Why Number Closing is outdated

The game has changed.

Old School

Gone are the days where you ask for her number, or her for yours.

We can lay waste to the feelings of doubt and disconcerting angst, that often plagues the mind after you obtain those hopeful digits, reliable or otherwise.

That’s shit over. Number closing is outdated.

On my last birthday in September, a young Cameroonian women  of 18 approached me. Fair play to her, it appear the fruits of female empowerment in a post-feminist society have ripened. But that’s not what grabbed my attention. It was her opener.

“Hey, can I have your facebook?”

Boom! Simple and effective. The more I thought about, the more I released – my word its genius. Face-close! (you heard it here first)

Let’s look at the incredible advantages of a Face-close.

1. Screening
   Let’s face it, people are shallow. Now we can perv on potential lovers via their profile pics! Sure she looked good that night when you put the brewery out of business, but have you seen her holiday album? She’s a whale, that’s not a g-string that’s a z-string! “Remove as friend.”
2. It facilitates DHV’s (demonstrations of higher value)
   What about that pic of jumping out a plane, or wrestling a crocodile? Oh yes, women can’t help be impressed when they scroll down to find out you have a masters in Superology and speak Swahili. Your profile does all the work for you!
3. You can IM
   I ask you, is calling a girl you just met a good idea? Most younger chicks find it way too direct, forget what any book tells you. Unless you’re exceptional at thinking on your feet it’s best avoided. Then there’s texting. One can simply ignore you. I abhor those time lags too; it might as well be Morse code! Sure you have time to think about your responses, but then you got the misinterpretations and those long drawn out conversations that sometimes take over 24 hours to complete. Instant messaging provides a great medium; your language is considered, yet it’s still live communication. Facebook provides yet again. Even normal messages are better than txting or phoning.
4. It builds comfort and trust
   She’s know all about you – she’s seen your pics, your friends, your interests & knows where you went to school and what you do for a living. You’ve chatted, LOLed and even “liked” the fact her cat Mitsy was diagnosed with Diabetes. All this, and you haven’t even met. By the time you do, you’ll bed her faster than an Ikea salesman.

Now, let me share some advice. Here are two simple steps I’d recommend to ensure your profile works for you and not against you.

• Make lists. I put all women on my “chicas” list. I even divide girls into regions. I might want to talk my “Eastern Europe” girls tonight and ignore “Asia”. Furthermore, you can exclude such groups from seeing certain status updates and photo albums. Lists are great!
• Privacy & Pics. Don’t let girls see photos your tagged in. Like the one of you vomiting in a fish tank… Potential bedmates should only see what you want them to see, to paint you in the best possible light.

See what I mean?

 

So there you go. Next time you want to number close, think again.

Face-close!

The Siege of Malta

The Mission: Capture my Maltese flag, in style.

Yes, Leprechaun pirate

I hit the ground cold and I had a week.

Dressed as a Leprechaun Pirate, I stormed the island with my new crew: Genocide Glen, Pillaging Paul & Cut-throat Killian (aka Mr.Killian). Many women fell prey to our charms but I wasn’t interested in just a flag. Any man can put one to his mast if mounted by a chubby chica or a prawn; I wasn’t here to trawl. These opposing paradigms are well summed up in an article by Atlas Al: Flag hunter vs Flag collector.

On Form, the pick up:

I wanted quality. Sometime that comes easy when you’re on form.

I found it – a sexy Maltese cutie weighting only 48 kgs, and that included her breast implants. I got her number in a nightclub and we agreed to meet again. She left. Things continued to go well. That very night I made out with a married Maltese girl, her best friend (on the sly), an Italian and then got taken home by a beautiful Indian Aussie. Mr. Killian slayed her friend in the next room, and got his Swedish flag.

Day 1, a fearsome test:

Do fuck off!

The next meet up with my Maltese cutie was behind enemy lines. She was attending a private party in some upper class club, a pretentious affair concocted for a single launch, some electro progressive bullshit. My friends bolted and left me to my own devices.

Her circle was a mix of models, rich kids and socialites with delusions of eloquence.The scene was decorated by designer couture and Louis Vuitton handbags. Then there was me… the idiotic Irish guy with the ridiculous hat wielding a toy sword!

The minute my date left for the bathroom, I was immediately shunned from the group. Two guys came over, turned their backs and formed a wall of penis, rendering me an outcast. I tried to open her guy friends, I was amoged. I tried to open her girlfriends, I was cockblocked. I looked like the biggest sap in the room. My girl was about to return and my perceived social value was so low I was doomed to a night of frustrated wanking. Welcome to loserville.

