Daygame Fatigue vs Burnout


Recently, I’ve switched countries and now I’m no longer in Shitsville –geographically, that is. Will that fact affect the permanence and validity of my avatar in some way? The answer is no; Shitsville is a frame of mind, a lifestyle you could say. Shitsville is as large as life itself, encompassing everything smaller which fits inside it, like career, seduction and sex, friends, hobbies, general attitude toward life and so on.  It is a lens through which you can look at the World, just like chemistry, or paranoia. It is the second law of thermodynamics applied to everyday existence; in short: give things enough time and see all going to shit eventually. I like that. I’m a big entropy fan.



If I really wanted to jerk myself off intellectually, I’d say that’s the essence of sigma. Wanting to get laid and learn good game, but inwardly being irritated by women and one’s dealings with them. That essence, I decided, I’m not going to try and change. Not like I’m a misogynist, but I don’t have an interest in women beyond what little pleasure they can give me now and then. You could say I only give a fuck about girls I fuck, and not all of them for that matter.  And I do consider females to be a distraction. More than just a distraction, a drug of sorts. I’ve come to the point of comparing the effort I need to put in to get laid to the hustle which an addict must endure to get his next dose. In our case, many of us are striving for the next dose of pussy. And from time to time the realization hits me that perhaps I’m wasting my life trying to get inside the next girl’s panties, that there should be a higher purpose to life than satisfying a desire that can’t be really satisfied. Then, I hold my cum in for a few days and this realization loses all meaning and rutting a new, fresh supple girl becomes my number one priority in my agenda. My hormones and the obsessive desire to break the quality ceiling with reasonable consistency are the only things that get me going in this hamster wheel. Biology and one’s ego are two motherfucking tyrants, man. I’m beginning to see why guys who’ve been grinding it for a decade or more – like Roosh, and maybe Krauser – are itching to bail out and turn their efforts to something else. It makes sense to want to change the goal when the current one is no longer satisfying, or it is no longer perceived to being able to bring about some significant change or improvement in one’s life.

Anyway, rant’s over. Without the intention of getting over-philosophical, let’s arbitrarily go over the differences between “daygame fatigue” and “daygame burnout”. There is nothing new under the sun, and I’m sure the subject has been written about in many post ad nauseam. This is merely a subjective attempt at a description of the symptoms and effects, and ways I’ve found to deal with them. The main difference between these two, I would argue, is that the former is usually a result of relatively extended periods of grinding it out with little to no result. The latter comes about independently from succeeding at getting laid, or failing at it, and it usually precedes what Krauser calls “hollowing out”. Let’s go about the signs and symptoms of both and possible ways to overcome them – bear in mind that this is based in my personal experience, personality quirks , genetics, state of mental health, stool consistency, etc all of which may influence the reader in a particular way and thus render this analysis useless.


Daygame fatigue:

  • Mechanical sets with no life to them and very little comfort provided to aid the “normalization” of the conversation. The daygamer often feels he’s blabbing the same lines over and over again and while chatting up the girl, he’s thinking in the back of his mind: “This will not work. I suck at this. Did I really expect this would work on a high value woman? God, I suck at this”
  • Recurrent thoughts that this I’m doing has nothing to do with having sex. Increasing lack of patience fueled by the intermittent viewing of pornography (with or without masturbation). It’s easy to forget that if you want to harvest mangos, you need to forget temporarily about the delicious fruit and deal with things that don’t look, or feel, or smell, or taste remotely as mango. I.E.: soil, water, sunlight, gardening tools, farming garments.
  • In my case, the fatigue accumulates over the days when I go out for a few days in a row, and it usually sets in around the 30th set, which is reached between the second and fifth sessions. By the third consecutive day I know I’m going in at least mildly fatigued, and thus my patience and mental grit are considerably impaired and my vibe flattened. I tend to prematurely leave sets by just walking away without a word but “good luck”, sometimes even mildly irritated – not at the girl, though… I know it’s nothing personal.
  • A mild to considerable loss of libido, which goes away with an adequate cholesterol intake and a good night’s rest. This can be felt at the beginning of the sessions, when I’m still not warmed up which means I haven’t yet basked in the feminine sexual energy of a crackling set. It can also happen in the middle of the session when I’ve lost momentum and I spent too much time between sets.
  • Decreased selectivity of targets. I noticed I experience an increasing tendency to open sets “for the sake of it” when I feel the fatigue taking over. This is particularly true if I haven’t choked the chicken in a few days. I wonder if it’s better to hunt with an empty tank – or pair thereof. In my experience, girls are way more attracted when you can feel the weight of baby batter between your legs, but I tend to feel overly horny and go for chicks I know I will want to get rid of as soon as I cum. I will have to run serious experiments on this subject.

Daygame fatigue is short-lived and usually it goes away after a particularly good session, or just after a few days of rest. A quick fix to the libido problem that works for me is to have ready a specific porn scene I know that gets me horny in my phone (I have many girls I fucked on tape), and watch it while walking the streets. If I am caught by a hot girl, I can always accuse her of being a pervert and a snoop. Stopping briefly for coffee, or food, or simply sitting down on a park bench also help mitigate the effects of fatigue. Bear in mind that a big part of the fatigue is due to the long walks. What I do when my feet ache is to switch to “camper mode”; that is, sit somewhere, wait until an attractive girl walks by and then spring into action.



Daygame burnout:

  • Existential funk that lasts weeks on ends. You can feel you have no control over your life and, of course, daygame is to blame in your mind. You get this sense of urgency which manifests itself as a voice that tells you there are other more important things you need to get your arms around.
  • Your desire to interact with girls wanes along with your sexual intent, and this lasts for weeks sometimes. Like the last thing you want to do in the world is to try and pick up a chick, even if she throws herself at you. You avoid scenarios where you know you could make something happen with a girl… if only you would make the minimum of effort.
  • You much prefer being in the company of males. Some girl hits you up to make plans maybe, and you fuck it up by deliberately not showing intent or being over douchey. Or you don’t even reply. When you notice there’s some game to be done, you drop off in the middle of the conversation. You know you’ll puke your guts out if you have to play push/pull , play cool or go through a frame battle.
  • You start getting other pointless, obsessive hobbies to fill the vacuum which your daygame left when you suddenly stopped playing the game. Conversely, you start to analize the quality of the girls’ game (as if such thing existed) instead of trying to fuck them. You discard a prospect, rationalizing that she “has no game”.
  • You begin to have bluepill chodey daydreams of a wife, a family and living together. These go away soon, if you’re lucky and you get back to sanity. You realize you just needed some time off.
  • You actually enjoy spending time with “normals”. You begin to admire guys who have other obsessive endeavours that have nothing to do with seduction. The freakier and more irrelevant sexually, the more you admire them.

Burnout can be a tough bone to crack, since its effects are insidious and it accumulates over the months or even years. It’s important to recognize that this is an aspect of cold approach, and daygame especially, which must be seriously considered. I estimate I’m well over 2500 approaches now, and I can definitely say that burnout hits me hard when the sessions accumulate, even if I get moderate results with girls of acceptable quality. I think my first semblance of daygame revulsion got to me at around the 1k mark, then again at around 2k and now I’ve taken over two months off; even if my mojo was renewed with that well deserved holiday, things do tend to take on a repeat. Aside from taking time off the clock and balancing your life outside of pickup, a good wingman who is also your friend is worth millions in the bank. Oh yes, and – don’t hang me for saying this – a normal boyfriend / girlfriend relationship is also very important (don’t worry, it will end soon enough so you won’t be “trapped” or “losing value in the SMP”).



