on 11-Aug-2018 (Sat)

Our first four lectures will focus on the nuts and bolts of mental math: addition, subtraction, multiplication, and division

Once we have mastery of the basics of mental math, we will branch out in interesting directions. Lecture 5 offers techniques for easily finding approximate answers when we don’t need complete accuracy. Lecture 6 is devoted to pencil-and-paper mathematics but done in ways that are seldom taught in school; we’ll see that we can simply write down the answer to a multiplication, division, or square root problem without any intermediate results. This lecture also shows some interesting ways to verify an answer’s correctness. In Lecture 7, we go beyond the basics to explore advanced multiplication techniques that allow many large multiplication problems to be dramatically simplified.

In Lecture 8, we explore long division, short division, and Vedic division, a fascinating technique that can be used to generate answers faster than any method you may have seen before. Lecture 9 will teach you how to improve your memory for numbers using a phonetic code. Applying this code allows us to perform even larger mental calculations, but it can also be used for memorizing dates, phone numbers, and your favorite mathematical constants. Speaking of dates, one of my favorite feats of mental calculation is being able to determine the day of the week of any date in history. This is actually a very useful skill to possess. It’s not every day that someone asks you for the square root of a number, but you probably encounter dates every day of your life, and it is quite convenient to be able to figure out days of the week. You will learn how to do this in Lecture 10. In Lecture 11, we venture into the world of advanced multiplication; here, we’ll see how to square 3- and 4-digit numbers, find approximate cubes of 2-digit numbers, and multiply 2- and 3-digit numbers together. In our final lecture, you will learn how to do enormous calculations, such as multiplying two 5-digit numbers, and discuss the techniques used by other world- record lightning calculators.

There’s also a simple trick to multiplying by 9s: The multiples of 9 have the property that their digits add up to 9 (9 × 2 = 18 and 1 + 8 = 9). Also, the first digit of the answer when multiplying by 9 is 1 less than the multiplier (e.g., 9 × 3 = 27 begins with 2).

To square a 2-digit number that ends in 5, multiply the first digit in the number by the next higher digit, then attach 25 at the end. Example: 35 * 2 => 3 × 4 = 12; answer: 1225. For 3-digit numbers, multiply the first two numbers together by the next higher number, then attach 25. Example: 305 2 ĺ 30 × 31 = 930; answer: 93,025.

To multiply two numbers that are both between 10 and 20, add the first number and the last digit of the second number, multiply the result by 10, then add that result to the product of the last digits in both numbers of the original problem. Example: 13 × 14 ĺ 13 + 4 = 17, 17 × 10 = 170, 3 × 4 = 12, 170 + 12 = 182; answer: 182.

You asked how to tell if she's ready. The way to tell is the other three- second rule. It works 100 percent of the time. While sitting close, just let the conversation trail off Look her in the eye while you pause the conversation. If she looks back for a count of three seconds, she wants to kiss. The uncomfort- ableness you may experience is my favorite thing in the whole world—sexual tension.

1. I have her come over to pick me up and only let her stay a couple minutes.This is because it's a lot easier to get a woman back to your house at the end of the night if you've already had her over and nothing has happened. 2. At the end of the date, I invite her back to my place and pour drinks. 3. If she notices my guitar (it is prominently placed], I pick it up and play her a song. 4. We play with my puppy. 5. I show her the rooftop. 6. I bring her back to the apartment and show her the Winamp music program on my computer while I sit her down on my lap. While she's playing with the visualizations in Winamp, I kiss her on the cheek. 7. She either turns and kisses me on the lips, or she continues playing with Winamp. If she hesitates, I just show her more things on the computer and then kiss her on the cheek again. She wants to be directed and ordered about. That is what almost all women want. 8. You can figure out the rest. —Maddash

When we're back at my place, I tell her I'm sore from playing basketball and need a back massage. But during the massage, I constantly tell her she's doing it all wrong. Finally, I pretend to be exasperated and insist on showing her how its done. While massaging her back, I tell her she carries a lot of tension in her legs and that I give amazing leg massages to my friends. I start to massage her through her pants, but then tell her to remove them because they're getting in the way. If you act as if you are the authority, she will not question you. At first, I stick to the legs. But, slowly, I work my way up to her buttocks. When she begins to get turned on, I begin rubbing her through her panties until she's dripping wet. At this point, I usually just unbutton my pants, put on a con- dom, and start fucking her without kissing or actual foreplay.

It helps to just think of the girl as practice. If the fear is still there inside, just say, "Phase-shift! I'm now a caveman! I'm no longer Style. Lets see if she hates me. If so, fuck it. I don't give a shit." Look back to girls you didn't caveman, and they aren't in your life. So fuck- ing what? Do you care that she has a fond memory of some guy she met six months ago while a caveman is now fucking her? You gotta actually hit on her sometime. Say, "Stick your tongue out." Then suck on it. If she slaps you, good! That story would rock.

focus a girl's attention on something else so she doesn't resist overt sexual moves. I agree. Say, "Look at the puppet show over there," while you play with her tits. If she hesitates about the tit-play, simply point to the puppets and laugh, "Look at the puppets. Look, they are funny puppets." Then play with the tits again.

1. I leaned in and told her she smelled good. I asked her what perfume she was wearing, and then discussed how animals always sniff each other before they mate and how we're evolutionary wired to feel aroused when someone smells us. 2. Then I discussed how lions bite each other's mane during sex, and how pulling the back of the hair is another evolutionary trigger. As I spoke, I ran my hand up the back of her neck, grabbed a fistful of hair at the roots, and pulled it firmly downward. 3. She didn't seem upset, so I pushed further. I told her how the most sensitive parts of the body are usually hidden from contact with the air—for example, where the arm bends on the other side of the elbow.

erotically bit the crease on the opposite side of the elbow. She said it gave her the chills. 4. Afterward, 1 said, "But do you know what the best thing in the world is? A bite . . . right. . . here." I pointed to the side of my neck. Then I said, "Bite my neck," as if I expected her to do it. She refused to at first, so I turned away calmly to punish her. I waited a few seconds, then turned back and repeated, "Bite me right here." This time, she did. It was cat-string theory in action. 5. However, her bite was lame. So I told her, "That's not how you bite. Come here." Then I swept her hair aside, gave her a good bite on the neck, and instructed her to try again. This time, she did a great job. 6. I smiled approvingly and said, very slowly, "Not bad." Then we finally kissed.

