Matt Forney
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To Be a Player, You Need to Be a Time Wizard

This is a guest post by Kid Strangelove. Kid originally published this article at his own blog on August 6, 2013, but he deleted the site a while ago so he could focus on other projects. He asked me if I’d be willing to re-post some of his articles on my blog and I said yes.

I’ve struggled with naming this post. I don’t know what word or phrase is most applicable: “time wizard,” “Bill and Ted,” “Marty McFly,” or “Timecop.” Wait a minute: Dr. Manhattan! You need to be Dr. Manhattan!


Ladies love abs, power and blue dongs.

Let me back up a bit.

I am in a bit of a cold streak right now, and with my work and side projects taking up a ton of my time, I didn’t notice that it’s almost the weekend and I have absolutely zero plans. Then I remembered how I spent last weekend: getting flaked on consecutively and drowning myself in a marathon session of bong hits and Arrested Development. No bueno. To put it nicely, I’ve been fucking up.

So I browse the Internet for shit to do, text some friends, text some girls, and start to remember the fact that mere months ago, during my last hot streak, I had busy weekends and was going on dates all the time. It was absolutely impossible to lock me down without planning ahead, and my sex life was booming as a result. Unfortunately, the pussy bubble popped.

But what was I doing differently? Well, shit, I was busy: my time was split between lots of things. But right now, amid the boredom and creeping sense of desperation, I just want to text every girl in my phone and try to plan something. I know it won’t work. I know that the way dogs can smell fear, women can smell desperation, and they are repulsed by it. So I spark up, I play a little Street Fighter, maybe solo it to a movie theater and play it off.

Desperation cannot get to me: I am a time wizard. And a time wizard must be a master of all time, not just the joyous moments.

The time wizard practices two disciplines, both requiring extreme dedication. They are:

  1. Lightning fast execution.
  2. Complete disregard for the passage of time.

With today’s dating culture, when a girl gives you the option to fuck her like an alpha male or keep paying like a beta male, you have a very small window of opportunity to score with the hot girl you just met. Otherwise, the inevitable rush of information will flood her brain that she, as an attractive girl, gets about as much attention as anyone can get without being a celebrity.


Face it, champ: unless you’re a New York Yankee, there is a 100 percent chance that the super hot girl you are talking to will have so much information dumped on her that her brain has no choice to erase you out of it. Hypergamy… or something.

So a time wizard knows to always go for sex on the first meeting, because even with all of that attention, first night sex is still a relatively rare occurrence for most girls. If you can become that rare exception, congratulations: your time wizardry has now granted you total control of the relationship.

But what about point number two? Well, this is where most guys fuck up. You get a girl’s number, you try texting for a little while, maybe you get a response, but feel yourself pulled into a perpetual flake engine. She suddenly can’t make your Wednesday night drink outing because she has a work thing, or a friend of hers’ needs help, or any number of other excuses that she wouldn’t make if your name was Derek Jeter.

And this is where you need to stop. You put down your phone, you watch a season of a show on Netflix, and live your life for a week, maybe two. Then you restart your text game, not even trying to pinpoint a meetup. Just send a joke, or a pic, or anything else, and maybe disappear for a week again.

Congratulations: you are no longer some desperate chump firing off three unanswered texts in a row before you give up.

“But Kid, how does this help me sleep with this girl?”

To be honest, it might not even, but you’re not seeing the big picture. Take this scenario and multiply it. The hot near-celebrity you’re texting is just like any other hot near-celebrity. I bet you she’d call herself “sarcastic” on her OkCupid profile if she had one. I bet “she’s spiritual, but not religious.” I bet she doesn’t want to lift weights too much at the gym because she’s afraid of “being bulky like a guy.” I could go on.

This near-endless parade of women are now on your phone, waiting. They now have their next collection of weekend guys that give up after the third text, all being ignored for work events, brunches, and all the other things that aren’t real. But here you are, hovering above it all, sending her a text at the just the right time, then disengaging. Then maybe she hits you up, wondering why you two have never hung out and if the ship has sailed… until the inevitable point where the two of you have no plans for a random Monday evening, and then it all goes back to time wizard point number one: finish fast.

But what if you don’t have a flaky gaggle of women on your phone? Easy: just pretend they’re there, but play video games instead. Or read. Or do anything to occupy your time. Your chance to update your roster will come soon enough, one phone number at a time.

But don’t go all-in on a girl, ever. Girls are excellent bluffers, and will stay for the long haul of text limbo, flakes, and poor choices. They have no concept of the fragile nature of time, and why should they? They’ve been showered with attention for as long as they can remember, so they mistakenly believe this ride lasts forever. But you know better. You’re a man: you literally get sexier with every passing second. You are the real master of time, and you are freeing yourself from its control.

The ironic twist in this story is that to truly become a time wizard, you genuinely must not be invested in the outcome of personal interactions. Flakes gonna flake, girls gonna girl. Only when you reach this state of mind, when you truly let go, does your sexual power begin to ignite. But you wont even care. Sometimes, you’d rather just play your Xbox.

Read Next: There Are Still Good Women in America, But They Are All Rednecks