Bartender Game +1: ONS With The Aussie Interloper

This is one of those rare cases in which one has to make literally zero effort apart from being a little charming and sociable while pouring some drinks to a group of tourists that randomly ended up in one’s workplace to chill. It’s one of those unique instances where cold approach is not necessary because the girl is visiting your town on a short vacation, she’s looking for her adventure sex story out of sight from her social circle, fancies you and has decided you are r-selected enough to let herself be rutted fast and hard.

It all started on a quiet and boring evening at work. It was a very hot January day, and the bar was almost empty. It was happy hour time, and my buddy Charly and I were lazily getting the bar ready to start our shift. Then, a young Australian couple came into the bar and took their seats at the bar. They were chatting animatedly, but by the way they talked to each other it was apparent they weren’t much acquainted. I served them and left them to it. An hour or so later, another couple – also Australians – joined them at the bar but they just ordered still water and didn’t stay long. The four of them took off together, in fact. But the girl that arrived later gave me the eye so blatantly before leaving that Charly called me a lucky bastard, since he fancied her. But this guy is a cool dude. He lives by wing rules, even if he doesn’t approach proactively. He’s more of a status game kind of guy, and very charismatic.

Anyway, they all left and that was that… or so I thought. Lo and behold, the four of them came back to the bar the day after, in the company of two more couples. So four guys and four girls in total. All wanting different cocktails, and all willing to have their refill. All in all, a very busy evening at work. I remembered the girl had thrown a lewd, fleeting glance my way the day before, but I literally had no time to talk to her as we were busy as fuck behind the bar. I only adressed the whole group, suggesting they should start oredering even if some of them were yet undecided, since I was going to take my sweet time preparing the drinks. Eventually, they all finished their second round and I was inwardly cursing my luck, since the girl was visibly eyeing me from time to time but I had no chance of making something happen. They asked for the bill, payed and when I collected the leather tap with the tip after they had left, I saw a note scribbled on the “forgotten” receipt. It was a girl’s name followed by a hand-written kiss emoticon. Needless to say, I added her to FB messenger that same night. This, my friend, is one of those rare cases in which I will attach a screen capture of the conversation that ensued, since she’s a native speaker of English. I communicate with most of my leads in Spanish, so I have to go through the task of translating chats or re-writing them in English as best as my memory allows when I have deleted that particular conversation – and I delete conversations all the time.



So next day, she writes to confirm the rendezvous:




“Whoa! That was fast”, I thought. And I felt tempted to tell her to come straight to my place. “But think about it for a minute…”, my mind asserted to my dick. “She has barely exchanged a few words with us, and even if she’s hornier than us, she’s still a girl.”, it said like Sherlock Holmes would casually go about the explanation of some intricate case to a confused Watson. “And what is that which all women need before sex and after attraction?”, it demanded rhetorically. “That’s right, my big headed and impulsive friend… good old comfort!”. “But I have no time for that”, replied my dick in despair… “I need to get wet now!”, it shrieked. “There, there… Look here now. This is what we’ll do: We’ll feign shock to subtly flip the script and make her chase us a bit. Then, we’re going to suggest we meet for a drink first. That way, we’ll make sure: a) She’s not a dangerous nutcase, b) she gets the minimal necessary amount of comfort first, c) we get a little alcohol in our system, so as not to cum too quicly and spoil the fun for the lady. Anywhere near our hotel room will do. She’s coming straight to fuck.” With that, both brain and dick went on to sketch the plan:




When I finished my shift, I contacted her to establish logistics:




Yipes! Seems the lady is compliant, but she’s aiming at play some kind of mind game by stating that she won’t be available for a few hours…





… Or maybe not. Now it was only a matter of negotiating time and place to meet. Normally, I’m against that. I simply tell them what to do, and they accept or fuck off, but this was a girl who was clearly DTF. Nonetheless, she had to make an excuse to leave her group and meet a complete stranger in a dangerous city to exchange fluids on short notice. That, in my dictionary is a brave girl and one that seemed not up to waste my time (in fact she was proving to be more time efficient than myself), so surely I can bend a few rules.



As you can see, I was giving her instructions in a somewhat chaotic manner, mostly due to her lack of geographical awareness. See when she asks about my adress that’s not asking for comfort… That’s crying for comfort. Always bear in mind: when a girl asks you for comfort, you give it to her… no matter what.





It’s so important that I’ll repeat it: always go out of your way to placate a girl if you sense she’s asking for comfort. Here, you can see she asked for my address for the second time.

We met, and she was looking good, with a blue summer dress and sandals. I did not remember she was so tall.


American Psycho (2000)
Very much alike

I took her to a seedy bar, the only one open that I knew of – in some parts of Baires it’s near to impossible to find an open bar after midnight. I guess I was lucky to live in an area that had a few, especially when I lived in a tiny, sad hotel room with shared toilets. On our way to the bar, I told her she “had to be a brave girl now” and follow me through some dark alleys to get there. She took my arm and we chatted jovially until we arrived. We sat at a booth in the entrance, away from loud music and drunk customers. We ordered beers – she was a bit tipsy already – and things got sexual fast. I teased her and escalated her, putting my hands on her hips and telling her off for having too much fun, to which she responded with a look of mock indignation immeditely followed by the I-Want-You-To-Take-Me-Now look.

Her: You have no idea! I train so hard back home. I used to have a six-pack, you know?

Me: Six-pack of beer, is it?

Her: You little shit! [She was just kidding, folks]

Me: Ok. Drink up. Let’s get out of here, pronto.

We walked the six or seven blocks back to my hotel, went in and straight to my room. There was no LMR whatsoever and I fucked her good and hard for a good hour. She loved the sordid aspect of my room together with my pulling her hair and spanking her butt. Finally, I came a nice load on her tummy, she spooned some with her fingers and smelled it. She cleaned herself with a towel, got dressed and said: “That was nice. Gotta go back now. Bye!” She closed the door behind her and went back out to the night, while I went to sleep contented.

Date To Nowhere With Hybrid Princess

This was about two months ago. I stopped a tall, leggy brunette with long silky hair and wearing a black leather jacket and sandals made of cork. I accused her of being a rebelious hippie, which made her laugh. We made some small talk, I took the number and carried on with my day. Next day, I sent her a photo ping showing my hand holding a weird Korean ice cream made of red beans, as I was in China Town. She responded with short answers and middling enthusiasm. A few days later, I sent her another feeler and, in no more than three or four exchanges I cut to the chase, telling her to “dress sexy” and “meet me for drinks later that evening”. She responded enthusiastically this time, saying that she’d love to, but unfortunately she was not in town. So, strike one. I play my own game now, and by strike two they’re usually out no matter what – meaning I won’t attempt to pursue the lead any further. Some weeks passed and I had forgotten about this lead almost completely, when suddenly I caught a glimpse of her updated WhatsApp profile pic. I really liked the way she looked in that picture, with her little whorish sexy stare. So I told to myself: “What the hell? Why not?”. I pinged her a very normal message along the lines of “what’s up?”. She replied promptly, and agreed to a meeting within a few exchanges. 9 o’clock it was, then, at a beer garden near mine.