We had a few more drinks, then I took her to my place. After a brief tour, I did a Maddash move and had her sit on my lap while showing her a video on the computer. I massaged and kissed the back of her neck until she turned around and started making out with me. Then she asked if she could lie on the floor for a second. I laid down next to her and—guess what happened—she passed out. Cold! I took off her shoes, threw a blanket over her, put a pillow under her head, and climbed into my own warm bed.

I've preferred to combine teaching and wisdom from various sources, find what applies to me, and discard what doesn't.

I shook their hands. They were surprisingly warm hands for girls who looked half-dead. "We were just having a discussion about magic spells," I told them. "Do you think spells work?"

"I'll tell you what," I continued. "I've shown you a couple of cool things. Why don't you teach me something?" They had nothing to show me. "I'm going to talk to some friends," I said. "I'll give you five minutes to think of something." I wandered away and struck up a conversation with a cherubic little punk named Sandy. Ten minutes later, the twins approached. "We have something to teach you," they said proudly.

We sat down together and made small talk, which the PUAs refer to somewhat disparagingly as fluffing. The girls were easy to tell apart, be- cause one had chicken pox scars and the other had punctures in her face from removed piercings.

As we talked, I realized they were just ordinary, insecure girls. That's why they'd been so quiet. Most men make the mistake of believing that an attrac- tive woman who doesn't talk to or acknowledge him is a bitch. Most of the time, however, she's just as shy or insecure as the less attractive women he's ignoring—if not more so.

"Invite yourself over. Just say, I'm coming over.' Don't give them any option." "Then what happens when I'm in this weird hotel room with them? How do I get things started?" "Do what I always do. As soon as you walk in, run yourself a bath.

take off your clothes, get in, call the girls in to scrub your back, and take it from there."

I didn't want to use soap yet because it would make the water dirty. So I sat naked in the bathwater, trying to work up the courage to call the girls in. I felt so vulnerable sitting there pale, skinny, and naked. I needed to take Mystery's advice and start working out.

I had taught myself the words, skills, and body language of a man of charisma and quality. Now I needed to de- velop the confidence, self-worth, and inner game to back it up.

The first thing you say to a woman matters very little. Some guys tell me they can't think of anything or they need a really good line. I tell them they are thinking too much. You are not that important. I am not that important. We have never thought a thought so great that it needs to be wrapped with so much care. Give up your need for perfection. As far as opening lines go, a grunt or a fart is sufficient.

That is one of my usual openers. Just something you hear every day from the grocery store clerk. Ninety-five percent respond with a one-word, noncom- mittal answer: "fine" or "okay." Three percent respond with enthusiasm: "great" or "super." Those are the ones you learn to stay away from—they're nuts. And two percent respond with an honest, "Terrible. My husband just left me for his yoga teacher's receptionist. How fucking Zen." Those are the ones you love

"Where are you from?"; "How many ways can you curl your tongue?"; "Do you believe in reincarnation?" Or you can make statements: "I live in Ann Arbor, Michigan—home to hundreds and hundreds of ice cream shops"; "I had a girlfriend who could curl her tongue into a poodle"; "My housemate's cat is the reincarnation of Richard Nixon."

open-ended questions, smart questions, strange questions, the most heartfelt questions wrapped in beautiful boxes. I thought they would appreciate my interest. All I got was name, rank, serial number, and sometimes the finger. Interrogation is not seduction. Seduction is the art of setting the stage for two people to choose to reveal themselves to each other.

Talking in statement form is the way old friends speak to each other. Statements are the mode of the intimate, the confident, and the giving. They invite others to share and make perfect metaphysical sense. Trust me on that

"This video makes me feel peaceful," I said. "Like raking leaves into a big pile and falling into them. But if they had some actual leaves here that we could play in—now that would be art." She smiled. "I got thrown in the leaves a lot by my older brothers when I was growing up." I chuckled. The thought of this tiny girl being tossed gleefully into a huge pile of leaves was funny. 'You know," I said, "I have a friend who swears he can figure out a person's personality based on the age and sex of their siblings." "Like having older brothers makes me butch?" She adjusted her Harley- Davidson belt buckle. "That is so much bullshit.

You can't lead without being able to follow. "Crazy bullshit," I agreed. "The guy is completely wigged out. Of course, he did read me exactly." "Really?" "Yeah, he knew I had one older sister. Just like that." "How did he know?" "He said I was needy." "Are you?" 'Yes, of course. All my girlfriends have to write me love notes and give me backrubs. I'm high maintenance."

If you are not prepared to focus on me when you are with me— conversation, touch, our momentary entwining of souls—then get out of my face and go back to your 500 channels of surround-sound life. "Look, I can't talk to you anymore." "Why not?" "I am enjoying this but you either have to commit to talking with me or go look at art. And, besides, with you standing there I'm going to get a crick in my neck."

But the girl sitting on the barstool is more difficult. She is scarier. She is the five hundred pound gorilla in a little black dress. And she can bust you up, if you let her. But she is also horny to be fucked. We are all horny to be fucked.

We spent dinner making up conversation starters, such as the pretend- someone-is-a-movie-star opener.

"I hope I am not interrupting," I said to the woman, "but I just had to tell you that I loved you in that one with the boy and the lighthouse. It made me cry for three days. I stayed up late watching if with my housemate's cat. He used to be the president."

He was telling the students about the hypnotic technique of using quotes in a conversation. An idea is more palatable, he explained as he paced the room, if it comes from someone else. "The unconscious thinks in terms of content and structure. If you introduce a pattern with the words, 'My friend was telling me,' the critical part of her mind shuts off. Do you follow me?"

