Enter the fray, a mini-herd of four fat girls dressed semi-slutty, looking poised for a photo shoot in the newest edition of FleshGirlMagazine. I’m sitting at the far corner of the train, and to my dismay, they gather around to graze over the adjacent seats. I catch them mid-conversation discussing double standards, women in power, and the shortcomings of today’s men. At the third topic, one of them instigates me into the conversation, finding it funny that I was the sole guy who was forced into playing a political version of hungry-hungry hippo. I was already boiling inside, ready for a chance to mentally spar with these 4 idiots, hopefully breaking one of their egos to the point of no return. I had class in an hour; I needed my fix.
Flashback to several years ago. I’m on the train heading back to college. I have ego problems, I’m far less humble, and more than willing to indulge people in arguments. I didn’t understand the politicization of feminism, nor did I have a refined grasp of game. I thought I knew women, but thinking back now, I was an idiot. My understanding of the world was clouded by my own preconceptions, and my mind was diseased by its own vanity. I thought I was smarter than everyone else, and anyone who could not understand my reasoning was by virtue, a moron. I saw myself as Voltaire, as Oscar Wilde. I thought it would’ve be appropriate if I adorned a monocle and a cane, or perhaps a velvet cape and a stretchy boa.
I have a fairly crystal recollection of the details. Some of the dialogue may need improvisations, but I trust it will be similar enough to the original conversation to express the same meaning. I quote their parts collectively, as I wouldn’t be able to recall their names (not even sure if I knew them).
Fat Girls: “Haiiiii, are you upset that we’re bashing on men?” [giggles like a horny ogre, like one of those extras from Shrek]
Me: “Bashing on men? I just think you guys aren’t smart enough to understand the world properly” [Perhaps almost a neg, but far too harsh. I wasn’t out to neg them, I was pissed and was out for blood]
Fat Girls: “Oh and you are?”
Me: “Yah, I have common sense.”
Fat Girls: “Oh ok, so why don’t you enlighten us, Confucius?”
I didn’t read people as fast as I could now, nor as systematically. I relied more on intuition. I had a feeling that they were all in a sorority together. I imagined a house on top of a hill, depressing the height of the hill through the sheer weight of its inhabitants. I imagined parties organized by these behemoths, to trick men into getting too drunk and sticking their swindled penises into gaping vulvas capable of putting the valley of kings to shame. I imagined them riding skinny guys to death in an Amazon Derby.
Me: “Why do you think guys are like this in today’s society?”
Fat Girls: “Because they’re all fat and lazy”
Fat Girls: “And assholes, because they’re insecure”
I asked a question because despite knowing that rationalizing with women is not the correct way to talk to them, I did not APPLY that knowledge. I was aiming instead to use a socratic type of method, asking questions to eventually get them to realize their own ignorance. What an idiot I was. I thought if logic doesn’t work; brute naked logic might work. If I could spell it out in a clear and perfectly synthesized thesis, how could they not see their own follies?
The presumed correlation between asshole and insecure is parallel to the presumed correlation between being Hot and being a bitch. I suspect it to be a defensive conjecture, projecting the exploitation of ones own insecurity as sourced in the insecurities of the invader. Unfortunately, most assholes, at least the uncaring Alpha assholes, are above and beyond *social* insecurities. As for the assumption made by guys; that results from implicit biases in our understanding of beauty, especially in more vivid forms. For the most part, very good-looking girls are DIFFERENT than their seemingly impaired counterparts, but they are no more “bitchy.” In fact, in my experience they are far better suited to be girlfriends, while the bitch-gauntlet belongs more to women of average or below average fairness who, through a wicked combination of an inflated need for assessment, an appetite for preening, and certain genetic predilections, find it more necessary to act in the manner of succubi. Of course, I could be wrong. Temporary beauty can be made eternal with the right choices.
Me: “What…?” [seemingly disoriented from the sheer irony of calling other people fat]
Fat Girls: “You don’t have a girlfriend, do you?”
Me: “Uhh…yah, I do” [Big mistake, one I would never make now. Not only was I lying but the question she asked was phrased in a way to make me qualify myself, or disqualify myself. Even by saying yes and “proving her wrong,” so to say, I prove only my NEED to prove her wrong. My impulse to lash out got the better of me]
We exchange a few more words, a bit of a tension ensues. We argue about feminism, society, and men, with me at one end getting more and more pissed. The train comes to a halt; two of my friends were to enter at this point (Hermit, and someone else). I call them to let them know what car I’m in.
Fat Girls: “Reinforcements?”
Me: “Yah, don’t eat them.”
Fat Girls: “Why don’t you sit with your boyfriends somewhere else?”
Me: “Why, would it be too difficult for you guys to squeeze through the door to the next car?”
Shit gets heated, clearly getting a kick out of fucking with me. We eventually get to school, the aftertaste of the engagement still bitter in my mind.
But of course, I had no mercy at the time, and couldn’t let go of what happened. I saw them a few times throughout the week, making it a point to make fun of them every time they passed by. And not the regular make fun of, I mean I would yell some really crude shit across the dining area. By the third day this happened, one came over to spill her drink on me. My annoyance was pulsing; I reacted by spilling coffee on her satin dress, which could’ve doubled as a shawl for a baby elephant. Luckily, I was wearing sweats and a white t-shirt so nothing tragic happened to my clothes. Obviously I had come off the victor. Several of the workers came to break the scene apart; I got one last quip in before I left, “save a twinkie for me.” Back then I thought this was what asshole game was about.