It was 8:30 pm and the sky was heavily clouded, and a light drizzle would fall down intermittently. I sent her this, to confirm she was still going (Argentinian girls are notorious for standing you up, especially in big cities where’s so much distraction):

Me: On my way 😉

Her: Hold on… do you think we should still meet? Looks it’s about to pour down

Me: Definitely. We agreed to meet at nine, didn’t we? I’m on my way there.

Her: Ok.

I was convinced she wouldn’t show up. I only lived four blocks from the meeting point, so my plan was to get my ass there, wait for maybe ten minutes, go grab a beer by myself and when it was evident she wouldn’t turn up delete her number. When in doubt about their seriousness about meeting, sometimes it is a good idea to put some pressure on them. I used to feel this was a needy attempt to over-confirm dates. I don’t anymore. My time is precious.

I arrived. It was 9:05 pm.

Me: Here. Can’t see you.

Her: Where are you? (I thought to myself: either this chick is a moron or she’s trying to fuck with my head) 

Me: [Meeting spot]

Her: Cool. On my way.

I decided I would go grab that solo beer right then and there. The beer garden was one and a half blocks away, inside a galleria. About two minutes into my beer, I got this:

Her: Where are you?

Me: Beetles Bar, inside Paseo La Plaza. [address]. I’m on the first floor.

Her: Oh, okay. I’ll be there in a few minutes.

She arrived after about ten minutes, looking good. I raised my hand so she could spot me and she joined me at my table apologizing timidly for her lateness. I smoothed things out saying it was no big deal, that it was part of living in a big city with a little girl’s brain. She giggled. She was 25 and her background was a mixture of Paraguayan aboriginal – hence, the sexy Pocahontas features – and German. Suddenly she asked me if I had had dinner, and said she was hungry. Would I like to order some food? I told her I was fine, but she could order some food if she wanted. I would take care of the beers, and the rest was on her. I said this. It was fine, she would have something later when she got back home. Harrumph! We got chatty and my previous bad mood had almost disappeared completely. The beers flowed. She accused me of having a very stern way of looking and I told her it was a tool for putting some pressure on people when needed. And I stared her in the eye with an exaggerated incisive and unwavering gaze, just shutting up and staring. She went red and lowered her eyes. I thought things were going great. They were, actually.

We finished the beers, and went outside the galleria. My plan was to take her to another more secluded bar near my hotel. She had other plans. This was my first important mistake, I think. As we were walking past a cheesy burger joint, she declared:

Her: “I’m going in there to have a burger. You can come or you can leave, whatever. I’m starving”

Me: “Ok, sure. I’m not hungry but I can grab something to drink. I hope they have beer. Let’s do it”

Okay, technically I followed her lead. But I thought I could be flexible and go along with the flow of things, especially when I had chosen a weird hour to meet up. The lady was hungry and I would not pay for her dinner. So there.

We were waiting in cue, and the conversation was stilted, my mind racing over whether that had been a mistake. Welcome to Stifle-Land. I was about to command her – yes, COMMAND – to go find a nice spot to seat while I placed the order for her dinner and my beer, when things got even worse.

Me: Okay. Why don’t you find us —?

Her: Oh shit! Wait, no… I’ve got no cash with me. I have to go to the ATM. There’s one two blocks away. Coming?

Me: Uhmmmm… Sure?

We walked the two blocks, which turned to be four each way, so eight blocks in total. My mind was now in a complete state of chaos, my plan derailing more and more as the minutes passed. I did succeed in slowing her down to walk by my side – she would walk hurriedly a few steps in front of me. Here, I tried to appear non-reactive instead of laying down the law, as she was not showing particularly bitchy behaviour.


For some odd reason, I decided I wanted to freeze the moment and take it as a souvenir

It was just circumstance, I guessed. She asked me about my hobbies on the way to the ATM and, this was a mistake I believe now (see player tests avoidance), I told her I coached guys who were too shy to talk to girls they liked. She threw a challenge my way:

Her: What is that lunacy about? I think that’s pathetic [with a face of scorn]

Me: [Trying to come off cool and collected, but stepping on shaky ground by now] Not going for what you want is pathetic, in my opinion. Some guys live in a prison of fear, really.

Her: How ridiculous! It’s only a matter of having a bit of attitude.

Okay, I was a bit on the defensive, trying to justify myself. I should have said something really ridiculous or asked her an open ended question, such as: “Why do you say that?” But she had me on the ropes. Or rather, I had put myself between the devil and the deep blue sea.

Back in the burger joint, the cashier girl “took revenge” in my stead. She had given me the eye when she saw me walk in with this chick. When it was our turn to place the order, my date was a bit fuzzy in the head and did not quite get what the cashier was saying to her. So she made her look bad in front of me. I calmly rephrased what was being said to her and this time she understood. This girl was definitely not very bright. Here, I missed a huge opportunity to flirt with the cashier in front of my date. She was hot too, and I could have gone for her number if this date ended early. But I was not thinking clearly I was short-sighted in that all my effort was in fucking this particular girl or die trying. My date made a venomous comment about the cashier on our way to our table.

After half an hour or so, of me basically turning into a loveable douchebag, she pointed to a chodey looking guy seated at a table and told me “my ex looked a lot like him”. I said “Okay” and nothing more. We chit chatted for a few more minutes, me still mulling over how this girl walked me about town, but still exchanging a few laughs and inside jokes at the expense of some of the other patrons. All of a sudden:

Her: Okay. I’m going. A friend’s waiting for me at [Fancy Night Club]. I’m calling a Uber.

Me: [with an air of resignation] Okay.

I walked her outside, and while we were waiting for the Uber to arrive I went for the kiss aggressively, thinking she would rebuff me. She took it passively. Her car came, I gave her a final uncalibrated kiss and told her “Good luck”. She hopped in and took off. I tried to take her out again a week later, but she never replied.


To Lose A Venezuelan: -1 Daygame

The player’s journey is more than a quick fix to the I-can’t-get-laid problem. It is one of permanent growth, introspection and learning. And most of the time, it will be hard on your ego. To stay on track and make progress, one must be willing to endure the World’s relentless feedback – and if you’re lucky, the feedback of other men who are also going through a similar path – telling you you’re just not as great as you thought you were. Thus, you stop taking things personally and a few days or weeks after fucking up a lead, you realize that, even if at the moment you thought that sending her a funny pic of a personified limp dick crying was the “alpha” and “outcome independent” thing to do, when she had invited you to have breakfast at her place, it was simply not the best move. Same thing when you “fail” because you were too cautious and bland and the girl was looking for a strong hand. Or when you fail to pull the trigger and the opportunity vanishes forever in front of your unbelieving eyes. Well, in these cases, you just charge it to the game and live on to fight another day.

Then, there are the lessons this path teaches you over a more extensive period of time and which requires more experience from the player; namely, relationship management. Now it’s not only about making a slip and the whole thing goes to shit or you succeed and get your notch; in that case, there’s not much really at stake and the loss is not considerable. In relationships, responsibility burdens you with its weight. Now, it’s up to you to decide first, what it is you want from the girl; secondly, if she is able to give to you that which you desire; thirdly, if you can and are willing to give her what she wants from you. And you’d better figure those out in good time, or else you’ll probably be in too deep when you realize it’s going nowhere but you kinda care for her and the sex is great (in this case, you can simply wait until she breaks it off and there’s a certain peace that comes with doing that) or, worse, when you decide that girl is a liability and she needs to go. This last scenario is much harder on us guys and it generally is a consequence of falling for the damaged girl, for some reason or other.