"How's that berry cobbler?" Ross yelled at them. "Oh, it's good," one of the woman replied. "You know," Ross said to them, "people have signal systems for dessert." He was off and running. "The signals say: This is sugar-free; this melts in my mouth. And the signal system fires up your body's responsive- ness to get ready for what comes next. It's tracing an energy flow through your body." He had the women's attention now. "Really?" they asked. "I teach courses in energy flow,"

Attraction is not a choice. Those were the words David DeAngelo had projected on the wall.

I became cocky and funny. I stole their lines, teased them, accused them of hitting on me, and never gave them a break."

There's Ross Jeffries and the school of Speed Seduction, where sublim- inal language patterns are used to get a girl aroused.

Mystery and the Mystery Method, in which social dynamics are ma- nipulated to snag the most desirable woman in a club.

David DeAngelo and Double Your Dating, in which he advocates keeping the upper hand over a woman through a combination of humor and arrogance that he calls cocky funny.

Gunwitch and Gunwitch Method, in which the only thing students have to do is project animalistic sexuality and escalate physical contact un- til the woman stops them. His crude motto: "Make the ho say no.

Juggler— the newest guru on the scene, who appeared online one day claiming he could pick up women better and faster than any other PUA simply by read- ing his grocery list.

inner-circle teachers, like Steve P. and Rasputin, who reveal their techniques only to those they deem worthy.

there's David X, David Shade, Rick H., Major Mark

His new approach was to stick his elbow out whenever a woman walked past, bump her, and then yell "owwww" loudly, as if she'd hurt him. When she stopped, he'd accuse her of grabbing his ass. It was much more rewarding, he realized, to be funny in a bar than creepy.

He had two rules for women, he said. The first: No good deed goes unpunished. (A phrase, ironically, that was coined by a woman, Clare Boothe Luce.) The second: Always have a better answer.

One of the corollaries of Rick's second rule was to never give a woman a straight answer to a question. So if a woman asks what you do for a living, keep her guessing: Tell her you're a cigarette lighter repairman or a white slave trader or a professional hopscotch player.

One thing I noticed as Rick talked was that people who liked the sound of their own voice tended to do better with women

They sat together and he ran the ESP test, a psychological game called the cube,

Every single thing a girl says or does to me is an IOI. Period. She wants me. It doesn't matter who she is. And when you believe that, they start to believe it too.

The weakness of women is language and words. Fortunately, that is one of my strong points. If they try to repel my advances, I act like they are from Mars and what they are saying doesn't make any sense.

I never try to defend myself or apologize for being a womanizer. Why? Because a reputation is attractive to women. It's true. I am the other man who guys worry about when they marry a girl.

When she comes up and asks us what we would like to drink, I ignore her for a few seconds or so. Then I glance in her direction and pretend I am just now seeing her for the very first time. Immediately, I show great interest in her—as if she were a new discovery. I glance quickly at her body, just long enough for her to notice, then turn myself fully around to face her. A big smile and a wink, and the game begins. HER: What can I get for you? ZAN: [Ignoring the question] Hello, I haven't seen you around before. What's your name? HER: My name is Stephanie. What's yours? ZAN: I'm Zan. And I will have a gin and tonic. (Big smile)

ZAN: You again? Wow, you sure like to hang around us, don't you? HER: [Laughs] (some stuff) ZAN: (Some other stuff) HER: (Some other stuff) ZAN: (As she is leaving) I bet you'll come back again real soon. I can see it in your eyes. HER: (Smiling) Yeah, I can't resist.

Now I have established a cocky funny theme—her wanting to hang around us and that is why she keeps coming back to our table. Of course, she has to come back to our table: She's the waitress. And when she does, I smile at her and give the other guys a knowing look in front of her as if to say, "See, I was right." All along, I strive to make the interaction come off like I have known her for a long time. This establishes a level of familiarity that usually takes several meetings to build. So now, after a while, I will say something like:

ZAN: (Smile, wink) You know what? You're kinda cute. I think I'm going to call you. HER: You think so, huh? You don't have my number. ZAN: Why, you're right! Okay, tell me and I will write it down. HER: [Smiling) Not a good idea. I have a boyfriend. ZAN: (Pretending to write) Whoa, slow down. I didn't quite catch your number there. You better repeat it for me. Lets see . . . 555 . . . HER: (Laughs and rolls her eyes)

The absurdity of this exchange is that there is no way she is going to give me her phone number in front of a bunch of my friends. No girl would. But her dig- its are not the goal just yet.

And I've made myself memorable enough that the next night we go there, she'll recognize me. This way, I can walk up, put my arm around her, and continue with my usual 'You would make a good girlfriend for me" talk. And since everything is said in a half-joking manner, she doesn't know if I'm really hitting on her or if I'm just fooling around. So when I return: HER: (Laughing) Oh no! Not you again! ZAN: Stephanie, my sweet! Hey, listen, sorry I didn't return your call last night. You know how it is. I'm just a busy guy. HER: (Playing along) Yeah, I'm really mad about that.

ZAN: You know what, Stephanie. You're a terrible girlfriend. In fact, I can't even remember the last time we had sex. That's it. We're through. ZAN: (Pointing to another waitress) She's going to be my new girlfriend. HER: (Laughing) ZAN: [Playing with my phone] You are now downgraded from Booty Call #1 to Booty Call # 10. HER: (Laughing) No, please, I'll do anything to make it up to you.

ZAN: [Motioning for her to come over and pointing at my knee] Stephanie, come and sit down. I'll tell you a bedtime story. [Smile, wink] I have used that last line for years. It is gold.

"Okay, now what? How do you transition from funny ball-busting to more serious, romantic, sexual talk?" It's simple, actually. At some point, I just talk to her quietly alone. Remem- ber to turn on the bedroom eyes. ZAN: [No longer cocky funny] Stephanie, do you want me to call you? HER: You know I have a boyfriend. ZAN: That's not what I asked. Do you want me to call you? HER: Tempting, but I can't. ZAN: Sneak away with me, girl. I'll take you higher up the slopes of Par- nassus than you have ever been. Etc.

