The 4 (Ridiculous) Types of Pickup Artist Guides
For most men, approaching a woman is a nightmare. As the great Henry Cavill told GQ, "Well, I don't want to go up and talk to her, because I'm going to be called a rapist or something." And if Henry Cavill, a beautiful and wealthy movie star carved out of a fertility tree, is scared of women, then what hope do you have? Seriously, Henry Cavill looks like he was designed by panties scientists to stress-test fluid absorption. Henry Cavill would literally die if he tried to pick a lock or sneak, because he put every single one of his character points into Handsomeness. If Henry Cavill walked up to your wife and said, "Help, my penis was torn off by the 17 fully satisfied women behind me," she would say, "Shut up, you had me at HELP MY PENIS." I ... Jesus, I forgot what the fuck I was doing. Oh, right. Starting an article about picking up ladies.
There are countless pussy gurus convinced that they know how to properly trick a woman into liking them, and I've come up with an erotic way to categorize them all. I call it the D.A.M.P. system, after the arousal fluid you may already be secreting. From across all media, I selected a ludicrous example of each type of pickup artist. But before we get started, please get your parents' help to cut out and assemble your Don Diebel Lady Slaying glasses to decode the letters in D.A.M.P.!
Many men are too unfuckable to meet women but too cowardly to buy a human-like doll. This creates a volatile storm of unsatisfied urges capable of overpowering a mind already fragile from loneliness. They start to see vaginas as the prizes at the center of mazes guarded by evil lady minotaurs. After a man spends too much time in imaginary vagina mazes, they decide they must be experts, so they write advice books for other aspiring minotaur hunters.
Some of the shyest, most unused penises are attached to men of sanity, but with enough self-importance to share their theoretical "dating methods." These authors are experts in sex in the same way a yellow belt is an expert in barehanded murder. They write basic, obvious advice for an audience that knows even less about romance, which is a demographic any census taker would describe as "N-no! This number is forbidden!!!" before vanishing in a puff of impossibility.
Some pickup gurus are certain that seduction is a metaphysical sport played with body language, mind powers, and subliminal messaging. These authors have absolutely tried hypnotizing someone into sex slavery, watched it fail, and then wrote a book on how to do it anyway.
Not all pickup artist books are written by lonely stupids. Some are written by single-minded men who have reduced human relationships to a repeatable theatrical procedure that ends in casual sex. Guides like this include field-tested and potentially effective tips to seem interesting enough to meet women. They are perfect for getting girls with low self-esteem to regret their mistakes with you before you die alone, your funeral attended only by the epidemiologist who gave your rotting groin mound the nickname "Lil' Patient Zero."
Now that we know the D.A.M.P. types of poontang hunting, let's look at an example of each one! To recreate the unpredictability of women in the wild, the entries are in no particular order.
A.cademic: How to Pick Up Women Like An A**hole: Nice Guys Do Finish First If ... By Willis Combs (2018)
The title of this book is a bit confusing. It isn't for actual a**holes, but for "nice guys" who want to harness the seductive power of assholes. So the author has already face-planted into the most tired cliche of the no-pussy-getting community, and we're not even past the title yet.
The book itself has no page numbers, and the author splinters every basic etiquette tip into dozens of numbered and unnumbered bullet points, so navigating the thing is like sitting in a Chinese dumpster and frantically opening cookies. Except no, I'm making it sound too coherent. This book consists of the self-published ramblings of a pickup artist whose greatest sexual conquest is sharing a toothbrush with his aunt on a camping trip. These are the below-average observations of a love expert who ran out of ideas halfway into his first boner. If you hatched from an alien pod and squirted, "Blup! I must document these tittied bipeds before *blup* this toxic atmosphere kills me in *blup* five of what these creatures call minutes!" you would write more insightful guide to women than this.
Here's a sample of unedited text from page maybe 30ish?
It's not so much that the author is wrong or dumb or helplessly unable to proofread. He is, sure, but it's more notable that there is literally no way to know less than him about picking up women. These are the very first thoughts to enter an unimaginative boy's mind. And how do you type this badly when your fingers have never once been distracted by a clitoris? This book, no matter what your level of experience, is as pointless as one of the author's erections. Here's some more advice from the very same page. Again, I think it's somewhere in the 30s, and again, I was careful to preserve all of his childlike mistakes.
The entire goddamn book is like this. He has the grammar of a disappointing four-year-old and the clumsy typing skills of a frequent masturbator who has relied too heavily on Pornhub's predictive text. It's like he accidentally printed the iPhone notes he wrote in the corner during his only trip to a bar.