In my case, it was the former – I kind of cared for this girl and we had wild, mind-blowing sex. To this day, she is one of the kinkiest and sexiest pieces of ass I’ve ever had, and I’ve had many (ok, I’m bragging now). And her ass is that mulata’s booty type of ass I am addicted to.



Caracas’ finest – export quality


That being said, the truth is that we did not have too much in common beyond the awesome sexual chemistry. I would find that to be true from our first date in mid-2016 – she was one of my three notches from daygame over a ten-day hunting trip to Buenos Aires. But at the time all I wanted was the notch. This girl was most feminine, accepting my leadership first and later on letting herself to be dominated in the sack, and enjoying it to no end. So we became casual lovers and would hookup every month or so, when I went to Buenos Aires for a trip, or she came to my hometown to stay for the weekend when she had a Friday or a Monday off work. And I would pay for the back-home bus fare. We would fuck non-stop for three days and four nights, and if we got to the point of sexual exhaustion and there was some time left, I would take her around town. The problem was that, after the sex, the only way we would connect was through post-coital cuddling. I quickly found out we had not much to talk about and I was glad to say my farewell and send her home after the third day, but nonetheless, I was beginning to develop some affection for this girl.

After a year or so of such arrangement, at the end of ’17, I moved to Buenos Aires and I knew from the outset that the magic of maintaining a distant relationship, with its challenges and our respective scarcity to one another would end, and I would have to be extra careful in not making myself too available or, what’s more important, avoid getting fedup with her. That I did successfully. I even did daygame regularly, having some success here and there. However, things started to change slowly but surely. I was stuck at a dead-end bartending job, which provided the occasional lay but made me feel I was stuck and not in my purpose. I began to have serious doubts about my life and I think I let this seep through my vibe. Suddenly, she stopped being so eager to meet and would often dismiss me without an excuse when I would contact her to make plans – which happened a few times before I stopped contacting her for almost two months. I did have other girls on my rotation, but somehow I felt this girl was “special” since we had “history” together. So one day, willing to try and see if “dread game” worked on this girl, after a long mutual silence, I posted a photo of me and the Viking hugging and having a grand old time. Before half an hour, she wrote: “Hey, cutie. What are you up to?” I thought: “Really?”. I almost found distasteful that she would be so basic and react to that. I could say I became slightly less attracted to her since then. We still did meet a few more times, had sex as usual, but my preference was shifting to the Viking. Me and the Viking would make ourselves laugh a lot and the sex was also out of this world. Plus, I often engaged in deep and interesting conversations with her, unlike with the Venezuelan.

Things ended abruptly with the latter one day when I was coming back to Baires from a nearby city. It was Sunday and I was supposed to meet the Viking, but she cancelled mysteriously claiming she was far and we’d better see each other during the week – okay, it seemed it was another guy’s turn… why not? So I texted the Venezuelan:


Me: “Hey. What u up to?”

Venezuelan: “Not much. I’m watching Netflix at home right now”

Me: “Cool. I’ll be in Baires in a few hours. Wanna hang out later?”

Venezuelan: “Maybe. I’ll let you know”


After five minutes of silence:


Venezuelan: “Actually, I’ve been thinking long and hard about it and I’ve decided it would be best if we didn’t see each other anymore. Casual things have a deadline and we’ve been dragging this for almost two years now. I think this would be for the best… So as to turn the page.”


In reality, I saw this coming, for months actually. And even so, I felt the hit. I was driving when I got the message and I almost crash my car. It hit like a strong adrenal rush and a dull pain in the pit of my stomach. I remember feeling that it was hard losing her on an animalistic level (I was losing the best piece of ass I had in months, if not years), but deep down I knew she was right… it was for the best. According to Black Dragon, a high percentage of them come back if you do everything correct and you let them go graciously (I know this is the case, because I have experienced this myself many times). But I had decided I would move permanently to Europe – which I am in the process of doing – so this was it. I composed myself, parked the car and replied:


Me: “I understand completely. I wish you good luck”.


Two days later, she deleted me from WhatsApp. I requited. After having thought about it for some time, I don’t feel any sense of loss or regret. After all, I was not going to follow her biological agenda and perhaps – and most likely – she had already found some other guy who would. I honestly do wish it works out for her, since she has but a few years before hitting the wall. I am thankful for the time we shared together, since she made me see that women can be pleasant human beings and not these evil bitches trying to grab men by the balls.

Near Miss With Big Breasted Hippie Turns Into +1

It was January in Buenos Aires and there wasn’t much to do except from trying a bit of luck on the streets, struggling to find something decent to open here and there, which was proving to be hard and far from consistent. Oh well. Or perhaps I could content myself with crumbles thrown my way from my Venezuelan regular, who was starting to get more and more fickle and flaky as the months went by. In truth I was starting to get sick of her myself, but the dry spell I was subjected to had been taking the best of me. I was disciplined enough to not fall entirely in a scarcity mindset, and limited my contacting her every two weeks or so… But that is for another post.

One evening I was kicking around town, feeling utterly disgusted at the sheer volume of dross ambling the streets and the almost complete lack of any reasonable standard of female beauty. All of a sudden, my phone buzzed and I saw it was my workmate and buddy Charly, a cool Venezuelan bartender who never did cold approach but has it easy with women, due to good looks and natural charisma. A natural, in other words. He called to see if I was willing to “coach” a friend of his who, in his own words, was “a cool, solid guy but too shy to be any good with women”. I said sure, would he mind coming along and see me do my own thing. Not a problem, he would tell him to get ready for Monday morning and the two of them would meet me somewhere near my place, and he would introduce us. It was Saturday. Monday morning came, and the three of us met at a Starbucks near mine. The friend’s name was Ahmad, and he was a Venezuelan with Syrian heritage. Charly quickly introduced us and then he took off to take care of some business elsewhere – I know better than to ask a Venezuelan about their business. After his departure, Ahmad and I began to talk for a bit, as I wanted to know a little bit about his background and make sure he was no weirdo. After chatting for a while over coffee, I realized this was a solid guy and he could surely carry himself properly. Contrary to what Charly had told me, he even had quite a bit of experience with women, and he had fucked a few gorgeous girls, even some models when he was living in the Dominican Republic. The only minor detail was that he was paying for their company. Not quite whores, he told me, but more of a sugar daddy arrangement. So yeah, let’s face it: soft prostitution. He did occasionally fuck girls for free, but he told me they were invariably ugly or crazy, so he would always have to think of excuses to avoid them when they wanted to see him again. Ultimately, he confessed he was clueless as to how to pick up strangers, and this was causing havoc on his personal life, since he was new in town, jobless and going through a rough patch financially and with no circle of close friends, except our mutual friend Charly. It had been more than a year since he last got laid. Right, let’s help a brother out. But first a warning. After getting to know the guy for a bit, I introduced him to daygame and showed him Krauser’s and Torero’s beginner daygame video which I downloaded from youtube before it had been taken down. I told him what was to be expected from this path and warned him this was no easy fix. Then we went out and I told him I would approach a few random women, so that he could see all the different reactions from them: he would see me get blown out instantly, he would see me get a good initial reaction but then a polite rejection and – let’s hope – he would see me take numbers. That we did and he was in awe, telling me he couldn’t believe I could just stop the girls like that and actually get a good reaction from them and, every time I ran after them, he would feel a strong adrenal dump even if he was just standing there. I took him to a deserted area of town so he could practice his front-stop with me, and I gave him the most common reaction one gets: the shock-and-silence, the defiant-shit-tester, and the fried-brain-giggler. I could already tell his brain was starting to fry and it was a lot to take in for the first day. So I took him to do his first set. My plan was to make him open one girl, and then send him home for the day. But this guy was pure determination. He opened at least eight sets, fumbling a lot along the way and even scaring some of the poor girls. Imagine this 90-kilogram bearded guy wearing tea shades and dressed like a hitman awkwardly circling around girls with a measured step, looking from his feet to the girl’s eyes and commanding her to stop, without smiling or removing his glasses. I could see girls turn pale from the distance, and my eyesight sucks. I gave him the feedback and congratulated him for the courage and determination. We were walking back to the subway station to call it a day, when he suddenly removed his glasses, handed them to me and went straight to a decent looking woman standing inside a store, behind the counter, and began to casually chat her up. He got a good initial reaction from her and actually made her laugh, but he wigged out after ten or so minutes and took off without asking for the number. The balls on this son of a gun! I sent him home to recover and we agreed to meet the following day for some street jollies.