She knows that any interaction with me is going to be passionate from the start. And now she can choose to accept it or reject it. The truth is, she may very well reject my overtures. But it doesn't matter. She won't soon forget me. And you can bet that the other waitresses know all about the things I said to her. And that is very good, especially since I have said almost the exact same things in the exact same way to all the other wait- resses there. And I will continue to do so—right in front of Stephanie.

The net effect is social proof. When you go in, you own the place. You wave the waitresses over, point to your cheek, and say, "Hey, girl, where's my sugar?" No one is intimidated because you treat them all the same way. In this particular restaurant, there are four waitresses who have come home with me, three less attractive waitresses who want to come home with me, and several more who are works-in-progress (including Stephanie). And you can bet they all know about each other. But, again, that is very good.

Sex, he explained, must be viewed as a privilege for the woman, not a favor to you. "If a woman wants to give me a blow job," he elaborated, "I tell her, 'You only get three sucks. And you may only go down as far as you receive pleasure.'" His chest stuck out like the top of a Volkswagen. "Afterward, I tell her, 'Didn't that feel nice? Next time, you get five sucks.'"

They'd sit me in a chair and ask what I wanted to learn. I had a list: to believe that I was at- tractive to women; to live in my own reality; to stop worrying about what other people thought of me; to move and speak with an air of strength, con- fidence, mystery, and depth; to get over my fear of sexual rejection; and, of course, to attain a sense of worthiness, which Rasputin defined as the belief that one deserves the best the world has to offer.

"We're going to reframe you to where you're not glad to have some boopsy sucking your dick," Steve explained. "It will be a privilege for her to get to drink from the nectar of the master."

Steve's house and read his NLP books

The first weekend I stayed over, he gave me a lesson in soul-gazing, which is when you look deep into a woman's right eye with your own right eye as you breathe together.

The following weekend I learned about ménage-à-trois management, and how to train a woman to eat another woman's pussy by having her put a dried nectarine in her mouth and chew erotically on it during sex. The next weekend he showed me how to throw chi through my hands into a woman's abdomen. And the next weekend he taught me to contain and cy- cle orgasmic energy, so that a woman can stack one withheld orgasm on top of another—until, as Steve P. put it, she's "shaking like a dog shitting peach seeds." Finally, he shared what he considered to be his greatest skill: guiding any woman, through words and touch, to a powerful orgasm that " gushes like Niagara Falls."

I. Who cares what she thinks? II. You are the most important person in this relationship.

he'd get her to say that she was spontaneous and didn't have any rules; then, if she was reluctant to leave the bar with him, he'd say, "I thought you were spontaneous. I thought you did what you wanted."

He was evidence of Cliff's big mouth theory, a natural alpha male.

The girls strolled to the bar, where they began talking to a transvestite in a black tutu. I moved in, not even glancing at them, and greeted the transvestite as if l knew him. I asked if he worked at the club, and he said no. It didn't really matter what I said to him: I was just maneuvering into position, pawning him for the two-set. Now that I was in range, it was time to neg. "That girl over there is bit- ing your style," I said to the 10, the shorter of the two. "Look at her." I pointed to another platinum blonde in a white outfit. "She's just got the same hair," the 10 replied, dismissively.

They looked over, and here was the make-or-break moment. If I didn't come up with something good to follow, I'd lose their interest and be branded just another weirdo. So I continued with the negging. "You know what?" I told them. "You both look like strange little snowflakes." It was a bizarre, cryptic comment, but now I had their attention. I could sense it, and my heart began to pump faster. I continued with what I knew all along would be my true opener: "I have to ask you something. Is your hair real?" The 10 looked shocked, then recovered her composure. "Yes," she said. "Feel it." I pulled it gently. "Hey, it moved. It's not real." "Pull harder." I complied, and yanked it so hard that her neck jerked back. "Okay," I said. "I believe you. But how about your friend there?"

The pickup is a high stakes game, and to win you have to play hard. All I had done so far was commandeer their attention and provoke an emo- tional reaction. Sure, it was a negative one, but now we had a relationship. If I could turn her anger around, I'd be in. Fortunately, I happened to be trying to make a point to the students and was wearing a black mod wig and a fake lip piercing—just to show that looks don't matter. It's all game. I leaned over the bar and stared the 11 down. "Well," I told her. "I actu- ally am wearing a wig, and I am bald underneath here."

And I'll tell you something else. Whether I go out totally bald, in this wig, or in some crazy longhaired wig, it doesn't change the way I'm treated by other people. It's all your atti- tude. Don't you agree?" Everything I say in a pickup has an ulterior motive. I needed to let her know that unlike every other guy in the bar, I am not and will not be intim- idated by her looks. Beauty to me was now a shit test: It weeded out the los- ers who got dumbstruck by it.

I live in Los Angeles," I continued. "It's where the most beautiful women in the country come to try and make it. You look around a club there, and everyone's good-looking. It makes this VIP room look like a dive bar." They were words I'd learned, almost verbatim, from Ross Jeffries. And they were working.

I let her look around, then continued: "And do you know what I've learned? Beauty is common. It's something you're born with or you pay for. What counts is what you make of yourself. What counts is a great outlook and a great personality."

Now I was in. It was the girls who were dumbstruck now, not me. I had entered their world, as Jeffries once put it to me, and demonstrated author- ity over it. And, to ensure my position there, I threw in one more neg, but softened with a slight compliment, as if they were winning me over: "And you know what? You have a great smile. I can tell that underneath all that, you're probably a good person."

The 10 sidled up to me and said, "We're sisters." A lesser pickup artist would have thought that his work was done, that he had won them over. But no, this was just one more shit test. I looked very slowly at both of them, and then took a chance. "Bullshit," I said, smiling. "I bet a lot of guys believe you, but I'm a very intuitive person. When I look at you both, I can tell you're very different. Too different." The 10 broke into a guilty smile. "We never tell anyone this," she said, "but you're right. We're just friends."

