spinaroonie
Senior Don Juan
- Joined
- Jan 12, 2009
- Messages
- 318
- Reaction score
- 27
It’s time to pronounce the death of night game. After having its limbs hacked off and its genitals yanked out by the root for dog food, night game has finally shuffled off this mortal coil to that big swank discotheque in the sky. If you just discovered this ‘sphere and are reading up on the best shotgun negs to use on a HB7.5, you’re already behind the curve. The minute you step out of the cab, you’re going to get slaughtered.
I myself have gradually lost interest in the game over the past year, which is why I’ve haven’t felt motivated to write about this. Nonetheless, the fact that my nightlife observations are being backed up by individuals as diverse as TMWW, The Rookie, Raliv, and Assanova is more than a little frightening. Here’s is why I say night game is dead, based on my barhopping adventures over the past few months in the Capital Region and other burgs in the not-so-great American Northeast:
1) More **** than a rooster farm. I’m not exaggerating when I say the ratio of penises to vaginas in any given bar on a weekend night is 8 to 1. It’s wall-to-wall braciola parties from the Hudson to the quads. Women, being the risk-averse creatures that they are, have been frightened away from the nightlife circuit by the crummy economy. If you live in the northern U.S., Canada or any other region with a winter, you’re even more screwed, because girls REALLY don’t like going out in the cold. And if you live in an area with a lot of snowfall, God help you. The eastern part of New York state from NYC to the Canadian border isn’t so bad in this regard, but if you live west of Amsterdam, you can forget about getting laid until Easter. When the snow is falling, the gals don’t come calling.
2) More douche then a supermarket feminine hygiene aisle. A typical Friday night in the Capital Region looks like Jersey Shore, only this isn’t Jersey and there’s no shore. Ed Hardy threads, tribal tattoos, popped collars, and other markers of douchiness abound. And every single one of these ‘roid-raging Doucha-Loompas is competing against you to see who can win the slut’s heart and defile her in the loo. You can’t win. You try, and you’ll just get drowned in an ocean of gelled-haired duckfaced fist-pumping.
3) More female detritus than People of Walmart. When the economy’s bad and leaving your house entails digging your car out of four feet of snow in -5 degree weather, only a certain type of woman is willing to endure the trials and tribulations of going out – the kind of woman you wouldn’t **** with your dog’s ****. Fatties, fuglies, drug addicts, and dipsomaniacs puking on their own shoes are who you get the pleasure of trying to boff now. And on the off chance you do find a bangable girl, you’ll have to contend with every Pauly D wannabe in the city who’s trying to get in her pants before you do. All this fawning male attention won’t get her any closer to anyone’s bedroom, but it WILL engorge her ego until she’s crushing hapless douchebags in her Roche limit.
4) Girls who are less attentive and outgoing then an autistic kindergartener bombed on Red Bull. So you aren’t intimidated by the bratwurst-swinging hordes, you can douche it up with the best of them, and you don’t mind porking porkers. Even with all that in your favor, you might as well warm up your porn stash, because you are going home alone Friday night. Mr. Douchey McChubbylover, you simply cannot compete with the greatest piece of chick crack ever invented – the iPhone.
I decree Steve Jobs to be the biggest ****blocker in human history. In the good old days when cell phones were overpriced walkie-talkies, people who went out on the weekend were forced to engage with the world around them. As late as two years ago, you could introduce yourself to a girl and be assured that you could carry on a civil conversation for at least fifteen minutes. You might not get the lay or even a number, but you could put in a decent effort.
No more. The minute the girlies get to the bar, they whip out their iPhones and start texting all their friends to tell them where they are. Then the whole gang shows up and they all turn a deaf ear to everyone else save for the bartender. Try and introduce yourself? They’ll give you the cold shoulder. Get talking to a girl on her own? Her fat friend will pull her away in less than five minutes. You and your pals become fast friends with her and her friends? One of ‘em will suddenly get a text and announce, “Oh, our friends are at [OTHER BAR], so we’ve got to go. Nice meeting you.” I’ve had all this and more happen to me and my friends in the past three months alone, and it’s all due to those ****ing smartphones.
Oh, and did I mention that half the bars and clubs out there have their music cranked up so loud it’s impossible to hold a conversation without screaming at the top of your lungs? Have fun blasting through her ***** shield when your ears are bleeding from the bass.
Nope, night game is done, at least for the time being. You may be heading out looking for a good bad time, but your chances of getting any play are bad unless you’re rich, famous, or lucky. I won’t have to deal with the boorish girls in this city for much longer, but I pity the guys who are stuck here. I predicted over a year ago that nightlife would be dealt a fatal blow by the poor economy:
Combine this with the priciness of nightclubs and the recession, and you have a recipe for total market collapse. I predict that the number of nightclubs in cities will fall by half at the least, as the long lines of betas standing in line for an hour and plunking down their dollars for cover charges all so they can dance to ****ty music, drink obscenely overpriced liquor, and hit on girls who do not wanted to be ****ed by them vanish. Bars will also be hit, but not as severely, as they cost less and appeal to a wider market.
So, how is a man supposed to bust a nut in this world? Day game. I also predicted in the above-linked post that there would be an explosion of interest in day game as savvy men realized that nightlife was a useless prospect for racking up notches. Barnes & Noble, Panera Bread, and Target are the new battlefields of the mating war. It is within their walls that openers will be honed, negs will be dropped, and new love shall bloom again in the winter of our discontent. Whoever is smart enough to pounce on this market with a day game guide will become a very wealthy man.