We met at a café in central, and after an hour or so of animated chat we decided it was time to hit the streets. I was still sitting gulping down the last of my coffee, when I saw a pretty slim girl wearing torn jeans, Converse sneakers, a denim jacket and pink sunglasses with her massive jugs going up and down as she strolled along. I jumped from my seat, as if possessed by demons, gave her chase and stopped her shortly after. She was giggly and dreamy-eyed. The set was nothing spectacular; I accused her of walking like a hamster inside its wheel, going nowhere fast. I even lightly pinched her cheeks telling her about her resemblance to a busy rodent. She told me she was a twenty-eight-year-old lawyer, but she didn’t actually work as one, since she considered the job to be “too masculine”. She was also a graphic designer, which she did enjoy. She was lapping it all up and looking intently at my lips. I think I could have kissed her then and there. I played it safe, though: I took the number and went on my way to continue the session with my buddy, the Sheik of Ambushed Targets. He did very well with stationary sets, by the way; I think he was still too scared to stop girls so he did something which is much harder for me to do consistently, and he made it seem easy. Go Habibi!

A few days later I sent a feeler to the Big Breasted Hippie, thinking that she would likely not reply, since it was my First Set Of The DayTM and I was still not Warmed-UpTM. To my surprise, she did reply, in good time and eager to meet.


Me: What are your plans for the evening? Cancel them and meet me at [Local Brand Name Craft Beer], the one in San Telmo at eight. No hippie costumes this time (I lived relatively near to San Telmo, and so I was pushing for logistics)

Her: Hmmm. Let’s better go to [Local Brand Name Craft Beer] in Caballito. Eight’s no good. Eleven?

(My first instinct here was to get all pissed off and think the bitch was trying to snatch the frame. But this attitude taken to an extreme and prematurely had burnt me often in previous occasions, so I calmed down and thought something Yohami wrote in Nash’s blog once: “maybe she tells you to meet there BECAUSE that’s a place she is familiar with and HER home might be nearby”, or something along those lines)

Me: Alright. Never been to that one. I’ve been meaning to check it out. It’s a date then.

Her: Cool. See you then.


I arrived at five past eleven and she was still not there. She texted to apologize for the delay and arrived after 10 minutes or so. We were about to order our beers, when the waitress came to our table to inform us that the electricity had gone and thus she was afraid they could not serve us. I looked at my date sternly in the eye and jokingly told her she was bad luck, and everything was just fine before she arrived. While walking toward our rendezvous, I had spotted another beer garden two blocks away, and I took this third-world mishap as an opportunity to start leading from the very beginning.


Me: Okay, young lady. Now we have to escape from the ominous vibes you brought. Get your coat, this way. The first round’s on you.

Her: Tee-hee. Oops! Oh well. Where are we going?

Me: You’ll see. It’s a surprise.

Her: [With lustful eyes] I love surprises!


We walked the distance to the bar I had my eye on. It was called “Bélgica”. The air had a certain dense quality to it yet it was not hot and sticky. The scent of moist earth could be smelled and it was overall a very pleasant summer night. We arrived at the venue and took our seats at a small table on the first floor. We ordered our beer and started the get-to-know-you part of the date. We discussed hopes and dreams, embarrassing moments and the like. I enquired about logistics. She did live nearby. Then, around two hours in, this:


Me: Tell me about the craziest thing you’ve ever done in your life.

Her: Does this date count? Haha! [Cheeky face]

Me: What’s so crazy about this date? [Looking away, slightly distracted at a waitresses’ behind] I would say it`s pretty standard… Wouldn`t you?

Her: Hmmm. I guess… I would say I’m not a very crazy sort of girl [followed by an awkward silence which lasted for at least a full minute, during which I made no attempt to break it; instead, I began to people-watch the other patrons lost in my own thoughts].

Me: … [Looking intently at her eyes, suddenly, and smiling to myself]

Her: Sooo… Do you always go around stopping strangers on the streets? [She blurted in order to fill the vacuum, not defiantly but playfully and enticingly].

Me: Not always… Depends on my mood.

Her: Well, I think it’s very ballsy.

Me: You realize that this is a very clandestine meeting we’re having. Think about it… Nobody knows we’re meeting here for the first time. Only you and I know it.

Her: Wow, I never thought about it that way. That’s awesome! [Here I knew the deal was done, it was only a matter of moving things forward]

Me: Tell me something… What exactly did you like about me when we met?

Her: I couldn’t say for sure… There’s just something about you. Like you are very forward, but at the same time you know how to treat a lady. Same question for you… What did you like about me?

Me: Your tits.

Her: [Showing mock indignation] Hahaha! You sure are forward. That’s it?

Me: Well, I like the fact that you find my rowdiness charming. You finished with that? Let’s go.

Her: Where?

Me: For a walk.

Her: Okay.


We went outside and I told her I would escort her to her place, like a “half-assed gentleman” (she had paid for the beers), and that I could stay only for a short while, since I had to get up early next morning.


Her: You’re not getting’ in.

Me: [Standing abruptly in front of her, not unlike a front-stop and holding my index up] Stop! Look at me.

Her: What!?

Me:  This…


I softly moved the fringe away from her face using two fingers, in an uninterrupted move put my hand on the back of her neck, brought her towards me and kissed her. She went floppy and returned the kiss passionately, even clawing my neck and biting my lips.


Her: That was good. You’re still not coming in. We’re here.

I argued I needed the loo badly, but she knew what that was about. There was an underground bar across the street, and she suggested I could use the one there. After a bit of persistence, I decided it was a bit too soon and, better than struggling against her resistance I’d better give more comfort. I mean, I had a goddamn bar ten meters away.


Me: Alright. Let’s go grab a drink there so I can help myself, since you’re not willing to.

Her: Hmmm. Okay, sure.


I went for number one, and told her to find us a good spot. When I came back, she was already seated on a double sided couch with a low table. We ordered gin and tonics and we resumed our talk as if the previous tense situation never had occurred. I think girls will be very forgiving if they are really feeling you, but one is rushing against their own time-table. They will temporarily shut down in an attempt to signal to you that “I want it as bad as you… just give me a little bit more time and comfort and I’ll put all my defenses down”. And so it is… so it was. At one point, we were completely relaxed and enjoying our drinks and each other. She actually leaned against me, put her head on my shoulder and said:


Her: I don’t know why it has to be so difficult. I don’t understand myself.

