Steve sent me an excellent link called Bottle Service: America’s Nightlife Nightmare

In the 2000’s we have seen a corporatization of nightclubs. Now when you go to a nighclub everyone is some kind of corporate jerkoff. Interesting people are no longer found in Nightclubs. The artists, writers, intellectuals, underground DJ’s etc have been effectively priced out of the nightclub with bottle service. The only people that can afford it are the Investment bankers, real estate types, and Celebs (and of course, underworld figures). That is why when you walk into a club you see so many striped shirts that you think you are seeing some kind of 3-D optical illusion. The funny thing is that these are the type of guys who would have never gotten into a club in the old days (nights) when you were picked out because of how you looked, dressed, if you had connections, or by reputation. So today, clubs are full of people that normally would have been standing in line in nights gone by.

Go read the whole thing.

I was daydreaming the other week about what I would do if I pulled $20,000 a month. I fantasized about going to the hottest DC club of the moment and dropping a grand on two bottles of Grey Goose. I’d invite my friends and we’d drink and one of these glamorous DC girls would come by my table and flirt with me and I’d pour her a super strong one. Then maybe I’d get laid after taking her out to dinner and she may even return my calls for a second performance and a meaningful relationship. It would be all be so real and beautiful.

But you know what? I couldn’t look at my face in the mirror if I had a cost per notch in the four digits. Shit, even three digits. My cost per notch this year is… I swear to God… under twenty bucks. When you know the real value of pussy it makes absolutely no sense to overpay. It’s like taking your car to the dealership for repairs.

If I was rich the only different thing I’d do is step up from rail vodka to Absolut. Like anyone can tell the difference between expensive vodkas once they’re mixed with juice anyway.

I feel like a pervert when I look at baby pictures of girls I’ve banged because that same human being eventually grew up and got turned into my own personal sex toy. A toy I treated as nothing more than a hole for my sexual conquest and pleasure. They grew older to be violated by a hairy, sweaty man, rubbing against their pale white skin in a depraved Beauty and the Beast for the ages.

To think… this innocent creature holding a balloon at grade school became a means for my violent orgasms that I ravaged again and again in every possible position and degraded to the limit allowed by society and law. Face buried in pillow, shoulders gripped like a carnival ride and cervix pounded with a snake so dirty and tried it would have post traumatic stress disorder if it was a soldier returning from war.

I can never be a father to a girl knowing that slimeballs like myself will stop at nothing to destroy and defile everything beautiful I spent so many years of my life creating.

Previously: Best Email I’ve Ever Received.

I’ve been hanging out at Lucky Bar on Thursdays lately because of their budget $2 mixed drink happy hour. I thought it would be a good place to invite this girl who initially emailed me to say she thought my blog was funny. She didn’t show up, but a few days after she sent me this email..

hey new friend. so i just moved and have been sans internet for the past week and it looks like i missed out on a super sweet happy hour special, and an opportunity for you to make a sorry attempt at getting into my pants. well if you and your posse are down for a do-over, i’ll see if i can make room for you this thursday.

I know she is just trying to be funny, but how can any self-respecting alpha reply to this email? Any type of reply would be admitting that yes, I indeed would have tried to make a sorry attempt to get into her pants. But that may not have been the case. A week before I got this email…

were you at lucky bar tonight….? I thought i saw a greasy haired fellow who looked like you.

She was just trying to be funny too, but that kind of makes me wonder how this type of “game” gets out there. It would me like writing, “Hey I saw your fine slutty ass last night at the bar but didn’t get a chance to get up on that booty heh.”

I’m not saying these two girls want to bang me, but what good does this type of tone accomplish? Am I laughing?

(I am definitely not smiling or laughing.)

Now here are emails from two different girls in Brazil that made me smile.

hahahahahaha.i loved the video!!!! i can see how busy you are! hehe

and..

Here the summer is over… which doesn’t mean absolutely nothing!! It’s still sunny and hot :-) Tomorrow I’ll have an açai for you, ok?

Come on, it’s not that hard.

Postscript: It’s time to bring some reason into the discussion..

Just because the mermaid has a mouth doesn’t mean she is going to let you put something in it. Chance are though the seduction will be easy like in the tom hanks movie and you will get a blowjob here or there. But I don’t think it will be blowjobs on demand like most men are imagining. How about if she doesn’t have blowjob skill?

For the reverse mermaid, it is true that you have vagina and anus and since it’s controlled by a fish brain you can have access to it all you want through rape or whatever. But keep in mind when you have sex you have to hold onto her scaly skin. And she probably will smell like fish. You wouldn’t want to hit that everyday… though from the back maybe it’s easier.

The key point no one mentioned is that you will get very lonely. Assuming the mermaid speaks your language, you can keep yourself busy with her and maybe even develop something serious.

I pick A.

Here is a video I produced starring me, my little brother, and his school buddy. Safe for work…

Extreme Big League Competition from Roosh V on Vimeo.

The Seduction Bible is throwing a weekend retreat / seminar in the Dominican Republic this summer.

