Monthly Archives: January 2013

Picking up women is a hobby usually practiced after the sun sets. Don’t pretend that nightclubs, lounges and most bars aren’t catered towards lonely losers looking to lay some ladies. When you dress up in your Friday night best and hit the nightlife circuit, you’re competing with countless other guys looking to scale the castle walls and take the princess slut home. A lone shark in a tiny pool desperately racing for chum, inflating the egos of the women you all hit on, increasing the chances that the only woman you’ll be going home with is Rosie Palmer.

What if there was a way to avoid all that? A way to meet attractive women without having to deal with cockblockers, ridiculous cover charges and the other assorted bullshit of nightlife?

Roosh, author of Bang, has got you covered with his companion book Day Bang. It’s exactly what it sounds like; a method designed to help you meet women during the day, while they’re shopping, at work or killing time at the fair trade coffeeshop. This isn’t a repackaged version of Bang, though; because the atmosphere of a supermarket or mall is different than a bar or nightclub, you’ll need a more subtle method of luring in the fishies:

What direct game does is give a girl a shot of heroin, putting her on cloud nine that a confident man thinks highly of her, but like all drugs, it wears off. A couple of minutes (or hours) later, she realizes that as cool as you seemed to be in the brief interaction that stroked her ego, there’s nothing of substance that motivates her enough to schedule one night in the week to hang out with you. She would have to be close to desperate to say yes. While direct gamesmen get numbers, they get pitifully few dates from pretty girls as a result. You can’t skip the connection-building process, because a connection is what it takes to get girls out on dates.

Day Bang’s method is so toned-down and unlike what you’d expect that you can’t even really call it “game”; it’s more about being an engaging conversationalist. Since women don’t leave the house in the morning looking to get swept off their feet, day game consists of hooking them by emphasizing your talents, qualities and experiences as a man, with only enough sexual aggressiveness to get her interested in a formal date.

And that’s the key to Day Bang: like Bang, it’s not magic. If you aren’t already in shape, have interesting hobbies and aren’t already a relatively solid guy, Roosh’s “elderly opener” and “ramble” aren’t going to help you much, if at all:

If you’re an old dude, understand that while day game puts you into position to talk to younger girls, it doesn’t necessarily make it easier to lay them unless you come close to what they’re looking for. To receive good initial responses from your approaches, you have to dress the part, which means a more modern and fit wardrobe on an athletic body. If you have a huge beer belly and you go to the mall wearing a ten-year-old Hawaiian shirt, I’d be surprised if you get anywhere regardless of how well you know the content of this book. Girls will simply peg you as a creepy old guy.

Fortunately, if you are a smart and cool guy, Day Bang is the extra bit of lubricant you need to grease your way through the cogs. Even if you’re not interested in nightlife, you’ll still want to read Bang first; Day Bang’s material builds on that book and is basically the sophomore level course to Bang’s Seduction 101.

Ultimately, the only way to get the woman you desire is to become a better you; the problem is that the accepted ways to do this are varying degrees of wrong. Day Bang is an invaluable tool for refining the diamond of masculinity that is you.

Click here to buy Day Bang.

Read Next: Don’t Bang Latvia, Bang Estonia, and Bang Lithuania by Roosh V

How does the idea of learning how to be more attractive to the opposite sex appeal to you?

Does it intrigue you?

Does it disgust you?

Does it not matter one way or the other?

Now everyone who answered yes to either of the last two questions, kindly recuse yourselves; you’re fucking liars.

Suck it up; everyone wants to be sexually desirable. It’s a fundamental part of human psychology: the desire to be accepted by others. The idea of making yourself more attractive is nothing new for women; put on your lipstick, slip on the high heels, stuff your bra with Kleenex and the boys will be none the wiser. Strangely enough, both women and men are resistant to the idea of men doing the equivalent. Men are told to dress well and make money, yet everyone has at least one example of a dirtbag (drug dealer, guitarist in a crappy band etc.) who breaks these rules and still gets the ladies. Even worse, you might be told to “just be yourself.”

So a 400-pound slob who surfs MRA sites all day should keep “being himself?” How’s that working out for him?

