The Sad Reality Of A Christian Pick-Up Artist
This is the story of a man who raged against the vagina and lost. A man whose erection died a thousand deaths, until all it had left was its God. But at its core, it's the redemption tale of a man who went from sex predator to sex predator for the Lord. If you have any holes on you, you already know who I'm talking about: pick-up artist and author Don Diebel.
It's important to me that you know this is a real person, and not some wacky character I invented for an SNL audition. This man is an actual author who wrote real books. Here is how he appeared in the actual June 1990 issue of real publication Texas Monthly:
Coming into the 1980s, Don Diebel's only personality trait was sex. Whether he was out on the town or at home coyly staring the panties off you from white overalls with no shirt or muscle tone, Don made every interaction into penetration. You may look at his picture and think, "This guy? He looks like a Before picture in an Out Traveler control shampoo ad." Sick burn, but don't be fooled. He waged a four-decade crusade against unfilled orifices. Planned Parenthood nurses would call him the Baba Yaga.
Don, a leading Texas pussy vagrant, started off with the noble goal of teaching others how to swindle strangers out of sex. It's a cause that would consume and ultimately destroy him, but at the age 33, Don didn't know any of this. He only knew two things, and both of them were titties. With his thick, wavy hair going prematurely white -- a totally-worth-it side effect of mustache ride friction -- he wrote his first book on the thing he thought he did best: How To Pick Up Women In Discos.
Unfortunately, Don wasn't as great with language as he was with nipple play. He wrote like a man who spent elementary school crushing ass instead of learning sentence structure. He made love like a dream, but when he typed, his commas limply flopped into the wrong spots like a porn actor who lied on his resume. Don Diebel is first and foremost a lover, and not at all any kind of second thing. No publisher wanted his manuscript.
To circumvent the literary world's decency and taste, Don started his own publishing company. The newly founded Gemini Pub Co's first book, How To Pick Up Women In Discos, became an instant critical and financial failure. What happened? Well, Don Diebel can only spell "pusy," and he writes like eight of his fingers are trapped in a butt. Politics also played a part. It's easy to forget that women in 1980 had to file taxes as "female livestock or lipstick storage equipment," and they could still be arrested for removing the tuna from a Jell-O casserole recipe. Yet even during that era, Don's book on "picking up" women was seen as sexist. So Diebel bounced back in 1982 with the more gently titled THE COMPLETE GUIDE TO MEETING WOMEN. It was pretty much the same book.
Don still had issues with punctuation, grammar, and spelling, but you don't buy a book like THE COMPLETE GUIDE TO MEETING WOMEN because you have keen communication skills. You buy it because your swollen balls were in the bookstore shrieking, "Aargh! Try anything! Heeelp!" Here's what's crazy, though: This book is almost criminally wrong about how to approach women. Applying this book to your game is like adding anime rants and seven mouth sores to your game. If you've had sex fewer than 70 times, reading THE COMPLETE GUIDE TO MEETING WOMEN legally restores your virginity. Let's look at some excerpts (1982 first edition). All typos are Don's.
The first chapter is mostly for fun. It describes the different types of women you'll run into in the disco. Watch out for The Man-Hater! She's a type of wildlife who only goes to singles bars to make mean faces at men asking for casual sex. You can skip most of this chapter, since if you use the techniques described in the book, you'll find virtually all women fall into this category.
This section helps establish some of the rules for the ladies. If you make eye contact with Don Diebel, then great. Enjoy the moistest night of your life. And if you make the mistake of not accepting his penis, the least you could do is give honest but fair notes on what he and it could have done better.
Stay where you are, though, silent and alert. Don will have some questions and arguments, followed by several sexual offers of reduced intimacy, such as "handjob" or "eat your ass." Wait for him to fully complete his exit interview before going home. If you do remain in the club, you tease, return to Don often, and a bit hornier if you don't mind, for up to ten last chances. Don understands this can be inconvenient, but it's what you signed up for when you brought a vagina with you outside.
