I’ve just had the most physically painful week of my life. What should’ve been a week of finally knuckling down and churning out some leads on the FSU streets (after doing nothing for 2 weeks due to work) was completely sidetracked by a serious bout of toothache. I had the most ridiculous bad luck – first on Tuesday my emergency dental appointment identified an impacted wisdom tooth that needed extraction. They said they’d just clean it up, put in a microbiotic strip in the gap for 24 hours and the pain ought to go away until a week’s time when they had a slot for the operation.

24 hours of extreme pain later they pulled out the strip and it was still horrible. So painful that even taking the maximum Ibruprofen non-stop only dulled the edge but left plenty of discomfort and periodic sharp pain between doses. In this country you can’t get a prescription for stronger painkillers. So they said the pain would lessen but if there’s still trouble to come in on Friday. So I came in on Friday and this time the English-speaking specialist was gone and a middle-aged woman speaking zero English cleaned it up. The most dramatic moment being when she came at me with a scalpel (and she’d been unable to explain the planned procedure). My mouth was pissing blood but getting her to write a note that I could show to one of my girls, it turned out she’d done another clean but made a small incision to get at a deeper infection.

This morning, Saturday, the dental hospital was closed and I’d slept only 2 hours despite being on the full Ibruprofen dosage. So I called my landlord and he arranged a noon emergency appointment at a guy’s private practice who opened up shop just for me. After half an hour waiting with the nurse, the dentist called to say he’d had a minor car accident and would be at least another hour. So I went home, sorted myself out, and ordered steak at my favourite local cafe. Might as well have some food for the day.

He summoned me before the steak arrived so I had to pay for it and leave before it arrived. As I walked into his private office I saw he was the same dentist as I’d seen in the hospital. To get it done at his private place was double the price (but, admittedly, still a fraction of the UK price) so he went ahead and began. I figured it wouldn’t be so bad because I’ve had two wisdom teeth out five years ago and they each took about five seconds – just grab them with pliers and yank hard.

Oh no! I was in the chair a full forty-five minutes while he drilled, cut, hammered, yanked and split the tooth up. In total it was cut into six different pieces to get it out. He said it was one of his more complex extractions lately. The whole time I was petrified, getting a good test in emotional control. As I write the anaesthetic has worn off and I’m back on the Ibuprofen. My mouth is swelling up, but that’s normal. I’m just a little worried that the molar next to the extracted tooth is actually the source of the real problem because it seems decayed.

So…. fuck my luck. It’s been a thoroughly miserable week. I had a regular around last night and was in such a bad way I couldn’t even fuck her.

I think this week is one of those unwelcome but highly fruitful “re-base” periods that remind me that the normal routine of my life is exceptionally good and I really ought to count my blessings for my health, sound finances, good friends, and abundance with women. You can take that for granted – I certainly did the past few months. It’s amazing how some persistent pain drops you right down to the bottom of the hierarchy of needs. I really ought to be more grateful for the good things in life that come my way.

On another note, regular readers will have noticed they are becoming regular viewers. This is just a temporary thing. I’ve been writing so much for my Sigma Wolf books that I’m all tapped out for writing. There’s a new project very close to completion that’s taking all my writing energies. I think readers will be very pleased I chose to do this project rather than just continue the usual blogging service. We shall see. Until then, I hope you enjoy the change of pace the videos represent.

Obviously, you can’t. In this video I explain why.

Here’s a short video explaining why you have to be aware of what you’re really seeing when perusing YouTube channels for daygame pickups, and how to think about long convoluted lay report “super stories”.

Regular readers are well aware of this simple principle: Frame women in mildly unfavourable terms that exaggerate commonly-held stereotypes. That means accuse them of vanity, ditziness, obsessions with shoes or boys, and scratching the eyes out of rivals. Throw out the accusation and wait for her to experience the thrill of mild indignation. The same readers are also well aware of this simple texting technique: Send women amusing photos as a re-open, then roll off and wait for her to chat about it.

So, could we….. perhaps….. mix the principle and the technique? What would that look like? Well, aren’t we lucky that for several seasons American television ran a popular comedy show precisely about a silly-but-adorable young woman who needed to be rescued from her own vanity and ditziness. Thank you I Love Lucy. So, here are a few photo pings to throw into your next fortnight of Facebook chats as you frame the lovely girl of your dreams, setting up a running joke that ends with her in your bed.

There are a bunch of these subtitled gifs on Google Images. I won’t upload them all, due to them slowing down my site.