To make matters worse, the stupid fuck can't keep track of what advice he's already given, so every other page offers up the insider chick hound tips of "making eye contact," "asking questions," and "acting confident." He seriously describes these basic components of a conversation as if they're life hacks 11 different times. Being the actual dumbest son of a bitch alive couldn't explain this level of forgetfulness. It's as if he has multiple personalities, but every single one of them is a virgin author. The closest this guy ever came to a dating insight was when he thought to scratch off the little face before he had sex with a jar of baby food.
It's not unusual for self-published authors to be unhinged dipshits with no idea what they're talking about, but this guy has a fun quirk. He's writing a book for desperate losers to act more like douchebags for the purposes of not quite sexually assaulting drunk women, yet he puts little asterisks in the words "pussy" and "asshole" as if he's in church. His mortal enemies are women who reject him, and he can't bring himself to call them anything worse than "witches." Who is he trying to impress? The endgame of this book is to get balls-deep in many strangers. If we're on board for that, does he really think we're going to be offended by a fully spelled "pussy"? You cute little bitch, that's like refusing to eat a hitchhiker with a salad fork.
This book should be called How To Make $25.98 In Three Years By Writing Books For The Desperately Stupid. If you wrote a book called NONE TO SMALL AMOUNT: THE VOLUME OF DIARRHEA YOU SHOULD SPRAY ON A DATE, it would be more insightful and successful than this. And speaking of successful, I want to share a passage from page maybe 90?
Did ... did the idiot hack who put together this amateurish trash just brag about being a television celebrity? I knew I had to learn more, so I Googled him. I can't speak to his popularity as a TV star, but the search engine's algorithm placed him as slightly less famous than a genealogy link to dead people who shared his name. But it did lead me to his YouTube channel, which at the time of this writing literally has more videos than subscribers. Willis has made dozens, maybe hundreds of videos for aspiring sex participants, and each of them has about 40 views. It's like he's trying to build a shrine to his own loneliness so grand that his penis can qualify for disability benefits.
Imagine if Willis was to really meet a woman and she saw his YouTube page. This guy's entire media presence is like a bog of sorrow swallowing up the self-worth of any woman gross enough to touch him. Willis would have tripled his chances of getting laid if instead of making 20 million unwatched videos on approaching women and dealing with rejection, he just dug mannequins out of the trash until he found one that came to life. He's actually more amazing than depressing, because you normally can't be this bad at something without it killing you. Let's move on.
P.ractical: Super Seducer: How To Talk To Girls (2018)
Super Seducer is a PC game meant to teach the player how to get women in any environment. "Game" is a generous term, though. It's more like an interactive workplace harassment video in which you play the role of "What Not To Do."
Each part starts with a live-action skit of a bad actress who makes worse career decisions who is going about her day pretending not to see the creep approaching her. Then the video pauses and you, the creep, choose what to do. It might surprise you that a choose-your-own adventure PC game about banging chicks didn't attract the greatest writing talent, but almost all the options are either obviously wrong or pure lunacy. For instance, if you accost a woman in the grocery store, do you A: Offer a standing 69 by the ethnic food, B: Suggestively insert a banana in your anus, C: Whisper you have a knife, D: Remove your face and teeth, or E: Do something sexually aggressive that might work if you're very handsome.
If you make the incorrect choice, which is both unlikely and mostly subjective, the game cuts to a clip of "renowned seduction guru Richard La Ruina" explaining why you were wrong. Maybe you'll disagree. Maybe you'll learn why you shouldn't always pretend to be blind when you meet girls. Either way, you're in the center slice of a Venn diagram between "The Involuntarily Celibate" and "PC Gamers," so scoring well on a multiple-choice quiz might not be an adequate lifestyle change to get your dick game going.
Super Seducer was not well-received, since training nerds to think of real human women as trophies is kind of problematic. To the game's credit, the ability to meet people is a valuable, trainable skill that can be used for good, and a business-like approach to penetration makes everyone's intentions clear before feelings get hurt. No one is ever going to say, "I'm heartbroken. Remember the night we got hammered at Hole Pumpers and that bold pest in the eye makeup and fuzzy top hat told me I would be pretty if I smiled? It turns out he was only interested in sex!"
I believe in a woman's right to make terrible choices, and casual sex is a fun and rewarding hobby, but Super Seducer focuses a lot on "Day Game." That's when you throw your dong into a woman's life while she's doing something like shopping or eating lunch. These are ladies who have not entered the "give it a shot" social contract of a dance club or a bikini car wash. I'm not saying you should never flirt with a woman outside of a bikini car wash, but if you bought this video game, sure I am. If you're earnestly using Super Seducer techniques, don't ever talk to women, because you're either Henry Cavill already fishing for her G-spot or ruining some poor girl's lunch.