So let me get this straight, Don. You spend your afternoons looking for the least interesting alcoholic in Houston's Holiday Inn bars, and you're willing to be slapped and humiliated for the desperate, minuscule chance to destroy an already sad person's marriage. And after years of this, you think, "I should write an advice book to help others avoid this tragic life. Wait. No, the opposite." This whole book is like getting advice from the world champion of diarrhea speed eating.
Judging by the advice he gives, Don considers a woman not taking a swing at him to be a sexual conquest. His approach is to take the tact of a subway masturbator, combine it with the charm of a subway masturbator, then remove all self-awareness. So yes, of course it seems like topless dancers are "easy lays" to him. When he talks to a woman in literally any other line of work, she calls the police before he says a second thing.
It's important to note that Diebel thinks he invented trying to fuck strippers. This will be a recurring theme in his books, along with another overlooked source of eligible bachelorettes:
With this level of relentless pursuit, I have to wonder how Don managed to stay single. I'd ask one of his former lovers about it, but this entry makes me think I'd need a team of dogs and a shovel to find one.
Women, this is going to sound like obvious advice after you hear it, but find yourself a man who can list nine different swingers magazines before he even gets to the mediocre ones.
Whether it's Carl Sagan or Neil deGrasse Tyson, a good science communicator finds ways to take complicated, expansive concepts and translate them into conversational language. Others, such as Don Diebel, might ramble for 57 words about untested neuroscience instead of suggesting "Point at your dick?"
Shout out to 1982's Barbara, who managed to have the most uncomfortable line in a panty sniffer's How To Date-Rape book. This was your chance to help people, and you really blew it, Barbara. I don't know why I'm lecturing you, though. You've probably been dead 30 years, and your entire eulogy was just your bartender telling a coroner, "Yeah, I think that's Britney."
If a lady isn't having a good time at a party where a man is leaning against a wall pointing at his dick, it's probably because she's sitting too far away to see. Move in close, wiggling your fingers around your genitals as necessary. If her eyesight is especially bad, here is how you say "I'M POINTING AT MY DICK" in Braille:
Haha wait, what? Fucking what, Don Diebel? This is a complete reversal of what you were saying last page. I'd hate to find out I became registered as a sex offender in 19 states by following the advice of a guy who was so full of shit he couldn't even keep his own wisdom straight. Oh, great. Now you've got me writing GOP slogans.
Well, yeah. Duh. I have a boner, Don, not a passion for sorcery.
Don Diebel, if masturbation fantasies were forced by universal law to come true, we would all be hunky detectives investigating erotic mysteries with Shannon Tweed. Every few hours, we would suddenly find ourselves buried in confusing piles of our stepmother's pantyhose. You can't conjure things by fantasizing about them really hard. And if you could, the least imaginative seventh-grader would occupy the free time of every hot girl in the world. Don Diebel, listen. You can literally look down at your own lonely, unwelcome dick to know none of this is true, Don.
THE COMPLETE GUIDE TO MEETING WOMEN continues like that for a while, going into great detail on how to hypnotize yourself to be more seductive and offering beginner hygiene tips to avoid being a dealbreaker at orgies. The book was, by any measure, a humiliating disaster. His eager, virgin dong still had more to teach, but cracks were starting to form in Don Diebel's fragile soul.
It had been eight years since the release of THE COMPLETE GUIDE TO MEETING WOMEN, and the book only became popular in one community: district attorneys presenting evidence in rape trials. But Don had an idea that could turn his literary career around -- an idea most people would call embarrassing. It was a pick-up artist book written by a man, but for, get this, ladies.
It's worth noting that the two-time failed author whose advice on hitchhikers was "try to fuck them" was now describing himself on book jackets with "Don Diebel -- World famous writer, author, lecturer, dating consultant, TV and radio personality, astrologer, has helped thousands of lonely hearts win at the game of love with his phenomenal best-sellers."
FINDING MR. RIGHT: A Woman's Guide To Meeting Men was an ambitious project to take female victims and sexually aggressive disco creeps and swap their brains. If it worked, it would be the greatest breakthrough in free vagina since Donald Trump had a daughter. And if it didn't, Don Diebel would just look like a lonely idiot whose greatest ambition was to get away with sexual assault -- the exact thesis of his last book. Let's see how things worked out. Once again, all typos and grammatical errors have been respectfully left in.
