…continued from Part 1.
Well, to say I got shot down a lot is like saying that the holocaust was a mild inconvenience for Jews. I couldn’t even get my opener out of my mouth half the time as the girls simply wouldn’t stop walking even to listen.
I’m no slouch, I have a strong physical presence, and a manner which indicates that I am used to being respected and listened to, but it didn’t mean shit with these girls. They were hypergamous bloodhounds, trained in the fires of solipsistic hell to sniff out the merest iota of incongruence between a man’s behaviour and his actual worth, to detect the faintest whiff of anything less than ultimate value at 20 paces.
Now don’t get me wrong, most of the other guys in there, even the rich ones, had no game whatsoever. The girls would take their free champagne and simply walk away, whilst the dudes bought another bottle at £5,000 and pissed that one up the wall as well.
There were a small handful of guys however that did have game in addition to their millions of pounds – either natural or learned, it didn’t matter – and in tandem with the unshakeable confidence that comes from being disgustingly rich, were literally like a force of nature. Never before in my life have I seen people walk up to a 9.5, pull her inside of a minute, and then toss her aside like a discarded plaything, only to be pulling another one 5 minutes later (no-one gets a 10 on my scale by the way – if you give a girl a 10, you are saying there is no-one hotter than her, and there is always someone hotter). These girls, normally accustomed to being the highest social value individuals in any room, were like putty in the hands of these men, whose social status through their wealth and ability with game far outranked even theirs. It was like a hypergamy orgy.
The night wasn’t a total failure – I did end up making out with a very pretty Aussie backpacker who was quite drunk, and fell into me outside in the smoking area and exclaimed “You smell lovely” (don’t you just love the easy ones). My wing, also having been burned pretty severely during his approach attempts, wasn’t in the best of moods, and decided to lay into her friend for being a hairdresser to relieve his bad mood. Normally, this wouldn’t have mattered, but I found the girl I made out with collapsed in a doorway at the end of the night. I went over to make sure she wasn’t choking on her own sick (Aussies are classy girls after all), and told my wing to go and get her friend from back inside the club to look after her.
Predictably, she wasn’t exactly receptive of his approach after the tongue-lashing he had dealt out earlier on, and refused to even to listen to what he was trying to tell her. Apparently, he eventually had to pull her out by the arm to explain the situation. The first I knew of it was when they toppled out of the doorway to the club with the girl shrieking “This man is trying to rape me!” at the top of her voice. He had to talk pretty fast with the bouncers to get out of that one.
Despite completely failing to pull any of these statuesque beauties, that night gave birth to something inside me. I’ve always been a competitive individual, but I require people to actually compete with to bring out the best in me – it’s one of the reasons that moving to London was so good for my development. The pond is so much bigger, and the fish have more teeth.
After witnessing the destructive force of a millionaire spitting game in full force, I vowed that I would achieve that one day. I wanted that level of ultimate success. There is nothing those men have that I cannot obtain if I put my mind to it. I’m not in this for merely good results – I want the best. I want to have what only 0.001% of the population ever achieve.
Don’t get me wrong – I know none of those girls would have been LTR material, being entirely self-obsessed conceited bitches. But I want them to be self-obsessed conceited bitches that I can pull and discard at my whim.
You might not be like me – you might not actually desire these girls merely for vainglorious ends. But success is addictive. Your starting goal of “finding a nice girlfriend” can quickly morph into dreams of megalomaniacal global domination.
If I could go back in time 5 years, I would tell myself not to obsess so much over women, and devote my energies equally to developing myself in all areas, especially financially – you simply cannot overstate the effect having the GDP of a small African nation in their bank account has on people’s confidence. I could have made a shortcut to the top, instead of taking the long and winding road.
But does not the Chinese proverb state “It is not the destination that is important, but the journey there?” (I bet they never got invited to supermodel orgies mind you)