It’s time to begin teasing the new book from Sigma Wolf, purveyors of fine Game literature. Here is a video explaining how each of you has a “ping range”, a bandwidth within which flipped stones turn up Yes Girls. This is the range within which you can force IOIs and get fast strong attraction. Each man’s is different. The London Daygame Model is designed for normal men with normal ping ranges but has the flexibility to accommodate all ranges.

I’ve noticed I talk much faster when loaded up on coffee. Interesting.

Since I made the conscious move towards presenting myself purely as the r-selected male, I realised that many ideas that used to trouble me just slipped away into the category of “meh!” So much seduction community advice is unwittingly targeted towards k-selected chumps and thus will create cognitive dissonance (and mixed signals) for the man walking our path. As a self-diagnostic tool here are some giveaways that show you haven’t yet made the leap. If these describe you, you’ve got inner game work to do.

1. Men give love for sex. Women give sex for love. This is a standard sexual relationships trope that is completely wrong. Women have two types of sex – transactional and validational. They are either fucking you to get something (k-selection) or because they actually enjoy it (r-selection). So this trope is basically a condensed aphorism of the k-selected male’s mindset. He thinks he has to trade something other than his own sexual value in order to fuck the woman. Once you believe deep down women are fucking you for the sheer pleasure of it, you’re “getting it”. And if you’re not sure, watch what happens when you try to come on her face. If she dodges it, she has you in the “doesn’t get it” box.
2. You get angry that women cheat. This just means you are the guy they cheat on rather than the guy they cheat with. The k-selected guy is pumping his time, effort, provisioning and protection into the relationship in order to build a comfortable nest for his mate. Therefore any time she flies the nest, such as a foreign holiday with her girlfriends, he is instinctively frightened. Whether his ego will recognise it or not, his gut feel knows she’s likely to cheat. The r-selected male absolutely loves the fact women cheat because that’s the narrow window of opportunity that gives him so much sexual gratification. He’s happy to send her back afterwards to another guy’s nest. If hearing “I have a boyfriend” cause your hear to sink, you’re k-selected. If you think “great, she’ll fuck much faster”, you’re r-selected.
3. You divide women into Good Girls and Bad Girls. When I see a girl slink past showing a navel piercing, dyed black hair and a bitchy expression I don’t think “slut”. I don’t rule her out or demote her because I’m not interested in a relationship anyway. I look at the sexual vibe oozing out of her and think “she’s up for it”. Likewise when I see a slightly stiff modestly-dressed girl glide past carrying a library book I don’t assume she needs several dates of wining and dining. She’s just as horny and just as up for it fast, if I do things right. So if you find yourself ruling out “sluts” (mainly because their awareness of their own sexual power scares you) and thinking Good Girls are going to be harder to fuck, you’re still k-selected.
4. You believe in God. I see this all the time in the manosphere, especially in the US. Men will recognise the intellectual fact that women have a dual mating strategy and then write reams of self-righteous vitriol about how these women are in rebellion against God and thus tearing down civilisation. Now, I’m not saying this is incorrect. The problem is faith is a monumental cockblock in seduction for the same reason it is a barrier to technological and societal advancement – you are hamstringing yourself to an ancient code of conduct that may (or may not) be relevant in the here and now. Just as Muslims will never create advanced productive societies for as long as they base their social organisation on a 7^th century system (e.g. forbidding charging of interest and thus mispricing the time value of money), religious Christians will never truly let themselves jump into the Secret Society whether it be due to a genuine moral opposition, or just a trumped-up rationalisation to weasel out of actually doing the hard work to get good at women. So, if you’re joining that tedious status-jockeying comment competition on Christian blogs over who is the most alpha head of household for his fat housefrau and insufferable children, you’re k-selected.
5. You argue with feminists. The key goal of feminism is to remove all limits to women optimising their hypergamy. The march of time has gradually constrained k-selected male’s sexual options while freeing the women to alpha-chase (r-selection). Being angry about this is a giveaway that you identify with Team K-Selection. Just like the previous point I’m not saying the “angry at feminists” thesis is factually incorrect – it’s the fact you’re angry about it (rather than emotionally detached) that gives you away. It means you’re hankering for the white picket fence / pillar of the community 1950s American Dream where you work hard then come home to a hot dinner cooked by your loving wife. Feminists are fucking with that, so you fear an r-selected world both from personal preference (civilisation is, after all, rather pleasant) and an instinctive recognition that you can’t get laid without the beta support structure.

Does this sadden you?

To boil this all down to a simple heuristic, just look deep into yourself. Identify the emotion you feel when considering successful players, loudmouth feminists, and general civilisational decline:

Anger and a personalised sense of loss = you’re k-selected

Indifference and a personalised sense of opportunism = you’re r-selected