I took another chance: "And I'd be willing to bet that you haven't even been friends for that long. Usually, best friends start to have the same mannerisms, and you two don't really." "We've only known each other a year," the 10 admitted.

Now it was time to back off my game and fluff a little. However, I made sure never to ask questions; instead, as Juggler had taught me, I made open- ended statements that led them to ask me the questions. The 10 told me they were from San Diego, so we fluffed for a while about the West Coast and Miami. As we talked, I kept my back to the 11, as if I were less interested in her. This was classic Mystery Method: I wanted her thinking more about me, wondering why I wasn't giving her the atten- tion she was so used to.

I think of a woman's interest in me as a fire, and when it starts to die out, it's time to turn around and stoke it. So, just when the 11 was about to walk away to find someone to talk to, I turned around and delivered a beau- tiful line: "You know what? When I look at you, I can see exactly what you looked like in middle school. And I'm willing to bet you weren't so outgo- ing or popular then."

Sure, it was a truism. But she stared at me flabbergasted, wondering how I could possibly know that. To seal the victory, I laid out one last beauty-neutralizing cold-reading routine. "I bet a lot of people think you're a bitch. But you're not. You're actually shy in a lot of ways."

She began to give me the doggy dinner-bowl look, as the PUAs call it. It is the look that is the goal of any approach. Her eyes glazed over, her pupils dilated, and she just watched my lips move, entranced and attracted.

She leaned in and gave me a tight hug. "Hey, that'll be thirty dollars," I told her, disentangling myself. "This shit ain't free." The more you push them away, the more they run toward you. "I love him," she told her friend. Then she asked if she and her friend could stay with me next time they were in L.A.

But as the words left my mouth, I realized, too late, that I should have made my hospitality more of a challenge.

That's because I never introduce myself during a pickup. As Mystery had taught me at that first workshop, I wait for the woman to in- troduce herself or ask for my name. That way, I know she's interested. So, as we exchanged numbers, I received my first real IOIs and learned that the 10 was Rebekah and the 11 was Heather.

"Remember our rule?" she whined. I knew what their rule was: Girls like this love it when guys buy them drinks. But David X had taught me better: Girls don't respect guys who buy them drinks. A true pickup artist knows never to buy meals, drinks, or gifts for a girl he hasn't slept with. Dating is for tools.

"We promised not to buy any drinks on this trip," Rebekah whined. "But you're not buying a drink for yourself," I told them. "You're buy- ing one for me. And I'm different from all the other guys." I'm not really that arrogant, but in the game there are rules. And the rules must be obeyed, because they work.

Behind me, I saw Mystery punching his fist into his open hand in slow motion. It was a code: the signal to phase shift, to slow down and move in for the kill. I told her about soul-gazing and, with house music and dozens of con- versations blaring around us, we stared into each other's eyes and shared a moment together. In my head, I imagined her as the pudgy middle school student she used to be. If I'd been thinking about how beautiful she really was, I would have been too nervous to sully her with my lips, as I was about to attempt to do.

I slowly moved my head toward hers. "No lips," she said, quietly. I held up my index finger, placed it against her lips, and said, "Shhhh." Then I kissed her—on the lips. It would have been the most beautiful kiss of my life. But I was so lost in the seduction that I forgot I was wearing a fake lip ring. Worried that it would fall out (or, even worse, end up on her lip), I pulled back, looked at her again, and then nibbled on her lower lip.

Her tongue darted out of her mouth. "Hey, not so fast," I told her, as if she were the one hitting on me. The key to physical escalation, David DeAngelo had said in his seminar, is always two steps forward, one step back.

156 We made out carefully, and then I returned her to Rebekah at the bar. I had a workshop to wing, so I told them both that it was a pleasure meeting them and I should rejoin my friends. We confirmed our plans to spend a weekend together, and I left with my heart singing.

When I ran into Heather again, I asked her, "You're not a thief, are you?" "No," she said. I removed my necklace and very slowly put it around her neck. "This is still mine," I whispered, kissing her lightly. "It's something to remember to- night by. But I want it back next time I see you. It's very special to me." As I walked away, I knew I'd just made her night.

I opened a nearby three-set—two men and a lady who looked like an an- chorwoman in search of a camera—with the cologne opener. Afterward, I asked the usual fact-finding question: "How do you all know each other?" Unfortunately, she was married to one of the guys in the set.

I walked in with a new opinion opener I had made up about a friend whose new girl- friend won't let him talk to his ex-girlfriend from college. "Is she being fair?" I asked. "Or is she being too possessive?"

The line must have been part of her routine; it was the second time I'd heard her say it. I also noticed that she always kneeled on the ground after approaching, so as not to intimidate the girls. I was glad Grimble had called: Heidi Fleiss was one of us.

I'd figured out my own routine. It was a simple struc- ture that allowed me to determine the direction in which I needed to take a girl: First, open. Then demonstrate higher value. Next, build rapport and an emotional connection. And, finally, create a physical connection.

it was time to demonstrate value and blow Heidi out. I ran a piece I'd invented after meeting the fake sisters in Miami—the best friends test. "I have to ask you guys: How long have you known each other?" I began. "About six years," one of the girls said. "I could totally tell." "How?" "Rather than explain, I'll give you two the best friends test." The girls leaned in toward me, thrilled by the idea of an innocous test. Guys in the community have an expression for this phenomenon: I was giv- ing them "chick crack." Most women, they say, respond to routines involv- ing tests, psychological games, fortune-telling, and cold-reading like addicts respond to free drugs. "Okay," I said, as if I were about to ask a serious question. The girls huddled in closer. "Do you both use the same shampoo?" They looked at each other to decide on an answer, then turned to me and opened their mouths to speak. "The answer doesn't matter," I cut them off. "You already passed." "But we don't use the same shampoo," one of the girls said. "But you both looked at each other before you answered. See, if you didn't know each other well, you'd keep eye contact with me. But when two people have a connection, they look at each other first and communicate al- most telepathically before answering. They don't even need to speak to each other." The two girls looked at each other again. "See," I exclaimed. "You're doing it right now." They burst out laughing. Big points for Style.

