I stop dead on the dance floor and stare at them, sort of glazed……

“Yeah….it’s like when a midget grabs you and starts fucking your leg, and you should be freaked out but you just enjoy the process and imagine yourself sniffing cocaine with lonely dragons in ancient love caves….I totally know what you mean! Bye! You can go now. I’ll miss you, maybe!”

They stumble away, confused.

This is how I blow myself out, or eject or whatever. But it doesn’t work. They meander away, before one of them sort of bumps into me and say’s, “what’s your name?”

Not interested. I just got off work, found the closest bar, paid twelve bucks to get in, there’s one hour left to closing time and I don’t plan on pulling an awkward 7 home to deal with her insecurities. I’ve got my social proof and I’ve weaved my web of attraction now begone!

When it rains it pours. Game is like a wave that crashes at shore. I don’t know a soul in this club and that’s the way I like it. 3 years ago this would terrify me, now I embrace any chance to leave my comfort zone. I feel fucking great. I pulled last time out, I can do it again tonight.

A line up! I love line ups. I wait for a few chicks and jump in.

“Hey! Haha! Holy fuck nipples it’s you!”

“Oh Hi! Umm……”

“It’s me, Billy from basic training. We were in the shit remember?”

I grab her waist and claw her in, vividly describing our epic Vietnam war adventures that never happened. She’s bright enough and clues in to my state. She’s flirting. I tell her I understand her psychic powers because she has beautiful almond eyes like a hypnotic alien and she shouldn’t use her powers for evil.

Anyway this amuses her, but doesn’t wet her panties enough, or maybe it did and has a boyfriend or is on the rag or I’m not her type. Whatever. She loves me. She skips away smiling. Next! I suppose I let her go. A moment of doubt is all it takes. To finish what you start is a decision.

It takes me 7 approaches to find a winner. Two girls sitting with any empty space between them. I flop into the middle and say, “Sweeet! I love sitting down!”

One looks up–unimpressed, the other, a decent blonde claps her hands with approval and it’s on.

Within a minute she is on my lap. We’re best friends. Meant to find each other in all this chaos. We’re horrible for each other. I project us into the future, pull her in for an Eskimo kiss, push her away, pull her back. I say all kinds of crazy shit because I’m so in state I can say or do whatever I want and the good time is infectious. I am the fun master bitches! Come touch the scepter of joy!

2 minutes in she loves me. 5 minutes in we make out. 10 minutes in she drags me to her friends. I’m glowing and scanning the horizon for hotter girls. None around, this one will do. I’m a bastard.

What will be my ultimate reward? An std? A long list of broken hearts and shattered ego’s? I may be a man whore now, and that’s what I wanted—I believe this will give me the strength to deal with any bullshit life throws at me. Since I started pulling regularly, my life has transformed. Like a butterfly or whatever.

The managers at work love me. The girls want me, the beta males give me props, the alphas recognize me. And I’m braver than ever. I say what I want, do what I want. Basically. It’s fucking great. I’m a walking ego boner.

That’s why it’s an addiction. It’s not just validation addiction. It’s like a Mongol warlord who has conquered half the world but can’t stop until he owns it all. For only then will he be safe and his people prosper. But deep down he’s just a wounded little boy with Daddy issues.

“I have to go to the bathroom.” I say.

“Are you coming back!?”

“Yeah I will.”

“No you won’t…its ok.”

Damn low self esteem party girl. Watch out for these. Truth is she is cute, nice legs, good figure. Small boobs but I’m an ass man. She was just too damn drunk. I called her on it a few times but she just laughed it off.

Long story short I don’t come back, but she finds me outside and tries to throw me in a cab. She tells me I’m, “hot,” about ten times. I don’t want to go with her, it’s too far. She is relentless so I invite her to my house to watch BBC Planet Earth. She’s into sharks.

I walk to the bus with her crew and some big drunk muscle head is following us saying dumb shit like, “where’s the party bro? Hey bro? where’s the party? Hey ladies you girls are pretty.”

“Dude. You need more game than that if you want to pick these chicks up. Come in from an angle, use an original opener.”

The girls laugh as he wanders away—a 250 pound captain of the football team defeated by a 150 pound bearded weirdo.

As I bang away into the glorious night I imagine the Hercules man, wandering home to cry into his pillow, or play NHL on his Xbox and eat low carb snacks. I hope he reads a few books. I hope they all do.