Me: Poor thing. Come here…

And I kissed her once again. She was all over me this time, biting and scratching hard. I took her hand and put it on my hard cock. She squeezed it enthusiastically. I softly pushed her away, telling her that we’d better watch ourselves since we were in public. She said ok, but was visibly horny and couldn’t get her hands off me. I put my hand in the small of her back and continued to sip my drink collectedly. We kissed a few more times and went to her building once more. Time for a rematch. I tried to make my way in but, after a few futile attempts I knew it wouldn’t happen that night. This girl was determined not to be fucked that night. So be it. She volunteered to come with me to my bus stop and wait along. I made a last feeble attempt to “change her mood” at the stop, when suddenly we could see the bus coming in the distance.


Her: There’s the bus. You’re the unluckiest guy in the world [The nerve on this bitch!]

Me: I don’t know about that… All I know is that I’m the most tired guy in the world.


I kissed her on the forehead, said bye and hopped into the bus. Normally, I would go about things in my head over and over when I come this close to banging a girl, and yet it doesn’t quite happen. Not this time, though. I slept like a baby that night.

A few days later, when I had practically written her off as another date to nowhere, my phone buzzed. It was her.


Her: Heyyy. How’s it going?

Me: All is well, Miss Chubby-Cheeks. What are you up to?

Her: What are your plans for the evening? Cancel them and come. I’ll cook you dinner [Wow, this girl is a fast learner].

Me: Great. I’ll be wanting beef and potatos. I’ll bring the wine. How about 8 pm?

Her: That works. See you then 😉


By eight I was there. As soon as I arrived, I opened the wine and poured us two glasses. She hadn’t even finished her glass when she jumped me and was taking my clothes off furiously. It seemed she had been thirsty for a long while. I stripped her of her clothes, and when I took the bra off, these two ginormous breasts came down bouncing. I grabbed one, suckled on it and then I took her lithe body like a caveman, threw her on the bed and fucked her hard and long. She came four times in about two hours and I came on her beautiful boobs by the gallon.


Under my thumb

She went to clean herself, came back to bed and we relaxed in a post-coital embrace, then she got up happy at her new found relief, and set herself to cook. We ate dinner, drank what was left of the wine and fell asleep deeply. Next morning, she would not let me go until I fucked her again and came on her butt-hole.

I Close The Subway Viking

For the last few months, I’ve been putting all my energy into getting shit together in other more vital aspects of my life, thus the prolonged silence. Now that I’m a bit more comfortable, I will try to catch up with events in this blog as best as I can.

Now, this was around mid-January this year – summer in Buenos Aires – when the city is almost desolate because almost everyone is looking forward to get away from the concrete jungle and into a somewhat more awe-inspiring destination. This means that the streets are not that plentiful, often deserted even and, that fact added to the extreme heat forces one to having to be extra careful in managing vibe and logistics. Add to that a 5-to-9 (mine was a 1-to-10 pm, actually) and you’re left with the necessary task of having to create a schedule that allows you to put the consistent effort at the right time, so as to make things easier on yourself. If you’re like me and you moved recently to a new city, where you don’t have a social circle, you come to the following realisation: grinding it out on the streets when you aren’t feeling particularly inspired, yet long for female companionship is hard enough – albeit vital – so it becomes important to make sure that you structure things in a way that pretty much ensures, or maximises the odds, that you will go out to put the work more or less consistently. Just like with the gym, the best routine or “game plan” is any one that makes it sustainable in the long run because it allows for consistency. Yes, at times it basically comes down to flipping stones in search for the yes-girl. Ideal? Perhaps not… Necessary? Often. “What about the precious vibe?”, a sharp inquisitive daygamer may ask. To that I reply:  sometimes (most times, as of late) that is to be regarded as a burdensome luxury. Getting a tornado going will take care of the vibe in due time, but as we know, the stage of initiating the whirlwind is the one that takes the most effort and going against one`s feelings of complacency and inner resistance. No matter how experienced you are, there is no way around this.

With this in mind, I had to evaluate my circumstances and determine everything: from how many sets a week I should do, to how many sets per day, what routes would be best depending if I was prioritizing working toward the objective of opening as much as I could or focusing on vibe and thus exploring new parts of town, whether to do the work through sheer willpower or perhaps prioritize my “feeling it” or go out to approach only when I felt horny, and so on. The daygamer’s need to take full responsibility over his Grand Master PlanTM to get laid can sometimes be a bit overwhelming, since it is easy to get caught in endless mind labyrinths that spring up when confronted with much variability and options. The fact is that I was working full time from Tuesday to Saturday, worked half day Sundays and had Mondays off. So I figured I would do ten approaches on Sunday, between fifteen and twenty on Mondays – actually what I did on Mondays was to delineate roughly a 10 km route and just open whichever girl I felt attracted to along the way – and I would whimsically throw in some shorter sessions during the week prior to going to work, if I felt like it.

On one particular day, I was feeling intensely horny – not as in I-want-to-cum-right-now horny, but rather I was feeling like I wanted to charmingly impose my sexuality onto random girls, as it were, and damn the consequences – and my state was pretty darn good too. For some reason I woke up feeling awesome that day and I wanted to milk it for all its worth. That, we know, is just where you want to be if you are to try and hit the streets long and hard. I had closed a “big-breasted hippie” (not a hippie, really… a late-twenties lawyer who happened to be dressed in a hippieish manner and had massive jugs and who I’ll be writing about in a future post) just a few days before and this, I think, had added a boost to my confidence and overall feeling of entitlement. The session was awesome regarding my disposition and the fact that I wasn’t feeling the grind even though I had done many sets so far – fifteen or so – and I had mostly had blowouts, some even seemed an automatic pre-programmed response from the girl. It’s funny to realize that girls also play their part of the game, and sometimes they fuck up… big time. It’s just that in their case, it’s not a matter of ‘technique’ but rather social retardation. It’s just that they are caught off-guard and hold onto their sometimes fucked-up script when dealing with guys, so their instinctive response is to preventively dismiss any attempt at being picked up. Especially with guys they find attractive. It’s nothing personal, and I will try to help her out… to a point. Nothing can be done if the chaos they bring is just too insurmountable. That’s just how things are and there is no point in getting upset if the other part can’t or won’t play their part. Anyway, nothing could keep me from feeling great doing my thing on the streets and, as the session progressed, I started to feel increasingly emboldened to stretch out of my comfort zone and do things I would normally weasel out from.

I was walking past a subway entrance, when I spotted this blonde chick rushing inside, but throwing an infinitely subtle glance my way before doing so. “She fancies you”, said the ancestral hunter within. I went in without a trace of doubt in my step, just thinking: “I have to have this girl or die trying”. So I caught up with her just a few meters from the mechanical barrier which lets you in to the platform, wheeled around her assertively and in a controlled though dominant movement commanded her to stop. As I was entering her field of vision, I noticed a light and quick smirk which could be described as a concealed smile, which she quickly hid away so as not to reveal something deep and intimate. I have noticed this in many sets, at that precise same moment when the girl is “overwhelmed”. I think it is a hard-wired instinctual reaction, the true significance of which I can’t quite explain. But I’ve definitely noticed the pattern. The smirk-smile rapidly turned into a look of shock and surprise, and after clearly explaining to her that “I simply had to come down to compliment her on her feminine way of dressing and carrying herself, even at the risk of being perceived as a psycho or a burglar”, she gave me this fairy-tale huge smile and submissive eyes. She seemed to be under a spell, and so I kept weaving the web, throwing a tease here and there to balance the pull with the push.