The first chapter is mostly for fun. It describes the different types of men you'll run into in the nightclub. Watch out for The Woman-Hater! He only came here to get cranky when women offer him- hold on, this sounds way too familiar. Did he ... no. No, he couldn't have. There's no way.
Oh, holy shit. This is ... oh, holy shit. Don's book on helping ladies find romance is just THE COMPLETE GUIDE TO MEETING WOMEN, word for word, with the genders switched. This maniac actually knows so little about women that he thinks he can search-and-replace pronouns in a pussy-grabbing handbook and it will work as woman's guide to finding love. That's ... that's the most sexist thing but also somehow the least sexist thing I've ever heard.
When I realized he rewrote the same book (again), only with different pronouns, I thought, "OK, but he's going to take out the section on banging hitchhikers, right?" He fucking didn't! All he did was add three sentences to assure the eager female reader that while it is dangerous, she still has at least a 51 percent chance of surviving sex in her car with a destitute drifter. But before you jump on that "golden opportunity," girls, keep in mind that these statistics are only the casual speculation of a lonely man who dreams of one day porking a hitchhiker. They are not official numbers from a census of highway stabbing incidents.
If you're luring junkie male strippers home with cocaine, you're operating at the very highest level of finding Mr. Right and Don Diebel can teach you no more. You started as a sad woman with a book and an unused lap. Now you have a man who loves your cocaine and cares about your cocaine, but who needs to leave soon to rub his balls on a birthday party. And he will remain faithful to you until the very moment a different person has cocaine. On behalf of all women and everyone who believes in true love, thank you, Don Diebel.
Maybe I didn't give Don enough credit for his ability to adjust to feminine thinking. He made a few changes other than search-replacing the pronouns in his manual for beginner sex predators. For instance, in the male version of the book, the astrology section was about tricking gullible women into your home to pretend to do astrology. In the female version, there's a bit of astrology.
One chapter of the female version of his book was four pages about where you can meet horny rich men. This replaced a chapter for the men devoted to infiltrating swinger communities. He may not be a smart man, but Don has been kicked out of enough orgies to know that women prefer cash prizes to group sex.
When FINDING MR. RIGHT: A Woman's Guide To Meeting Men -- the female reboot of the previous reboot of an unpublishable book -- didn't work out, Don knew he had to innovate. His keen mind, honed by years of imagining vulvas, thought: "What if there was a collection of pages that contained the names, locations, and phone numbers of businesses!?" He then published THE HOUSTON ENTERTAINMENT AND Dating GUIDE: WHERE TO GO AND WHAT TO DO FROM A TO Z
This joyless list of business hours and addresses contained 100 pages, eight grainy photos, and several short descriptions of what things like art galleries and senior citizen centers are as basic concepts. If you were in the Houston area in the early '90s and wished the Yellow Pages were harder to navigate and written by a pervert, it made the perfect gift. Unfortunately, this was not a large enough group of people to make the book a hit.
So after publishing one pick-up artist book three different ways and one Houston Yellow Pages spec script, Don spent eight years coming up with his realest idea yet. It was a book about picking up chicks, but focusing on the only part he'd ever experienced: the opening line.
In 1999, at the age of 52, Don Diebel published 1001 Best Pick-Up Lines: Sure-fire Opening Lines For Meeting, Attracting, and Seducing Women. On the book jacket, he described himself as "America's #1 Singles Expert and one of the nation's leading experts on dating and relationships." He was back and doing what he did best: creating awkward situations between a handful of sad men and their book store clerks, then nothing fucking close to anything else.
Fun fact: The book was also published on CD-ROM, but instead of featuring a hot chick getting seduced in a bar, Don used clip art of what seems to be a hospitality worker explaining to a passenger that his mother just fell off the back of the cruise ship. A strange choice, and also one irrelevant to anything I'll be discussing! Let's take a look inside:
Women love honesty, but they also love mystery, which makes this a perfect line, because she will find this honesty very mysterious. And then you have her right where you want her, engaging in the sensual game of cat and mouse that is seduction. She's thinking, "Did this elderly man really fuck a breach into his blow-up doll, or does he have a poor sense of humor and no judgement?" and you're thinking, "LICK HER TOES, COWARD. NO, MOTHER, I MUSTN'T! LICK HER TOES, COWARD."