Speaking of G-spots, it's pretty telling that not a single section of this game is dedicated to what you do after you've manipulated your target into sex. It seems weird to assume a PC gamer who requires a product like this would already be a skillful and capable lover, so maybe there should be some kind of chapter on making the endgame pleasant for your victim? Having your tens of hours of seduction training culminate in several seconds of unlubricated, inaccurate stabbing seems like a finale no one will enjoy. At the very least, there should be tips on how to make the sex last longer than the apology. Super Seducer doesn't even make it clear how many fingers you're supposed to insert based on temperature and butt size!
M.agical: Pickup 101 Presents Body Language: The Best Way To Build Confidence (2006)
In this $99 guide to looking like a dickhead, "Sensei" Lance Mason, a noticeably deliberate and uncomfortable man, gives tips on how to appear less deliberate and uncomfortable. This would have been an ordinary waste of everyone's time, except Lance has a friend named Nate. Nate rules. Nate somehow manages to make sitting, walking, or slightly shifting your weight look like the most impossible act ever performed. Nothing Lance says can change this. From the moment he slinks into frame to stand in front of the curtain Lance hung on the wall of his mother's dining room, Nate demonstrates that his body is incapable of "cool." He moves like a gorilla sneaking away in a zookeeper's uniform and certain he's not getting away with it. Please meet Nate:
Lance seems to know the miracle he has found in his friend Nate. He is a walking "before" picture for this ridiculous "confidence building" system, and Lance uses him as an example for everything. To show the power of confidence, he puts bad pickup lines on celebrity headshots and then those same pickup lines on pictures of Nate's goofy ass. But his mean-spirited plan may have backfired, because you will vote Nate every time.
Nate. Oh my god, no question Nate.
Absolutely fucking Nate.
Nate! It will never not be Nate, MTV Movie Award Co-Winner for Best On-Screen Duo 2002 and 2014, Vin Diesel!
For an hour, Lance gives Nate tips on how to stand all stupid or how to sit with your dick out, and seems to genuinely not notice that none of it has any effect on Nate's ceaseless awkwardness. For instance, here is Nate learning how to "BE THE BOSS OF THE TABLE." He does this by flopping his feet as far from his body as possible, pausing a moment to figure out if he can move them any further, then deciding yes. By the time he is done becoming boss of the table, he has inched his feet out into a full Jean-Claude Van Damme. Nate is the best.
Even if Nate wasn't there just demolishing the entire concept of coolness with his jellyfish-like architecture, the idea of trying very, very hard to look like you're not trying is almost too embarrassing to watch. Lance has the false confidence and remedial broadcast skills of a Command & Conquer newscaster watching his therapy animal die. Plus, he thinks there's an actual magical place you can shift your weight to that drops a woman's panties. Well, there is, and Nate found it.
D.eranged: HOW TO PICK UP TOPLESS DANCERS By Derek Evans (1996)
It takes practice to be the best, and no one has spent more time getting asked to leave strip clubs than Derek Evans. His book is 118 pages of unlikely schemes to get strippers to let down the defenses they built specifically for people like you. He also gives tips on how to circumnavigate strip club policies to outwit drink minimums or steal lap dances. In the history of literature, no one has written a more complete guide to getting every person inside a topless bar to hate you since Ayn Rand.
Right off the bat, I want to share my favorite Derek tip for picking up strippers. At the end of the tenth chapter, he starts listing random ideas to get more attention in strip bars. He suggests buying an electronic "Laughing Machine" or dressing in biker leather, but then drops the idea of the century right in your about-to-be-fucked lap:
This brings up a tough ethical dilemma for craft store owners. If someone actually does come in wanting an "I love topless dancers" button, should you instead give them a "Please help me, I have masturbated away my external sense of self" button?
When you buy a button that says "I love topless dancers," you have retired to a fully over-the-pants sex life. And think how embarrassing it would be to forget to take the button off when you leave! If someone saw you wearing an "I love topless dancers" button on the subway or at work, it would be almost as sad as if someone saw you wearing it in a topless bar.
Matching your horniness against a stripper's contempt isn't too different from the start of most male/female relationships, so this book should work on women wearing shirts. Or at least, it would if any of the advice was sane. Derek talks about seduction like a fourth-grader explaining sex to a third-grader. He gives some unlikely plans on how to get her to show you her "bush" -- his words, not mine -- that would be cut from a Bang Bus script for being too unrealistic. On the other hand, his chapter on strip club money-saving ideas was truly written from a place of experience. Derek is a very frugal pervert.
In Chapter Fifteen, Derek gives 16 brilliant tips on how to spend less money while inside a place specifically filled with women who value you on how much money you're spending. It is my great pleasure to share all 16 of them with you. The first one is to get around drink minimums by ordering wine and sipping it slowly for about two hours. Derek carefully explains, "Beer gets flat when it sits for a long time and mixed drinks get watered down when the ice melts." When those idiots came up with drink minimums to keep the bar clear of deadbeat creeps, they never counted on the nimble mind of Derek.