ME: I like how incongruent is the image of you… all feminine wearing a sexy summer dress, which most girls don’t wear, but at the same time with all your hair tangled in a mess. It’s pleasant and confusing at the same time.

HER: (touching her hair, combing it with her hand and feigning indignation) Hey! So is this supposed to be a compliment? It’s windy out there, and I had to leave home in a hurry. (Smiling now) And you’re making me late, you know?

ME: I guess I’m a bad influence. You should probably run and get lost, this minute. What’s your name, by the way?”

HER: [Miss Subway Viking].

ME: You kinda look like an actress I fancied when I was a boy… only 1 point less hot.

HER: Hahaha! You’re mean!

ME: Tell me something [Miss Subway Viking]. Why do you think girls don’t wear dresses like in the good old days? There’s hardly any outfit that looks sexier on you gals.

HER: I think most women don’t know how to be women any longer. It’s very important to look lady-like at all times.

ME: Even when you’re racing to do some important mannish task. Those folders you are carrying are intriguing. Are they secret files?

HER: Yup. I can’t tell you what they are. I’d have to kill you.

ME: Well, now I’m shocked and scared. Ok, get serious now… what’s the plan?

HER: The plan? How do you mean?

ME: What were you up to when I stopped to say hi?

HER: You didn’t just ‘stop to say hi’… You ran after me! I still can’t believe it. Nobody does that nowadays. You’re afraid of nothing, are you? You’re a Viking.

ME: Actually, you look more like a Viking. With your natural blonde hair and green eyes. So what were you up to?

HER: I was heading to take these (showing me her hard paper folders) from work to another office. Boring, mundane stuff. And you?

ME: I was just walking, enjoying the day off work. And I recall having a fixed destination too, but now you led me off track. Look, I do have to keep going. But you seem cool and I do find you attractive. Would you like to go for drinks sometime?

HER: Sure. Take my number.


I took it and let her go. I was flying high when I emerged from that subway stairs. Not only what I did was ballsy. Also, I felt DNA-Tug level of attraction for this girl. She had told me she was 33, but she had this teenage freshness on her demeanor and her way of expressing herself that caught my fancy right away. Not particularly hot physically, but she had that irresistible blend of nubility, freshness and maturity which had the potential to push my buttons.

Ivy 20180813_205845
A modern-day sheviking


A few days later, I sent her a ping to which she replied within the hour. She asked me where I was, and I sent her a picture of my hotel room. She readily agreed to a coffee date for later that day. We met in Starbucks around 7 pm, and she was already there. She had arrived about fifteen minutes early. We ordered coffee and took a seat at a table by the window on the ground floor. Conversation flowed easily, as she was extremely talkative. As in too much. It got to the point where she would throw one personal question after another, and I jokingly warned her about the dangers of attempting to psychoanalyze me on our first date as it would probably make her unwittingly obsessed with me. She genially replied that obsessiveness was a natural trait in her, anyway, and that I should not consider myself to be so special just yet. The vibe was excellent and light-hearted, with mutual defiance in that playful manner that usually precedes a genuine connection and outstanding sex. But only for those who know how to increase the tension, maintain it and delay the joy, at the same time relishing the process of establishing such connection without the need to rush it, whilst seasoning the seemingly mundane chit-chat with innuendo which eventually turns into sex talk and finally that mutual desire which cannot longer be contained. But this is venue one and it’s still early. Time to calm her flutters, give comfort and make sure she’s not a whacko.

Not long after we had finished our coffees, she suggested that we could go for a beer. “If you’re not tired of listening to me talk away, that is”, she said. I ventured: “Are you trying to get me drunk?”. “Yes, so I can draw all your dark secrets out from you”, she replied. This was looking good. “Ok, there’s a place I’ve been meaning to try. You done? Grab your stuff, let’s go”. I took her to this beer garden just a few blocks away from my hotel and we sat in the patio section, side by side. We ordered our beers and the conversation picked up again easily. She did test me when she found out that the picture of my room I sent her had been taken a couple of years ago, when I visited the city for two weeks with the sole purpose of honing my daygame skills, trip in which I closed three girls in ten days (two were SDLs). Of course, this last piece of information was withheld from her – the fact that I had gone to womanize and that I was successful, too – but I did show her the pics of the trip. When that photo showed in my phone, she realized it was the same I had sent her.

HER: [With a look of consternation] Why would you send an old picture and claim it’s current? What do you have to hide?

ME: [Ever-so casually] I never said it was current… It’s just that I’m lazy and I happened to be at the same spot.

HER: Hmmm, I’m not convinced. Do you have photos prepared for every situation with chicks?

ME: Yes (that’s actually kind of true). Except for when we’re fucking. Then, it’s videos and they come afterwards.

HER: [hardly able to contain herself] I’m so into that. Are you too?

ME: You naughty, little lost girl. C’mere.


So I took her chin and went for the kiss. She was all over me, and it was me who cut it off, admonishing her for getting greedy all of a sudden. We kept conversing normally for some fifteen minutes after we finished our beers, and I decided that it was time to pull the trigger. She followed me to my hotel, holding my arm all the way there, bit me lightly on the neck before we arrived at the door and we went in. She showed the receptionist her ID, logged in the guestbook without the slightest hint of ASD and we went into the elevator and into my room. There wasn’t any resistance whatsoever and the sex was outstanding. I really like this girl and she has become part of my rotation ever since, having had displaced the Venezuelan – who is out of my life for the time being – and inspired me to demote her to a lower rank, even when the latter is objectively a full solid point higher in hotness.

The Aftermath Of A Few Months Off And The Mental Game Of Poker

I´m writing this after having been off the streets completely for almost two consecutive months. Up until May this year, I had been hitting the streets relentlessly for two-and-a-half years without a break, and the ´loathing´ finally started to catch up with my vibe. This, on top of my far-from-perfect- game, had been having an increasingly negative impact not only in my results, but also in my bad predisposition towards the game, the main sign of which was (and still is, I think) a total lack of patience and a general feeling of irritability and wanting out badly. There´s a fascinating book called ”The Mental Game Of Poker” by one Jared Tendler, which discusses in depth – among other things – such topics as emotion, strategy, tilt, fear, motivation and confidence; a whole chapter is dedicated to each of them in such an exhaustive way that it is my opinion that no serious poker player can go without reading this gem. Now, I´m no poker expert – merely a dabbler – but when a friend of mine recommended that I read the book, I quickly scanned the table of contents and realized the book is absolutely applicable to daygame.