At first this seems like innocent wordplay, but it's so much more. This line subliminally recreates that erotic feeling that only exists between the moment you open a Valentine's Day card from a child and the moment you place it in the trash. She will be overwhelmed with a sense of predictable, expected disappointment.
If you built a robot to package toothpaste and it left the factory to go house to house tearing the teeth from every mouth it found, it would be better at its job than this line is at picking up women.
This one isn't bad, Don, but the default human greeting seems a bit obvious for a book promising "Sure-fire opening lines for meeting, attracting, and seducing women" from "America's #1 Singles Expert." This is kind of like including "milk" in a cookbook, or "none" in The Comprehensive Guide To Vaginas Don Diebel Has Actually Seen.
"Because if you are, your pizza, pastas, and zeal for life really plumb my koopas. And lasagna? I'm sorry, no woman has ever let me talk this long. I- aaaaaaahhhhh I'm! Is this? I-I'm CUMMMING!!!!"
This is such an amazing combination of stupid, confusing, and pathetic that I think Don has given up trying to seduce ladies and now he's simply searching for the secret cheat code to turn off a woman's nervous system. There is one good thing about this pick-up line, though: If the club is too noisy for her to hear you, you can communicate the exact same thing by sadly holding out a condom while your own pants fill with pee. Which, if I'm not mistaken, is the Diebel family crest.
This opening line can really move things along, but it only works on Alzheimer's patients who are willing to have sex with the men they think are their children.
No, she's still not Italian, Don. Are you fucking stupid? Why did you write a book promising 1,001 conversation starters if the only nine honest conversations you can have are about swingers magazines? Don, when your pick-up lines are so dull you can't remember them from earlier on the same fucking page of your own book, how are they going to work on the real women laughing at the little mustache you grew to hide your chimpanzee lips? How many times will you ask them if they're Italian while they're telling the bouncer you were smelling their bar stools? A million dollars says the closest you've ever come to actual sex is when you found a pizza pocket in your swimming trunks. You miserable fuck, Don Diebel.
While she's lubricating from your Laffy Taffy cleverness, follow this line up with "That counts! You all saw! FIRST BASE FOR DIEBEL! Ow! Stop! OK, I'm leaving! I, HEY! I'm entitled to a phone call! I need to tell my mother I met a girl!"
Let's imagine this in a best-case scenario. Let's say this woman alone at the bar has no defenses against aggressive perverts. Let's say she believes there was a fart and that it wasn't you, Don Diebel, the man giving local fart updates to strangers. Say she abandons her drink and runs outside with the obvious pervert screaming about farts. Does this seem reasonable, Don? Because we're not done.
Don, you seem to think a woman's mood can be manipulated with suggestion and imperceptible body language. If that's true, and we're just playing games now because it isn't, wouldn't it work in the opposite direction? Don't you think running up to her with a butt smell emergency might undo the 40 seconds you spent trying to get her to look at your dick? By your own science, you've implanted yourself in her subconscious as the bar-clearing fart guy, Don. And no one steps out on their husband with the bar-clearing fart guy.
Of course this guy has a feet thing. Jesus Christ, Don, at this point you might as well ask for her address and if it's OK for you to keep any Maxi Pads she throws out.
This isn't how meeting people works or how licking people works. The nicest thing anyone has ever said about Don Diebel is this quote I wrote for the back of his next book: "Don Diebel's direct, slobbery approach to picking up women saves everyone time! Most sexual predators hide their dark intentions behind charm until it's far too late!"
You probably know this is the desperate act of a sex criminal and wouldn't work. If you did this one million times, you would see zero boobs and be the least popular man in prison. This is like writing a book on finance and suggesting, "Sell a stolen bike for $50 million! (Someone out there might actually do it. Billionaires are noted eccentrics.)" And don't fucking forget, Don Diebel wrote this when he was a 52-year-old man. That's almost 40 years past puberty, and he still cannot even imagine what it would look like if a woman said a second thing to him.