I thought to myself, “What would a real man do in this scenario?”.

I could go to the bar… not good enough.

I could go the toilet… like a fucking pussy.

 

A Predicament...

No, I stepped up to plate and went straight up to five other women, opening an entire new set. My costume provided me with a hook point and one of the girls began flirting with me. Just at that moment, my dainty date emerged from the bathroom to see me the centre of attention amongst a group of beautiful women. The timing was perfect. I pretend not to notice her. I sense her approaching my back, I feel a tug on my shirt. The woman was marking her territory. I love a good jealously plotline. I had completely turned the situation around.

Rather then go back to her chilly clique, I bid her adieu and told her I’d text her. In all honesty, I didn’t expect the interaction to go much further…

Day 2, lock down.

A busy room indeed..

No need to text. I turn on my phone at 2 pm and the texts come in. She wanted to meet, asap. I had another date at midnight so we meet at 7pm. Mr. Killian was banging a Russian up in the room at this time, scoring his Russian flag and his first Muslim. He gleefully handed over the keys at 9. By 10 I was indulging in my sweet little Maltese sex machine. I don’t usually give too much detail, but I will say she was incredible, someone I clicked with on many levels. After my third orgasm I released I missed my second date, but I didn’t care.

The next day I ended up back here in Ireland.

The siege of Malta was complete!

On Form

The zone, in flow, on form –  it all means the same thing.  Well this nomad is on form. During the Siege of the Adriatic, I pulled off some impressive f closes with a handful of HBs from 5 different countries. That said, I  kept the standard high too.

Last night in Dublin, I had two girls on my arm, a chick from Zimbabwe (20) and a “devout” Muslim from Nigeria (18). The looks I was getting were hilarious, who was this bad ass Irish guy with two black chicks hanging off him? The Muslim was super cute, we made out and made arrangements for a day 2.

I have a 18 year old Filipina girl who wants to cook me dinner next week.

Not one hour ago,  a sexy bitch from Cameroon (18) comes into the family pub and asks for my facebook.  WTF? Why do African chicks wanna jump me so bad? Since I’ve been back, I’ve been radiating sexual energy.

It’s the snow ball effect. What can I say? I’m on form.

I blame travel.

Did I mention it’s also my birthday today? WOO HOO!!!

The Limerick of Budva

A pirate danced with his crew,
He stumbled upon a hot Jew,
A body to thrill,
He went for the kill,
Oh man was she able to screw.

and screw…

and screw…

and screw.

28 Days Later…

Ever think of giving your dick a break?

Even the noble penis requires time to rest and reflect. To look back at his accomplishments, his drunken failures, his scars. He thinks about the future too. After all, he’s got a message the whole world needs to know about.  Without him, you a shell; a robot doomed to cease genetically.  The fucker knows such things and uses his influence wisely. Sometimes, he takes control and you become a Cockzombie.

A Cockzombie is a single man who only ever thinks of sex. “Ssseeeexxxx, Need Ssseeexxxx.” is often uttered to those experiencing “the change”. Most Cockzombies start to experience the change when they have been exposed to copious amounts of amazing sex abroad and return home to poor quality prudes. As a result, even when very short dry spells occur slowly “the change” happens. Eventually one becomes a Cockzombie. Cockzombies actions are controlled by a parasite in their pants and display minimum a cerebral function. Often, the only cure is a fuck buddy or a vacation.

Have you thought about giving up orgasms for a prolonged period of time?

For the last 28 days I’ve been orgasm free.

I’ve refused sex.

I’ve haven’t even had a cheeky tug.

My cojones have reached maximum capacity.

I even get turned on potting plants. Even things like jam.

Why did I choose to go on strike?

Control. My libido was calling all the shots. I had become…. a Cockzombie. I needed a cure.

What happened during the 28 days

I went back and forward between being crazy horny to rejecting sex.

Is it worth not cumming for a whole month just for one ultimate orgasm?

Last night drowning in selfish Ecstasy, I would have said yes. yes. yes. yes. yes. In retrospect, that’s enough for me; a month is a fucking long time.

What have I learned in this period?

There’s no point fucking some girl if you wake up the next day ashamed; with lower self-esteem. We’ve all done it. If you feel you deserve a quality woman, don’t except anything less. Just because it’s offer to you on a plate, it’s doesn’t mean you have to eat it.

But then again…