statham. “I’m in Odessa. Arcadia is pussy paradise!” he enthused.

“Watch carefully and tell me if anyone pulls in that club” I replied.

Four hours later he messaged. “Nothing. Nobody is getting laid here.”

On my last day in rain-soaked Odessa the sun had poked through the clouds and I had a mid-afternoon date with a Ukrainian girl I’d met in Warsaw the week before who’d coincidentally been planning an Odessa trip to see family. We spent a few hours drinking coffee and walking around but it wasn’t going anywhere. I inquired into the dating culture there.

“I don’t like it” she said. “Warsaw is more real. In Odessa there are lots of girls who’s job is to be a girlfriend. They don’t work. They spend all day in the gym or the salon or clothes shopping. Then they go to the club and advertise. They all compete to date the man with the most expensive car.”

Female rivalry aside, this smacked of truth. Ibiza nightclub isn’t real. Girls don’t go there to dance, have fun, and maybe hook up. It’s a shop window for tarts to find sugar daddies. Such a shame because the quality is phenomenal.