There's no way anyone is this bad with women. If you told me this book was a marketing scheme created by the pepper spray industry, I would pretend I knew it all along.
Is that true, women? Call the police for "no," and dry heave for a more comical "no."
I've made fun of a lot of the stuff in this book, but this one is just good writing. It's effective, too. Approaching a woman as if you have an emergency and then revealing you're only a horny idiot works in any situation. For instance, if you're at the DMV, say, "You crazy bitch, I know you took my cat!" Then I wait six, maybe seven beats, and finish, "...alog for big penis rubbers. Hi, are you Italian? Can Italians catch herpes on their feet?"
Let the record show: America's #1 Singles Expert suggests, in his chapter on daddy-themed pick-up lines, that you should tell a woman her dad makes you horny with a trumpet pun.
If hundreds of miracles simultaneously take place and you find yourself in a relationship with the woman you say this to, this opening line will torment her every moment. At night, she will lay awake remembering how you introduced yourself. She'll think about it when you're inside her. She'll go onto pervert forums and trumpet subreddits, desperately looking for answers. "My lover said my father must play the trumpet because he sure does make him horny. Please, what does it mean?" You couldn't say anything more hauntingly unappealing if you walked up to a stranger and asked to slide your cold hands into her tits.
Oh, come on. Fuck your frigid soul, Don Diebel. You would lick a hole into an old shoe if you thought a female garbage collector touched it.
This book contains an entire chapter of Beavis And Butthead pick-up lines. Not similar in theme to Beavis And Butthead, but direct quotes and references to the cartoon. I don't have a joke about that; I just want you to know it exists.
Don also included a chapter specifically about picking up topless dancers with lines like "What's your real name?" and, I swear to God this is a line in its entirety, "Show me your bush!" He suggests saying, "Don't you get tired of all these horny men with their brain between their legs?" on the same page as, "Don't you get tired of being around all these drunks and horny men acting like a bunch of idiots?" Most of the other lines are different ways you can shame her and her filthy job.
Don Diebel is absolutely the lonely man in the strip bar earnestly seeking a human relationship. If you asked any stripper to list the cliches this type of man says, she could write, word-for-word, Don Diebel's chapter on picking up topless dancers. As he went into the year 2000, Don was a 53-year-old man offering sex to sex workers with all the allure of a cockroach feeding on Charlie Sheen's blood. And things didn't get much better in the next decade.
The 2000s were a slow time for Diebel's publishing. His first five books were the dark fantasies of a monster too sheepish to go through with a real kidnapping. He was a second penis on the only panda in a zoo -- useless in ways too obvious and depressing to get into.
Dwell magazine did an interview with him, not as a pick-up artist, but as a lamp expert. Apparently, they saw an article on his website about romantic lighting, and thought he would be the perfect expert to review three modern lamps. Each of his reviews were the incoherent ramblings of someone you would only describe as a non-lamp-expert, but that's not important. What's important is it revealed Don Diebel had a website, and it's exactly what you'd expect.
It's called Getgirls.com, and it sells sex cologne, romance cassettes, and his stupid goddamn books. And these are not products for presentable men looking to enhance their desirability -- Getgirls.com is totally banking on you having several crippling emotional disorders and facial defects. His approach to women is 100 percent "You're barely slime, so why not try groveling and titty-grabbing." Here's a screenshot:
Getgirls.com's products are designed to turn unwilling women into sex partners, which is strange, because it's the one thing the site's creator has plainly never done. It sells pheromone perfume for inventive rapists and hypnosis tapes for horny magicians. But selling snake oil for inflatable-doll-scented penises wasn't as successful as you might imagine, so Don tried one last time to write a book on scoring babes. Let's talk about 2009's 200 Guaranteed Ways To Succeed With Women: Everything You Need To Know On How To Meet, Date, And Attract Women.