Mike and I believe that too much focus has been placed on becoming a pickup artist, and not enough focus has been placed on becoming the kind of man who naturally attracts women. We know that changing your life has to happen from the inside out. The only way to truly be happy and successful is to be “your best self.”

You can read about it here.

This is a nice change from the typical $1500 weekend “workshops” where you pay to watch some guy and his friends try to pick up girls in bars while they “push you into sets.”

In Cordoba I was thinking of throwing a weekend nightlife tour where you’d pay me to take you to the most crowded (annoying) clubs to drink and get brutally rejected by beautiful Argentine girls. When I go back I’ll see if there’s any demand for that.

Also, I did a guest post this weekend at TSB… When A Girl Picks Up The Phone.

A few European embassies invited me and my friends for an open house on Saturday, and by invite I mean I saw a flyer somewhere. Our last embassy visit was Hungary and its 100-deep line of people waiting for a free ladle of goulash (it had meat). I waited patiently with my muscle freak sidekick, and the conversation got on dreadlocks. I made the comment that it’s interesting to see blonde Europeans with dreadlocks, since it puts their fine hair in an unnatural state not achievable without wax. Then he says, “Eww, dreadlocks are grimy and just dirty.” Right behind us was a woman with grimy dreadlocks down to her ass.

We kept running into the same people at different embassies. Early on I noticed an Asian woman whose upper body and face was the result of severe burns. You feel real sympathy for a few seconds and then you get on with your life. Me, muscle freak, and another guy was feasting on our goulash where, for a reason I forget, muscle freak shouts, “It’s not like you are deformed or anything.” At that very moment, the Asian woman walks behind us with her friends. She seemed like the type that already hated black men.

Outside waiting for the shuttle bus, muscle freak was joking about being handicapped. He then simulated a limp, one that was so good I accused him of practicing in his bedroom. As soon as he was done, a woman older than 75-years-old with a limp and a cane walked by.

As for what happened in these three situations, nothing. If you’re big and black, you can pretty much do whatever you want. It’s almost like a super power.

My newest exciting travel article is on the beach cities of Punta del Este and Punta del Diablo in Uruguay. I’ll guess you’ve never heard of Uruguay so this is your chance to get to know mini-Argentina.

The nightlife in Punta is extremely expensive and hard to deal with. Mobs of rich men and their model girlfriends (still with oversized glasses) swarm the entrances to famous clubs such as Crobar and Tequila in the “La Barra” club district a few miles away, accessible by taxi or all-night bus. You’re not getting in unless you show up way early, know someone, or are willing to pay a painful cover/bribe. So it’s not surprising that most people go to La Barra but not to club, and instead hang out next to their cars and drink on the streets. Either way this scene combines the worst of what you’d expect from a “hot” nightlife zone…

Punta del Diablo gets kinder words. You can read the whole thing here.

Why do young Americans try to prove that they are more mature than they are? I’m talking about the type that will not hesitate to tell you situations they’ve been in that made them grow “faster” than their peers.

I had a coworker who would always say he’s worked since 16. Or this girl would always tell me she’s lived abroad and is “different” than girls her age, and another who kept bringing up the painful child divorce and how she had to go to school and work at the same time (the horror!). With all that experience I’m surprised they missed visits to countries where 10-year-olds work on the street for food while living in garbage bag tents next to the bus station. I think in that case they’d find their experience to be pretty damn timid.

I’ve done a couple interesting things but it’s never crossed my mind to use that as proof of my value as a person. Your past doesn’t speak for you—you speak for you. Speaking up your past is the fastest way to get labeled as a “douche” if you’re a guy and a “nerd” or “drama queen” if you’re a girl. It’s like that guy who puts his BMW key chain on the bar in a lame attempt to get attention from females.

In the end there is no substitute for the number of days you’ve lived, whether you spent that “living” abroad in some other country during college or not. There’s the claim of experience and maturity and then there’s who you are. One you can lie about, the other you can’t.

I have to clarify some things about me that have been going around in this paparazzi post. Especially this photo..

First the 100% Huggable Care Bear shirt. I don’t believe that simply advertising myself as huggable (as opposed to, say, well-endowed or extremely wealthy) gets me an unlimited supply of poon. I will continue wearing it even though there is yellow stainage in the arm pit area.

Second, the floral pink umbrella. In Rio during Carnival I accidentally stole a girl’s potted plant costume hat. Here’s the hat…

The next day it was raining so I needed an umbrella. What’s cool about most cities in South America is that if it starts raining all these umbrella salesmen come out of the woodwork to sell you umbrellas (duh) and trash bag ponchos. I bought one in Rio that matched both the hat and the festivities as well, and not because of anything potentially related to a deep deep latent homosexuality.

It’s unfortunate that the Care Bear shirt matches ravishingly with my pink umbrella, but it’s more unfortunate that this town is so starchy that people stared and made low volume disparaging comments. Yeah but they’re too scared to say it to MY FACE… except for this one guy but he was pretty big so I pretended not to hear.

Postscript: Funny, when I grabbed the photo from pervert meathead’s blog, the filename was gayhairy.jpg.