But Heidi was no quitter. "So," she announced loudly, "are any of you girls gonna fuck him?" Ouch. In one sentence, she had humiliated me. Of course none of the girls wanted to fuck me—not yet. I hadn't even made it halfway through my se- quence, and even if I had, the comment still would have blown me out. "Hey, I'm not that easy," I responded, recovering a little too late. "I need trust, comfort, and connection first."

Her name was Hillary, and she said she was performing a burlesque show the follow- ing night at a club called the Echo. She was so interesting, I hardly needed to game her. We just talked, and I took her phone number right in front of her date.

salsa-dancing lessons together. When he dipped her to the floor and scooped her back up, taking her breath away, I could see it in her eyes. He had won.

I was experiencing se- ducer's paradox: The better a seducer I became, the less I loved women. Suc- cess was no longer defined by getting laid or finding a girlfriend, but by how well I performed.

just different levels on a video game I had to get through.

As we talked, I took Hillary's hand in mine. She squeezed back. IOI. Grimble was right: A new me had evolved.

two parts of a pickup that give me the most anxiety: the approach and the kiss.

best-friends test on Hillary and her sister, which diverted the attention to me. Then, after dis- cussing body language,

I suggested we play the lying game. In the game, a woman comes up with four true statements and one lie about her house or her car. However, she does not say them out loud; she merely thinks them one at a time. And by looking for a variation in her eye movements, you can usually tell which is untrue because people look in different directions when they lie than when they're telling the truth. All through the game I teased Hillary mercilessly, until her body language closed off to Andy Dick and opened up to me.

And, as Mystery says, own the men and you own the women.

After Andy and his friends left, I cozied back up to Hillary. She in- stantly gave me the doggy dinner bowl look. I took her hand under the table and felt the warmth emanating from her palm, from her thigh, from her breath. She would be mine tonight. I had won her.

I could see why he was so seductive: It was those eyes that glistened like the surface of a mountain lake, that intense power of focus, that way of making you believe that noth- ing else existed for him except what you were saying at that very moment.

"There are no ugly women; only lazy ones." Since society holds men to less rigid standards of beauty than women, this is doubly true of guys. Give a man like Sweater—or any man—a tan, better posture, whiter teeth, a fitness regime, and clothes that fit, and he's well on his way to handsome.

In Lecture 8, we explore long division, short division, and Vedic division, a fascinating technique that can be used to generate answers faster than any method you may have seen before.

Lecture 9 will teach you how to improve your memory for numbers using a phonetic code. Applying this code allows us to perform even larger mental calculations, but it can also be used for memorizing dates, phone numbers, and your favorite mathematical constants.

Speaking of dates, one of my favorite feats of mental calculation is being able to determine the day of the week of any date in history. This is actually a very useful skill to possess. It’s not every day that someone asks you for the square root of a number, but you probably encounter dates every day of your life, and it is quite convenient to be able to figure out days of the week. You will learn how to do this in Lecture 10.

In Lecture 11, we venture into the world of advanced multiplication; here, we’ll see how to square 3- and 4-digit numbers, find approximate cubes of 2-digit numbers, and multiply 2- and 3-digit numbers together.

In our final lecture, you will learn how to do enormous calculations, such as multiplying two 5-digit numbers, and discuss the techniques used by other world- record lightning calculators.

I've come to understand that without commitment, you cannot have depth in anything, whether it's a relationship, a business, or a hobby."

They always seemed to arrive in a checkered button-down shirt and oversized jeans. And they always left in a loud shiny shirt, tight black synthetic pants, silver rings, and sunglasses pushed up on their heads. It was the player uniform, designed to convey sexuality, which was evidently synonymous with cheesiness.

"Well, I used to be the social chair of my fraternity," he began. "And I come from a lot of money. My father is the president of a major university." "Let me cut you off right there," I said. "You're qualifying yourself to us. Instead of gaining our admiration, all you're doing is displaying lower status. A rich man doesn't have to tell you he's rich."

the jealous girlfriend opener, the best friends test, the cube, and a new piece I'd made up involving C-shaped smiles, U-shaped smiles and the personality characteristics each conveyed.

I noticed Papa talking to a cute girl with short brown hair and a round face that perfectly matched his. However, she wasn't paying attention to him; her eyes kept twinkling in my direction. This was what the PUAs, in their worst acronym ever, call pAImAI, which basically translates as an un- spoken invitation to approach. (Literally, it's a pre-approach invitation, male approach invitation.)

After two minutes, I noticed she was giving me the doggy dinner bowl look. So I popped the question: "Would you like to kiss me?" "Well, I wasn't thinking about it before," she said, holding eye contact. I took that as a yes and moved in for the kiss. She responded enthusias- tically

Then she smiled and licked my face, like a dog. Maybe David DeAngelo was right with his whole canine-training advice.

He was even studying to get a hypnotist's certification with one of the field's most respected teachers, Cal Banyan.

"Proximity alert system!" he announced. When women stand near a man but facing away from him, especially when there's no real reason for them to be hanging out in that particular spot, it trips what Mystery calls the proximity alert system. It means they're interested; they want to be opened.

fake them out with a couple of the practical jokes and pseudomagic tricks I'd learned in elementary school. In the field, one quickly learns that everything that was funny at age ten is funny all over again.

Our new strategy was no longer to try to call a girl for a date, but to take her on a date right away—an instant date—to a nearby bar or restaurant. Changing venues quickly became a key piece in the pickup game. It created a sense of distorted time: If you went to three different places with a group you'd just met, by the end of the night it felt as if you'd known each other forever.