To be succinct, the author defines the concept of ´tilt´ thus: TILT = ANGER + BAD PLAY. Within the chapter dedicated to tilt, Tendler goes on to identify seven types of tilt: Running Bad Tilt – Injustice Tilt – Hate-Losing Tilt – Mistake Tilt – Entitlement Tilt – Revenge Tilt – Desperation Tilt. Of all these, the one that caught my attention the most was the first one in the list: Running Bad Tilt. The obvious reason was that I had been experiencing a long dry-spell, even if I was doing the work. What´s more… I was increasingly putting in more and more work, with results first crawling to a trickle, until suddenly I couldn´t take girls out on dates anymore. I would lose the vast majority of them over text. I could go out, approach ten girls on any given day and take three or perhaps four numbers. But they would all refrain from replying when I would send the invitation. And I would get straight to it, perhaps after a little banter, without beating around the bush. All in all, solid technique using the principle of ´less is more´ in texts and just going for it leading like a motherfucker. Still, most would not come out. I laid a grand total of four new girls since December last year, all from daygame, but after having done well north of five hundred approaches – or even six hundred (I will be writing posts on these F-closes later on, and a few about near misses as well).

Back to the book, let me quote a few of, in my opinion, Tendler´s most interesting concepts and those that are relevant to daygame:

Accumulated Emotion

Normally, the accumulation of emotion rises and falls within a given day. After a day when you lose a bunch of money, the frustration that built up during the session starts to disappear once you´re done playing, and eventually fades away entirely. For some players, all of the frustration may be gone within a few minutes, or on a really tough day it could take a few hours, along with a workout at the gym, before it´s completely gone. Either way, the next time you sit down to play, it´s as if the frustration never existed.

However, sometimes emotion doesn´t completely disappear. So the next time you play you aren´t starting from scratch; there´s still some residual emotion hanging around from the last time you played. It may not seem much, but this extra emotion (tilt, overconfidence, doubt) means that your threshold has lowered and less emotion than normal needs to accumulate before you cross it. Consequently, you tilt faster, or your mind goes blank after playing fewer big pots.

Tendler, MGOP, page 44.

Later, in chapter 4 named ”Strategy”, he mentions the importance of injecting logic and lays down out six steps in order to achieve this, the last of which is ”Quitting”…

Quitting is a skill. Part of that skill is knowing when a mental game issue is so severe to carry on playing and you need to quit. There isn´t a hard-and-fast rule for determining when the best time is to quit; sometimes you need to push yourself and play through, while other times you need to quit before it gets too bad. Ultimately, resolving your mental game problems require that you find a way to play through the problem…  The key factor to consider is whether or not you can recover and get back to playing well. If the answer is a firm ´no´, you need to quit and come back later. If the answer is ´yes´ or  ´unsure´, consider the following way to approach the situation for a greater chance of success:

Playing well during tough times requires your mental strength or muscle to control your emotions. Emotional control is not something you just can expect to happen automatically. Building the mental muscle to do it takes effort, just as lifting weights is required to develop real muscles. In keeping with this comparison, you can view the development of mental muscles the same way as working out in the gym: Start with the amount of weight you can lift and then steadily increase it… Start small, and then by successfully pushing your sessions longer, session after session, eventually you´ll be able to control your emotions for hours, even during some very difficult times.

This strategy is risky, of course, but you´re a poker player. Evaluate the relative risk/reward for quitting or playing through, and make the best choice depending on the situation.

Tendler, MGOP, page 57.

Now, getting into the fifth chapter of the book called TILT – perhaps the most important – here‘s what Tendler has to say about ´running bad tilt´:

Going on tilt when running bad is so common that players often think of it as an actual part of the game. While there are a few things worse in poker than sustained periods of bad luck, there are a few things better at helping you identify mental and technical flaws in your game.

Running bad tilt is caused by a form of accumulated tilt that develops over days, weeks, months, or years of bad cards. It´s a vicious cycle that builds momentum because variance makes you tilt, which makes you play badly, which makes you tilt more, which carries over your next day, which means you´ll probably tilt more quickly. Then when you do tilt again, you tilt harder, so your losses pile up even more, which makes you quit early. Then you tilt because you quit, so it weighs on your mind more and you struggle sleeping. You wake up tired and feel like you have to play, but then you get screwed again… play bad… tilt again… make more mistakes… tilt some more… play a monster session to get unstuck… fall deeper into poker hell… think winning is the answer but you can´t win… tilt more… can´t stop playing… tilt more because you can´t stop tilting… believe no one has run worse… want to quit the game… not really you just need to win again.

Sounds familiar?

Tendler, MGOP, page 84.

As I read on, I came to the realization that I might as well be reading a daygame book. And, surely enough the author delves into one of the most abused concepts among daygamers. Let´s hear it, then:

Burnout is a unique motivational issue because it´s actually caused by intense motivation. Even though players who regularly suffer from burnout often think they are lazy, the opposite is true. They are so motivated after playing and working themselves into the ground that when their mind is extremely fatigued and needs rest, they criticize themselves for not wanting to play, being easily distracted, being bored or feeling tired. They´re not lazy – they need rest!

Here are two things to keep in mind about burnout:

  1. It´s possible to mistake burnout for another motivational problem, since the symptoms are similar.
  2. Burnout also makes you more susceptible to other mental game problems such as tilt.

Highly motivated people burn out when they go through a long period of intense motivation without getting proper rest. The concept of burnout in mental terms is roughly the same as it is with physical training. When runners train too hard, their performance suffers because overworked muscles become fatigued. Similarly, when poker players play too much and for too long, their performance suffers because their mental muscle is exhausted.

Here are a few ideas on how to break with this cycle:

  • During times when you are intensely motivated, ease off the throttle just a bit. When emotion – even motivation – is too high, it can cause you to play sub-optimally and slow down the learning process.

  • Recognize the early signs of your pattern of burnout, and take steps to get proper rest, such as sleep and exercise, to prevent the problem from getting worse.

  • Have a hobby other than poker that you enjoy doing and don´t take too seriously.

  • Evaluate your game at the end of each day that you play. This helps you mentally put poker down and allows your brain to relax

Tendler, MGOP, page 192.

So yeah, I´m definitely recommending this book for daygamers as well, as the insights that can be found within it are of real value to us street pussy-rats.

On a related topic, today I decided to hit the streets cold turkey after weeks of inactivity. I managed to do six sets and take the number of a vegetarian girl on her way to the grocery store. Here´s what I found: first of all, one´s focus and determination to go out with no other purpose but to hunt DOES wane quite a bit. Weasels come back and one struggles to get out of one´s head. Suddenly, I found myself letting go a few sets I would open were I training regularly and ´in shape´. This is not as bad as when one is a complete beginner, though. Now you have the experience to back you up, and the muscle memory to shake off the AA, but it DOES take some considerable mental effort to open that first set, which you have to open even knowing it´s not going to go smoothly. Suck it up, sonny boy!  I would find myself wandering about, with an unsure step and struggling to decide on a route to complete or a specific goal to achieve during the session. It came to a point where I had to stop and tell myself: “Okay, buddy… Which one is it going to be? Daygame or not daygame? Make up your mind now, and if you choose daygame just go and open”. I found myself wanting to open only those girls who gave me IOIs – virtually no girl gives me IOIs in this city, either because most of them are shy, paranoid of being mugged or completely unimpressed by my appearance. However, once I open them, most give me a very positive response even if they are unavailable. This used to be a strong enough motivator, but since it´s become the default state of affairs, I have become restless with the girls´ reservations at the time to set up a date. I tend to forget about what is to be expected here, and what we daygamers are asking of the girls. I noticed that, the more effectively I sub-communicate to the girls my adventure sex vibes, the more I attract them and make them horny, but the less likely it is they will actually meet me when shit gets real for her. What´s certain is that for awhile now, none of them even tries to milk attention from me without giving the sex. More on this in a later post.