I got back to my room, ate some shit, studied for twenty minutes, sketched out more of a business idea I had (one of my many college ventures destined to fail), hit the gym for an hour, and then thought about fapping. Meh I thought, I was going to a shindig later, I should save my boner in case I met someone there. The last thing you want is a soft wish washy boner when a girl grabs you.
I fapped anyways.
Fast-forward a few hours. Hermit and me are surveying the field, a mass congregation of herbs supplicating to everything but the walls in the room with a few Alphas in between running c/f. I couldn’t dissect social dynamics as easily at the time, but I imagine I must’ve been bewildered.
And then of course, like all great stories, this one had a damsel.
“Holy shit” I thought when she walked in. Wish I didn’t fap. In my eyes, a flawless ten. Light brown eyes, just like you’d expect in the movies. Back then I didn’t have “game,” in the methodical sense of the term, I just knew how to carry myself and how to talk to girls. I could tell Hermit was thinking the same thing, but it mattered not. Even if I had a visible STD protruding out of my clothes, I could out game all of my friends.
But in this case, I didn’t need to. When you see an 8 or a 9, sometimes your game gets shaky. Perhaps an instinct to qualify yourself in front of her, perhaps the people around you, or maybe you’re coming out of a slump. But in those rare circumstances where you come across a 10, an etched masterpiece, a magnificently captivating face and body, the numerous social faux pas nursing your anxieties wilt away in the presence of a far more carnal instinct.
I used my ultimate opener. My most secret of weapons. A lethal line, something I feel obliged to share with all of you.
First we talked, then we chatted, then we flirted, then we walked around for some fresh air. Hermit wanted to give me a high-five on my way out, but I relented. Even in my more coarse form back then, I never took part in anything that I thought “degraded” women absent an impulse to do so (see above example with fat chicks). To put women down for the sake of seduction is an art; to put women down for the sake of your ego is to defile that art.
Within the course of three days, I was in love. Of course I continued to see myself as a lone idol (ensuring her pedestal was never even close to the one I put myself on), but that didn’t stop me from loving her. Laugh if you may, but I am sure you know the feeling. All men, no, all humans, are romantics deep inside. Perhaps not in the ethereal sense of the term, but surely they are swathed by emotion at point or another. You may say, “you were just infatuated with her,” to which I would reply, what is love, but a greater degree of infatuation induced by a greater degree of perfection?
By the end of two weeks, I was in a tense and cognizant state of euphoria. On one hand I felt captured. It was crazy how the qualities of this girl matched up so well. She appreciated humor, barely shit tested, and had only 1 previous boyfriend, who was also her only previous partner. On the other hand, I remained tensely aware of every minute flaw because I was LOOKING to wake myself up from this dream. I could see myself catching Oneitis, as most men probably do. But how do you stop such a thing? And then there were the issues of the flaws themselves. I had Oneitis before, but I could easily discern the veil. My friends could tell me “Are you fucking stupid? She took a dick in the ass right after you guys broke up.” But no, Hermit had nothing to point out besides telling me “don’t change who you are if you fall for her.” I analyzed her behaviors and looked for incongruences with surgical precision, but nothing.
Even if I find out she has some great mistake about her, perhaps she’s an alien, what’s to stop me from enjoying her company now? Secks was something otherworldly, which only supplemented my alien theory. To this day it could stand to argue that secks with her was the best secks I’ve ever had. She wanted me to meet her friends, and I happily agreed. I’d charm them I thought, perhaps find someone for Hermit, or just add colors of competitive anxiety to our soon to be relationship.
So I get ready and head to the restaurant to meet her and her friends. I bring Hermit a long. She said she wanted me to bring flowers, so I stringed together a handful of grass and one dandelion from outside my building. I saw her hair from across the table. And her friends… the fat girls from the train.
Me: “Oh shit…”
Hermit: “Wait…are those?”
Hermit: “Let’s book it. Say you suddenly realized you had scabies”
Me: “We’re already here, she saw me.”
Hermit: “Just go in and play it smooth”
To say an Alpha Male could handle himself in strange situations does no justice to how strange this situation was. Confidence and aloofness would not be enough here, especially if these girls decided to throw a pie in my face or something. But that wasn’t the silver bullet.
I sit, awkwardness follows. I’ll spare you the details. But eventually it comes to this:
Fat girl: “Didn’t you say you had a girlfriend?”
Me: “We broke up”
Fat girl: In a couple of weeks? How long have you guys been like… dating? [pointing to me and my 10]
I could not tell you what my soon-to-be-not-girlfriend felt at the moment. In her eyes, she only had secks with her boyfriend after a year of dating (beta). With me, she did it in 2 weeks and without an official relationship (I was waiting for her to claim it). In her eyes, she “gave herself” to me, and I, was the “typical asshole” who squandered such virtues.
A twisted smile touched the fat girl. I knew what was coming next. She dumped her drink on me, and left wordlessly. More than anything, I wondered why the cosmos had granted her this opportunity. My soon-to-be-not-girlfriend followed and the other hippos followed in suit. Hermit looked at me sympathetically for 10 seconds. Then started laughing.
And at this point I wish I could tell you that I had Jedi Game and it solved everything, But I did not. All I had was an experience that taught me a lesson, one of many that would cultivate the Jedi Game I have today.