Tip #2 is to wait to only buy lap dances when there are dance specials. Does that seem too obvious? Well then fuck you, because tip #3 is to use a coupon! And tip #4 is almost so genius that it's hard to believe it came from a human mind and not some divine creature of titty savings. Here it is, in its entirety:
His advice is to not tip the dancers so they leave in frustration! These are the very same dancers he's trying to convince to fuck him! And they get stupider. Tip #5 is "Don't buy table dances!" Tip #6 is to wait for drink specials. Tip #7 is to avoid dancers who are, and I quote, "Lesbians, Gold diggers, Married dancers, Teasers, and Prostitutes." Wait, you want me to find a stripper who isn't a gold digger or a teaser? Those are her actual job requirements, Derek. Do you think these girls are rubbing on men for their love of wet denim?
Let's continue. Derek's tip #8 is to eat at the free buffet. This is not exactly deep insider knowledge, and it should have been a sign to Derek that he was out of tips. Sure enough, tip #9 is to not buy a trip to the VIP room, and tip #10 is to show up when there is no cover charge, which are both slight variations on previous tips. At least he goes crazy again with tip #11, which is about how you should write down every drink you order in case the waitress tries to steal from you. It's becoming more and more clear that Derek has been thrown out of every strip bar in his city for just being the fucking worst, and this book is more of a revenge manifesto than a sex manual.
Tip #12 is to show up late so you don't have to order as many drinks before you follow the strippers to their cars. Tip #13 suggests inventing a "friend who is on the way" so you don't have to order anything and can watch titties for free. Then you leave before the staff, which has never clashed with a brain so powerful, uncovers your masterful deception. Tip #14 is to ask strippers how long they've been dancing to avoid wasting money on anyone too inexperienced to bring you to a sad climax. Tip #15 is how to avoid $5 credit card processing fees, which is something you'd expect in an assisted living newsletter, not a book on pounding stripper ass. And finally, tip #16 is an ad for a VIP discount card for frequent public masturbators sold by E.D. Publications, a name so perfect I can't believe this book isn't a prank.
This chapter is not about mind-controlling topless dancers into doing your bidding. It's about using self-hypnosis to increase your confidence. As Derek says, "The human mind is the most powerful thing on this earth and there is no limit as to what you can do and achieve with it." And what Derek wants to achieve with this limitless power is to clumsily pursue women who have spent all day rubbing on other men's penises. Here's one of the mantras Derek suggests:
I read a lot of insane books, and there was something oddly familiar about Derek's writing style. In particular, this past Valentine's Day I wrote an article about Don Diebel, a failed pickup artist turned failed Christian pickup artist obsessed with self-hypnosis. He wrote a terrible book on how to get girls, then published it again under a different name. Then he swapped all the pronouns and published it as a guide to meet men. Did he fucking do it again!?
Sure enough, sections from Don's books on picking up topless dancers have been lifted word for word for this book by "Derek." I'd estimate about a third of this book is the exact same text from Don's THE COMPLETE GUIDE TO MEETING WOMEN with the words "topless dancer" inserted. And they were all released by Don Diebel's own company, Gemini Publishing Company. What I'm saying is that "Derek Evans" doesn't exist. This criminally insane guide to annoying strippers and never getting laid again was written by goddamn Don Diebel, a man so pussy-starved that his balls have started to produce only sarcasm. The packaging on the condom he carries in his wallet is written in a language known to just 28 living speakers.
"Derek" continues for a very long time about self-hypnosis. He suggests that you stand in front of a mirror at attention like a soldier and repeat, "Everytime I go to topless clubs I will meet a very special Hot & Sexy topless dancer that's sexually attracted to me and wants to go out with me." That's almost precious in its sadness, like a hurt yet very horny puppy. But it gets sadder.
You have to be extremely confident that you will never have someone else in your home if you feel safe writing "TOPLESS CONNECTION" on your mirror. If you do bring a topless dancer home and she sees that, she can legally kill you for being a wizard. This is such a humiliating and desperate act that typing it brought "Derek" to a rare moment of self-awareness. He wisely adds, "It is advisable not to tell anyone about your using this method to pick up topless dancers. There are scoffers and skeptics that may ridicule you and shake your confidence." So if you're wondering what it would take for a virgin author rewriting the same failed pickup guide for the fourth time, this time under a fake name, to feel something close to shame, it's writing "SEDUCE DANCERS" on his mirror to hypnotize himself into thinking a "very special Hot & Sexy topless dancer" wants to go out with him.
This is an existentially troubling level of sadness. I'm actually worried that when we're all gone and our planet is nothing but insignificant debris drifting on cosmic wind, the only thing future beings will remember of us, the most powerful truth our civilization ever had to offer, is how Don Diebel couldn't get laid in a rubber butthole factory.
If you happen to find any of these books laying around, grab a lighter and burn 'em.
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