No, the magic ingredients that separate the pussy-hounds from the Forever Aloners are confidence and forwardness. Men with backbone and grit are sexy; men who can talk to women are sexy. Seems obvious, but real life is never that simple. Unless you’re Hugh Hefner, you need a kick in the ass—or a tap—to get you moving.

Bang is that kick.

For those fearing fruity pimp hats and backhanded insults about girls’ nails, rest assured that Roosh is no “pickup artist,” but a normal guy like you and me. His method of getting you laid doesn’t rely on canned one-liners or cheesy magic tricks, but on making you more sexually aggressive and a better conversationalist. There are no stupid acronyms or nerdy slang terms like “kino,” just straight and plain talk:

It’ll be hard to last long in the game if your brain absorbs every negative incident like a dirty bar rag. That drunk white girl in Baltimore wasn’t only punching me but also my lame line, the guy who grabbed her ass in the club, and the friend who refuses to return her Hootie and the Blowfish CD. She wasn’t rejecting me—she was rejecting my approach because she didn’t know who I was. The only time a girl rejects you for who you are is when she has known you for years. When she knows you for a minute, a day, a week, or a month, you’re not getting rejected for who you are—you’re getting rejected for who she thinks you are. She’s using a small slice of what you presented to place you in a category she can understand.

Not only does Roosh go over how to make yourself a smooth conversationalist, he shows you how to direct every step of the seduction, from meeting the girl to your first date to how to disrobe her once it’s time for the dirty deed. No other book out there is this thorough, comprehensive, and dead simple; you can literally pick the book up and start using Roosh’s methods in the bars and clubs the same night. You won’t master it in the same night, but developing any talent requires time and effort; Bang’s method of sexual mastery gets you better results with less work.

Bang’s method also works not just because it’s simple and commonsensical, but because Roosh is brutally honest. Unlike the hucksters, he doesn’t promise you the sky or sugarcoat your chances, acknowledging the reality of physical appearance (and other ugly truths) in sexual attraction:

Let’s say you have hard genetic luck when it comes to your appearance. I’d compare you to a tennis athlete born with little natural ability. You have to practice six hours a day while the natural athlete practices two hours—yet he still creams you in most matches. However, because you’re committed and disciplined, you still stick with the game and pull out enough wins to make money on the circuit. You’ll never be a superstar or top-ten-ranked player, but you’ll be able to do what you enjoy, make an upper class living, and enjoy sex from your stable of groupies.

This is all well and good. Bang’s original subtitle wasn’t “Lay Supermodels in Sixty Days,” it was “More Lays in Sixty Days.” It won’t necessarily get you perfect tens, but it will get you better than what you’re getting right now.

If you’ve gotten this far into my review without closing out your browser tab in disgust, you’re already receptive to the idea that mainstream advice on dating is useless for men. Tonight, most guys are going to go home to either a box of tissues and bottle of Jergens or a bitter, mentally ill harpy who carries their balls around in her purse. They got there by taking the pabulum about “being yourself” seriously, by swallowing every lie that society foisted on them from their childhood.

Do you want to be one of them? Or do you want to be a man?

Welcome to the real.

Click here to buy Bang.

Read Next: Don’t Bang Latvia, Bang Estonia, and Bang Lithuania by Roosh V

I’m going to drop a bit of truth here that will likely piss some of you off:

There is very little in the manosphere that is original.

A collective of men who’ve shucked off mainstream society to fuck girls, quaff beer and do obscene amounts of illegal drugs? No really, it’s been done before, going all the way back to the days of Rome. Hemingway, Bukowski, Miller; this path was worn deep long before we took our first baby steps.

I’m also going to drop some more truth:

The fact that the manosphere isn’t very original DOESN’T MATTER.

The manosphere’s detractors (read: cranky old men who think having an AARP membership makes them wise and intelligent) think that pointing out its unoriginality is somehow an effective counterargument. Unfortunately for them, I’ve read all the same books they have, but my brain cells aren’t rotting out due to dementia.

Way back in high school, I had an English teacher who told us that all of human literature and art can be distilled down to one of two themes: sex or death. That’s it. The Bible, Homer, Shakespeare, Austen, Thompson; it’s either sex, death or the two combined. Originality was an impossible goal for the greats of the Western canon, and it’s an impossible goal for us.