This book is pathetic, yes, but not like the others. This one mostly focuses on how to deal with the overwhelming depression that comes with being Don Diebel. It's less a guide to crushing ass and more of a training manual for a crisis hotline volunteer. The entries are self-help mantras like "Cure for the blues (#10)" and "How to be happy (#14)," which take up less than a whole page put together. And #30 is just "How to eat Italian food," with a couple of tips on table manners. But let me tell you about #29. Oh, holy shitting fuck, #29.
Imagine the erotic memoirs of a 62-year-old virgin who never learned to write and still isn't sure which of the blobs is the mons pubis. That's what I'm about to show you. The 29th Guaranteed Way to Succeed with Women is called "My date from hell," and it's an un-proofread account of Don Diebel's greatest sexual triumph:
One of the reasons Diebel's pick-up lines are so bad is that half-naked women jump on him before he can practice them. And if you're thinking none of this happened, which of these two scenarios is more likely?
A: A sad man with a history of bad ethics falsifies an unverifiable and unlikely story in which he's highly motivated to lie.
B: The hottest girl, like, ever gets into a vehicle alone with a non-handsome elderly man as he's trying to drive over sunbathers.
C: Oh, you weren't expecting a C, ladies? It was to catch you off-guard so I could subliminally end this sentence with three sexually charged words penis, butt, penis. Hi, I'm Seanbaby, and I've read all of Don Diebel's books. Show me your bush.
Assuming this date really happened (and aren't we being cute), Don offered to drive Hot Bikini Girl to his place. She agreed, but instead of a wild night of romance, they discovered Don left his dog home alone with no water while he was cruising for hard bodies. It was comatose from dehydration. This means in an imaginary story wherein Diebel controls every detail, he nearly murders his own dog and can't close the deal with the loose stranger who came to his house for sex. But don't give up yet. We're not even close to done.
OK, so Don Diebel killed his dog, but not before it got way more action from his date than he did.
Despite the loss of his best friend, Don was still in the mood for love. Obviously, he could drive back to the beach to find a replacement hot girl, maybe even one who hadn't watched a dog die on her own mouth that afternoon. But Diebel was going to finish what he started -- he took the same girl to dinner, on a helicopter tour of the city, to a nightclub, and then to the pier, his beloved dead companion still lingering on her breath.
None of the date was going well. She flirted with other men, Don picked a fight with her, and she jumped into a lake and nearly died. "I was pissed," remembers Don. But you don't get to be America's #1 Singles Expert by giving up easily. Don took the wet girl he hated back to his house, where he planned to have meaningless sex mere feet from a bag of dog food to go forever uneaten. Instead, this happens:
That was quite an adventure, right? It's obviously -- OBVIOUSLY -- not true, but all good lies have elements of truth in them. So, Houston police, there's a really good chance Don is describing the time he killed his dog, drugged a woman, and threw her body in a lake. The only part of the story I 100 percent believe is that Don couldn't get laid even with the world's sluttiest girl over the course of eight location changes.
Don reprinted this story on a self-help(!) website, and I really encourage speculative fiction fans to go read it in its entirety: My Date From Hell. But do that later, because we're about to enter the 2010s, the decade when Don Diebel truly lost his entire mind.
With the forgettable 200 Guaranteed Whatevers To Disappoint Your Erection behind him, Don had to reach deep into his vulva-haunted brain for an original idea. He didn't find one. He published 100 Best Places To Take A Date, with ideas like "miniature golf" and "pizza." It was a dickless shadow of an idea already written by thousands of history's dumbest, least imaginative writers and made long obsolete by phone books. Diebel's inspirations were as drained as the balls of a man who seductively screams "Show me your bush!" at topless dancers.
Fun Fact: This is the actual copy of 100 Best Places to Take a Date sent to me by Don Diebel. It came with a homemade label, no case, and an advertisement for a CD on dominating pussy no longer in stock. Wait, out of stock? You're an old man burning CD-ROMs in his apartment. How does that supply chain get disrupted? Was there some kind of button shortage on your mouse? Did your assisted living nurse throw out the floppy disk that had dom_pu~1.wpd on it? This last one isn't a joke but a real guess: did you get banned from Radio Shack for attempted rape? I guess my point is, Don Diebel isn't good at anything.