The frontlines have shifted, gentlemen. Get with the times or get left in the dust. Your choice.
http://www.inmalafide.com/2010/12/20/night-game-is-dead-long-live-night-game/
I myself have gradually lost interest in the game over the past year, which is why I’ve haven’t felt motivated to write about this. Nonetheless, the fact that my nightlife observations are being backed up by individuals as diverse as TMWW, The Rookie, Raliv, and Assanova is more than a little frightening. Here’s is why I say night game is dead, based on my barhopping adventures over the past few months in the Capital Region and other burgs in the not-so-great American Northeast:
1) More **** than a rooster farm. I’m not exaggerating when I say the ratio of penises to vaginas in any given bar on a weekend night is 8 to 1. It’s wall-to-wall braciola parties from the Hudson to the quads. Women, being the risk-averse creatures that they are, have been frightened away from the nightlife circuit by the crummy economy. If you live in the northern U.S., Canada or any other region with a winter, you’re even more screwed, because girls REALLY don’t like going out in the cold. And if you live in an area with a lot of snowfall, God help you. The eastern part of New York state from NYC to the Canadian border isn’t so bad in this regard, but if you live west of Amsterdam, you can forget about getting laid until Easter. When the snow is falling, the gals don’t come calling.
2) More douche then a supermarket feminine hygiene aisle. A typical Friday night in the Capital Region looks like Jersey Shore, only this isn’t Jersey and there’s no shore. Ed Hardy threads, tribal tattoos, popped collars, and other markers of douchiness abound. And every single one of these ‘roid-raging Doucha-Loompas is competing against you to see who can win the slut’s heart and defile her in the loo. You can’t win. You try, and you’ll just get drowned in an ocean of gelled-haired duckfaced fist-pumping.
3) More female detritus than People of Walmart. When the economy’s bad and leaving your house entails digging your car out of four feet of snow in -5 degree weather, only a certain type of woman is willing to endure the trials and tribulations of going out – the kind of woman you wouldn’t **** with your dog’s ****. Fatties, fuglies, drug addicts, and dipsomaniacs puking on their own shoes are who you get the pleasure of trying to boff now. And on the off chance you do find a bangable girl, you’ll have to contend with every Pauly D wannabe in the city who’s trying to get in her pants before you do. All this fawning male attention won’t get her any closer to anyone’s bedroom, but it WILL engorge her ego until she’s crushing hapless douchebags in her Roche limit.
4) Girls who are less attentive and outgoing then an autistic kindergartener bombed on Red Bull. So you aren’t intimidated by the bratwurst-swinging hordes, you can douche it up with the best of them, and you don’t mind porking porkers. Even with all that in your favor, you might as well warm up your porn stash, because you are going home alone Friday night. Mr. Douchey McChubbylover, you simply cannot compete with the greatest piece of chick crack ever invented – the iPhone.
I decree Steve Jobs to be the biggest ****blocker in human history. In the good old days when cell phones were overpriced walkie-talkies, people who went out on the weekend were forced to engage with the world around them. As late as two years ago, you could introduce yourself to a girl and be assured that you could carry on a civil conversation for at least fifteen minutes. You might not get the lay or even a number, but you could put in a decent effort.
No more. The minute the girlies get to the bar, they whip out their iPhones and start texting all their friends to tell them where they are. Then the whole gang shows up and they all turn a deaf ear to everyone else save for the bartender. Try and introduce yourself? They’ll give you the cold shoulder. Get talking to a girl on her own? Her fat friend will pull her away in less than five minutes. You and your pals become fast friends with her and her friends? One of ‘em will suddenly get a text and announce, “Oh, our friends are at [OTHER BAR], so we’ve got to go. Nice meeting you.” I’ve had all this and more happen to me and my friends in the past three months alone, and it’s all due to those ****ing smartphones.
Oh, and did I mention that half the bars and clubs out there have their music cranked up so loud it’s impossible to hold a conversation without screaming at the top of your lungs? Have fun blasting through her ***** shield when your ears are bleeding from the bass.
Nope, night game is done, at least for the time being. You may be heading out looking for a good bad time, but your chances of getting any play are bad unless you’re rich, famous, or lucky. I won’t have to deal with the boorish girls in this city for much longer, but I pity the guys who are stuck here. I predicted over a year ago that nightlife would be dealt a fatal blow by the poor economy:
Combine this with the priciness of nightclubs and the recession, and you have a recipe for total market collapse. I predict that the number of nightclubs in cities will fall by half at the least, as the long lines of betas standing in line for an hour and plunking down their dollars for cover charges all so they can dance to ****ty music, drink obscenely overpriced liquor, and hit on girls who do not wanted to be ****ed by them vanish. Bars will also be hit, but not as severely, as they cost less and appeal to a wider market.
So, how is a man supposed to bust a nut in this world? Day game. I also predicted in the above-linked post that there would be an explosion of interest in day game as savvy men realized that nightlife was a useless prospect for racking up notches. Barnes & Noble, Panera Bread, and Target are the new battlefields of the mating war. It is within their walls that openers will be honed, negs will be dropped, and new love shall bloom again in the winter of our discontent. Whoever is smart enough to pounce on this market with a day game guide will become a very wealthy man.
The frontlines have shifted, gentlemen. Get with the times or get left in the dust. Your choice.
http://www.inmalafide.com/2010/12/20/night-game-is-dead-long-live-night-game/