Dur- ing the meal, everything suddenly clicked in the group. Carly felt comfort- able enough to unleash her biting wit, and Caroline began to radiate empathy and warmth. We didn't need any routines or tactics. We all just made fun of ourselves and each other. Juggler was right: Laughter was the best seduction

As we wrapped ourselves around each other, the chasm that had separated us in the bar disappeared. Caroline's touch was soft and gentle, her body frail and forgiving. Now I understood why it had been so difficult to get rapport with her when we'd first met. She didn't communicate with words; she communicated with feelings. She'd make a great nurse.

I stacked her orgasms as Steve P. had taught me, until it seemed like her body was melting into the ground. But when I reached for a condom afterward, I heard the five words that had taken the place of "let's just be friends" in my life: "But I just met you."

Whenever I made a joke, even one that wasn't funny, a broad smile spread across her face. Something inside her heart had opened. It was, I realized, the first time I'd made a real emotional connection with a woman since I'd started picking them up.

If women have sex for validation, Mystery figured, why not take validation away from her? His plan was to be cold and ignore her, until she became so uncomfortable that she wanted to cozy up to him just to make things normal again.

When I asked her about it, she burst into tears. "I gave it up too fast," she sobbed. "Now I'm never going to see you again." They were such sweet words, because they were so honest. I slid my arm under her and placed her head on my shoulder. I told her first of all that every passionate relationship I've ever had began passionately. It was a line I'd learned from Mystery, but I did believe it. Second, I told her that maybe she shouldn't have, but she wanted to and needed to. It was a line I'd learned from Ross Jeffries, but I did believe it. Third, I told her that I was more ma- ture than a lot of the people she'd been with before, so not to judge me by her past experiences. It was a line I'd learned from David X, but I did believe it. Finally, I told her that I'd be sad if I never saw her again. It wasn't a line.

Love, to him, was simply an evolutionary impulse that enabled human beings to fulfill their two primary objectives: to survive and replicate. He called that impulse pairbonding. "It's strange how strong pairbonding is," he said. "I feel so alone now."

If you regularly masturbate, you can easily become addicted. This addiction comes in the form of daily regularity that curbs your desire to go out. It also does not allow you to harness your sex drive, which can be used to motivate yourself to work on wealth-building projects. If you aren't getting laid on a regular basis (which happens to all of us from time to time), then don't just choke 'til you're broke. Set a date with yourself. Only jerk it once a week. If you jerked it today, set the jerk date for seven days from now. If you don't get a girl between then and now, you'll have something to look forward to. Make it a good jerk! Use the best porn and hand lotion. Look forward to it and this will keep you from wasting your life away jerking it daily and focusing constantly on the pain of not having a girlfriend. In the meantime, harness your sex drive and build something.

Strip clubs were Mystery's weakness. He had a list of strip club rules that pretty much guaranteed him at least a phone number every time: among them, befriend the DJ; never pay for a dance or a drink; do not hit on, compli- ment, or touch a stripper; stick to your material; and change the subject whenever a stripper starts reciting the stories she tells every other guy.

One of the primary rules of pickup is that a girl can fall out of love with you as quickly as she falls in love with you. It happens every night. The girls who start rubbing your chest and making out with you in a club in two minutes will leave you just as quickly for a bigger, better deal. That's the game. That's life in the field. And I understood that.

We have this idea that love is supposed to last forever. But love isn't like that. It's a free-flowing energy that comes and goes when it pleases. Sometimes it stays for life; other times it stays for a second, a day, a month, or a year. So don't fear love when it comes simply because it makes you vulnerable. But don't be surprised when it leaves, either. Just be glad you had the opportunity to experience it.

Your success and failure depend entirely on yourself. I've never trusted col- laborations, because most people in this world are not closers. They don't finish what they start; they don't live what they dream; they sabotage their own progress because they're afraid they won't find what they seek. I had idolized Mystery. I had wanted to be him. But, like most everyone else— perhaps more than most—he was his own worst enemy.

Everyone who gets too absorbed in the game is depressed

"You have to treat school and studying like you treat seduction."

All four were the result of an ex- periment: I tried to concoct the perfect routine for the personals. After sev- eral failures, I succeeded. The secret, I learned, was to seem like a selfish prick in the ad, and then be a fascinating, laid-back gentleman on meeting.

When talking to a woman, I could recognize the specific point when she became attracted to me, even if she was acting distant or felt uncom- fortable. I knew when to talk and when to shut up; when to push and when to pull; when to tease and when to be sincere; when to kiss and when to say we were moving too fast.

"Thanks for the multiple orgasms. Call and we can discuss when you'll be taking me out for dinner. You owe me for the cab ride, and I feel like being taken out on a real date," I didn't assume she was a bitch or pushy at all. She just trying to get validation for having put out so quickly and testing to see how much she could control me. I didn't even need to think about the response. "I'll tell you what," I wrote. "I'll pay you back for the cab, like I prom- ised, and then you can take me out to dinner in exchange for all those or- gasms." She took me out to dinner.

On returning home, I watched Ross Jeffries run a variation of my jeal- ous girlfriend opener (about the woman who doesn't want her boyfriend to speak to his ex from college), followed by a false time constraint.

I had finally internalized the idea that women don't always want rela- tionships. In fact, once unleashed, a woman's physical needs are often more ravenous than a man's. It's just that there are certain barriers and programming walls to be overcome in order for her to feel comfortable enough to surrender to them. I got good at the game because I understood that the goal of the PUA was simply not to trigger a woman's shutdown or flight responses.

It reminds me of sometlkhing Steve P. said, about always being in your own reality. Everyone is jus a guest in it. So if it's my work time, and you want to have sex with me, well,e wel- come to my reality.

So every part of the pickup is designed simply to anticipate and disarm objections—at least, when we're talking about solid game as opposed to fool's mate. The opener, for example, is casual. It is not perceived as a pickup at- tempt. You are just being a friendly stranger when you walk up and ask her and her friends, "My neighbor just bought two dogs, and she wants to name them after an eighties or nineties pop duo. Do you have any ideas?"