It is not originality, but EXECUTION, that matters.

I’ve had more than one person, from my family to my friends, tell me that the hitchhiking trip I took last year has been done before. It doesn’t matter. It’s my execution of the trip—the specific things I saw and did, my particular worldview and writing style—that is important.

Roosh’s first memoir, A Dead Bat in Paraguay, is not an original work. It’s about how Roosh, tiring of the corporate grind in Washington, D.C., quit his job to sojourn across South America, starting in Ecuador and ending in Brazil. Along the way, he contends with frigid girls, dweeby backpackers, and a litany of foodborne illnesses that end with him having exceedingly painful bowel movements:

The next morning I emitted a constant flow of noxious gas so foul that the air trapped under my blanket was more offensive than a Port-O-Potty on the Fourth of July. I dirtied the bowl once more after waking up to the worst dream I’ve ever had in my life.

This story’s been done before. So why bother doing it again?

The answer lies in the execution. Roosh’s narrative successfully blends the low and high, taking you from his comic toilet escapades to his repeated attempts to seduce the local women in the cities he visits. He successfully gets the reader invested in his tale, whether he’s talking about his relationship with his younger sister or his explorations of exotic locales like Machu Picchu:

The first night of our tour we had a fried beef meal. As a result, for the next day I continually passed gas that smelled like the beef. My nickname in the Jeep became “Beefy Gas.” Mary decided this would be a great time to bring it up.

“Oh it’s extra beefy now, thanks,” I said. I wanted to jump across the salt table and strangle her, but I knew if I got defensive it would just confirm to everyone that I did in fact have beefy gas. I had to play cool.

I have yet to meet Roosh in real life due to our conflicting schedules, but I’ve talked to and worked with him behind the scenes online for several years now. He’s as close to a friend of mine as you can get from an online association. When I was preparing for my own pilgrimage into danger, I could have picked any number of books to read to prepare myself for the journey.

The book I ultimately settled on was Paraguay.

Plenty of other writers have had far wilder adventures than Roosh, yet I chose Paraguay because it was written for my generation. Roosh is considerably older than me, but his experiences in America—his ennui, his feelings of hopelessness, his desire to break out of his pointless life—mirror mine.

A Dead Bat in Paraguay is the lodestone of Generation Y men, the first generation of men in America deliberately raised to be as unmanly as possible. We were shunted into an educational system catering to girls and retards, then doped up with Ritalin and Adderall to turn us into little obedient drones. Television and movies depict us as doddering simpletons unable to perform the most basic household tasks without women—our wives, mothers or girlfriends—to lead us. When we got to college, we were accused of having “privilege,” of being racist and sexist, of being the cause of every ill in the world going back to the fall of Ur. And when we graduated into the workforce, we found that all the high-paying careers we were promised didn’t exist, leaving us to either flip burgers or work demeaning cubicle jobs with fascist HR ladies ready to censure us at the drop of a hat for creating an “unsafe environment.”

And people are whining about “the end of men?” No shit! And I hear that if you shoot someone in the head with a Desert Eagle, they’ll die!

That’s the most insulting part. Our Baby Boomer parents, teachers and bosses have literally been trying to ruin us since we fell out of the crib, yet now that their handiwork is starting to bear fruit, they’re acting indignant and pretending like they had nothing to do with it. It’s like they had no idea that their Marxist social engineering would have any repercussions down the road.

Hey mom? Hey dad? If you wanted your sons to grow up to be men, maybe you shouldn’t have raised them like they were women!

That’s why A Dead Bat in Paraguay, and why Roosh, and why the manosphere in general is so important. It’s the first wide-scale attempt by Generation Y men to reclaim their balls and their birthright. It doesn’t matter that this road has been traveled before. If it wasn’t an important road, it wouldn’t be so traveled to begin with.

If you’re looking for one of the best tales of masculine self-discovery in the modern world written today, read Paraguay. You’re not walking this road alone; men like Roosh and I have braved the horrors of hell, and we’re here to help.

Click here to buy A Dead Bat in Paraguay.

Read Next: Don’t Bang Latvia, Bang Estonia, and Bang Lithuania by Roosh V