Destroyed by the soul-crushing realization that he was out of ideas for seducing women, he gave up and wrote what might be the loneliest book title since Single Player Rules for Fallout: The Board Game. Here it is:
Don Diebel was alone in a universe where ass no longer held meaning. The Easy Way To IMPROVE YOUR GOLF WITH S/A GOLF HYPNOTISM took the same self-hypnosis nonsense Don was using 35 years earlier to psych himself up for a poontang hunt and adapted it for golf. For a professional chick hound, it was like finally turning a dead husband's den into a sewing room. It was like tattooing DO NOT RESUSCITATE on your dick and smothering it with a pillow. It was Don Diebel concluding that he would never learn if the Masters of the Universe Horde Slime Pit Playset actually did feel like a real-life blowjob. Diebel was fucking done.
No. Not yet. With a dusty cough, Don Diebel's groin rose from the grave. There had to be one last thing he could try, one last light to cling to. And then Don realized the secret to pussy was right in front of him all along: the majesty of Jesus Christ. Or as he put it in the intro to his next book:
This would sound a bit absurd coming from anyone else, but if Don Diebel is hearing another voice in his bed, it can only be coming from Jesus Christ. Unfortunately, this idea God gave him for a book sucked, and Don's newfound lord and savior was an even worse editor. They say He's infallible, but He couldn't get through the second sentence of the introduction before missing a this typo. Other philosophers have said this before me, but checkmate, all religion.
This book is desperate groveling on a cosmic, spiritual level. It is a whisper in the darkness pleading for someone, anyone to send Don Diebel a butt to touch. It's a man complaining to the creator of all things for giving women a choice in their sex partners. Let me show you what I'm talking about:
Nothing is a more perfect Bible quote for Don Diebel's dating life than one about staying strong in the face of rejection and getting help from your hand.
About a quarter of the book is Bible verses loosely related to rejection and loneliness, but the majority of it is things like this, dating advice rewritten in the form of prayer. Don will call up Jesus and say things like, "Please help me make sure my body language is sexually suggestive and that I have an air of self-assured confidence because ladies love that. In your name I pray, Amen." So in a way, it's a very sad Don Diebel typing out his prayers. In another way, it's a very confident pick-up veteran telling Jesus Himself how to score pussy.
You sad bitch. Your body language advice used to be "point at your dick." Now it's "pretend you're holding a guy's hand?" Don, you are 70 years old, and you're still trolling nightclubs for ass? You can't call any of your countless former lovers to see if their self-esteem is still low enough to watch your partial erection flutter? I'm starting to think it was shortsighted to introduce yourself to every woman by offering to lick the pool water off her feet.
As sad as this prayer is, it gets sadder. It's reprinted one page later in the exact same section, word for word. At this point, Don has given up on Jesus sending him single women and would be fine with Jesus sending him the tools to cope with depression. Don, you're a septuagenarian sex book author who never learned where commas or penises go. How about you stop nagging Jesus for the impossible and thank Him for inspiring you to fill that puppet's mouth with anal lubricant?
For decades, this man has destroyed every relationship he's had by immediately checking if she's the legendary woman who gives out free sex to everyone brave enough to ask. And here is what it led to: Don Diebel, after authoring ten books on scoring chicks, is begging Jesus for a girl in a prayer that sounds like it was written by a third-year third-grader. Failure isn't a big enough word, and Hitlerfailure hasn't been invented yet. Don't feel sorry for Don, though. This is, without exception, the future every woman he's met starting in 1980 has warned him about. The tragic story of Don Diebel is only surprising because we're not used to such obvious, twistless endings.
I've learned a lot by reading Don Diebel's books. I've learned that you can't shove your nuts into the night and call it "meeting women." Now and always, you have to treat women with respect, and loop your thumbs in your belt so your fingers point at your own dick, creating a subliminal message those confused drunk sluts can't resist. And if that doesn't work, Plan B is Jesus.
Ladies, if you encounter a Don Diebel out there, here's a link to some pepper spray.
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