When you start talking to a group of people, their first concern is, "Are we going to be stuck with this guy all night? How do we get rid of him?" So you give yourself a false time constraint. "I can only stay for a minute," you tell them as you join their group, "because I need to get back to my friends."

As you interact, you pay attention to the people who seem most likely to shut you out—the jealous men, the overprotective friends. You make them feel good about themselves as you challenge, tease, and neg the target. If she interrupts you, for example, say, "Wow. Is she always like that? How do you deal with her?" If she looks shocked, you reel her back in with a light compliment. This is what I call push-pull—keeping her guessing by pushing her away and then quickly pulling her in closer.

After they're finished giving opinions on names for the dogs (Milli and Vanilli, Hall and Oates, Dre and Snoop—I've heard them all), then you demonstrate value. You give the girls the best friends test or teach them something about their body language or analyze their handwriting. Then you pretend like you have to get back to your friends.

Now they don't want you to leave. You are in. You've shown them that you're the most interesting, fun person in the room. This is the hook point: You can now relax and enjoy their company. You can listen to them, find out about their lives, and make a real connection.

In a best-case scenario, you can take the group or your target on an in- stant date to another bar, club, cafe, or party. Now you're part of the group. You may relax, tease, enjoy, and bond with your target, who is becoming at- tracted to you after the negging and after leading her group. When it comes time to leave, tell the group you lost your friends and need a ride home. This will give the woman an opportunity to be alone with you without let- ting her friends know she plans to sleep with you. (If the logistics are too difficult, get her number and make a plan to hang out later in the week.)

When she pulls up to your house, invite her in to show her that thing

you were talking about (a website, a song, a book, a movie clip, a shirt, a bowling ball, whatever). But first, give her another false time constraint: Tell her you have to get to sleep early because you have a lot of work tomor- row. Say, "You can only come in for fifteen minutes, and then I'm going to have to kick you out." By this point, you both may know you're going to have sex, but you still have to play solid game so she can tell herself later that it just happened.

Show her around the house. Get her a drink. Tell her you're dying to play her a really funny five-minute video clip. Unfortunately, the TV in your living room is broken, but there's one in your bedroom.

Of course, there are no chairs in your bedroom, only a bed. When she sits on the bed, position yourself as far away from her as possible. Allow her to feel comfortable, perhaps even confused that you're not hitting on her. If you touch her, pull back afterward. Continue using a combination of time constraints and push-pull to amp her attraction. Keep telling her she has to leave soon.

Then, at your leisure, tell her she smells nice. Sniff her slowly, from the bottom of her neck to just below her ear. This is when you use the evolution phase-shift routine: smell her, bite her arm, let her bite your neck, bite her neck, and then kiss. Unless she attacks you with lust, as you physically esca- late continue talking to keep her mind occupied and pulling back just be- fore she starts to get uncomfortable. You should always be the first one to object. This is called stealing her frame. The goal now is simply to arouse her without making her feel pressured, used, or uneasy.

You make out, you remove her shirt, she removes your shirt, you start to remove her bra. What's this? She's stopping you from going any further? The PUAs have a name for this—last minute resistance, or LMR. Back up one or two steps, then continue. Wash, rinse, repeat. It's not real. It's just ASD—anti-slut defense. She doesn't want you to think she's easy. So you cuddle, you talk. She asks dumb questions like how many siblings you have; you answer honestly and make her feel comfortable again. Then you start from the top: You make out, then remove her bra. She lets you this time. You suck her breasts. She arches her back. She is aroused now. She gets on top of you and starts grinding. You are hard. You are excited. You want her.

You lift her off and begin to unbutton her pants. She pulls your hand away. "You're right, this is so bad," you agree, breathing heavily into her ear. We shouldn't be doing this."

You make out more. You reach for the pants again. Wash, rinse, repeat. But she still stops you. So you blow out the candles, turn on the light, turn off the music, and ruin the atmosphere. Then you grab your laptop com- puter and check your e-mail while she lies there confused. This is called a freeze-out. She was feeling good a moment ago, enjoying your attention, your touch, and the intimacy of the room; now you're taking it all away.

She rolls over and starts kissing your chest, trying to reel you back in. You put down your computer, turn off the light, and return her affection. You reach for her pants. She stops you. She says you just met. You tell her that you understand. You turn the light on again. She asks what you're doing. You tell her that when a woman says no, you respect that, but it just pushes a but- ton in you that turns everything off. You are not upset. You tell her this in a matter-of-fact voice. She rolls on top of you and whines, playfully, "No."

She wants to have sex. All she wants to know is that you're going to call her afterward, so that she feels good about what she did—even if she doesn't actually want to see you again. You let her know that. You tell her, "Take off your pants." She does. You enjoy yourselves and give each other many orgasms over the course of the night, the morning, and perhaps even for years afterward. One morning, she asks you how many women you've been with. This is the only time you're allowed to lie.

It took no gifts, no boats, no hair- cut. Just pure seduction.

Grimble seduced a nineteen-year-old girl who came to his door selling magazines. Despite the fact that he was wearing boxers and a dirty sweater, he fucked her within an hour. And he didn't even buy a magazine.

And he was whipping through the list of recommended books—from Introducing NLP to Mastering Your Hidden Self—at a furious rate. He was a knowledge junkie.

For years, nervous AFCs who were new to the community were told to take the newbie mission. It involved simply showering, putting on nice clothes, going to the nearest shopping center, and smiling and saying "hi" to every woman who passed by. Many AFCs found that this not only helped them overcome their shyness, but that some women actually stopped to talk.

And the directive was to run up to an attractive woman and—before even uttering a word—lightly body check her, whack her on the head with something soft, or physically accost her in some other playful manner.

So after reading about Project Mayhem, hundreds of sargers around the world were suddenly knocking into women with grocery carts and smacking them with gym bags. It wasn't seduction, it was elementary-school recess.

And therein lay his appeal: Tyler Durden made seduction seem playful and subversive—unlike, say, Speed Seduction, which required homework, rote memorization, and even meditation exercises.