Just last night, I got a couple of “sext messages” from this super fly Colombian Girl I know in Miami Beach.
There were a few racy pictures and then a picture of her and some of her girlfriends with the message:
“I cant wait to see you again. Having a martini with my girls in your honor”
Yeah, I know, standard fodder for a Friday night in The Life of an International Playboy.
However, it was kind of a funny “sext message”:
Along with my cell phone number, the message was “CC’d” on with 6 other numbers. Which is kind of rare, I don’t really remember having a text with the “CC” effect to it.
I didn’t think anything strange until a few minutes later I got a message from one of the numbers that was “CC’d” saying:
“Woo woo, your eyes are so beautiful”
I still didn’t think much about it until a few minutes later, I received another text from another one of the numbers “CC’d”:
“You are so hot!”
It then continued on and on and then I realized what was happening:
All the other guys she was sexting were “replying to all” and I was getting a copy.
Basically all the guys were sending these “beta air ball” text messages back to her and playing into her hands (so to speak). Weak Game.
Guess who ignored her “Sext Message”?
Your right, your humble author.
And guess who is going to swoop her for real next month in Miami Beach?
I was with one of my droogs from way back when we were flipping Beans, talking biz and trading war stories at a pretty dope lunch spot that is pretty hipstered out (but keep in mind this is Southern California so it is kind of pseudo-hipster).
The owner, some top-flight glam hipster cat who everyone thinks is so cool (and unbelievably girls like the guy, or maybe not so “unbelievably” in this day and age) came over to greet us.
He is a fan.
My friend and I are trying to talk dollars and sense and I got skippy in a fedora yapping in my ear asking me where I have been this year and on and on.
When I finally brushed him off so he could go make yogurt double lattes with extra whipped cream, or whatever the hell hipsters drink, my friend, who is a certified International Playboy just like me said, “Typical stay at home American. Minimal passports stamps, that guy. Probably does the Maui-Las Vegas-Cabo triangle and thinks he is making moves…”
I said, “Yeah, just like those cats that move some ounces and think they are causing a crimewave…” before I noticed something that was making me edgy for the last 10 minutes…
Every goddamn girl sitting outside of this “trendy, up-market, hipster joint” are wearing Ugg Boots.
I almost flipped my lid. (I think it is because I have been sparring again. F*ck Halloween. I have been turning into a Monster. I had to spark up a cigarette to calm down.)
This Ugg Boot stuff really has to stop.
Look. I have heard the excuses from Americant girls.
“High-Heels just aren’t comfortable during the day…”
Bullsh*t.
In Riga, Latvia, girls wear high heels on cobblestones. In wintertime.
And I have heard girls say:
“I just can’t move around in high heels…”
Bullsh*t again.
I know an Exotic Dancer that can do this Bruce Lee Move on the stage in High Heels:
If you are anything like me, and you swoop mass amounts of fly girls in this day and age, you are bound to get mass girls “sexting” you non-stop (many times accompanied by racy photos). I mean, let’s face it, the 18-26 year old girl set is “sexting bonkers” nowadays. Right?
You know, like the text message I got this morning:
“I am in bed soooo w*t thinking about you. you were in my dreams last night”
Or the one I got mid day during a biz lunch from another girl:
“Taking a hot steamy bath, I cant stop thinking about you and your b** ****”
Or the one I got later in the afternoon from another girl:
“As expected…I’m soaking w*t thinking about us the other night”
Or the one I got a few minutes later from another girl:
“I am addicted to your s*x…this is bad…I guess I am going to grab my toy”
Or the one…you get the broken picture.
(Side note: It is not really my language to use the word “sexting”, but in an effort to make more people understand where I am coming from, I sometimes use mainstream vernacular.)
So how is a G supposed to respond to these “sext” messages, you ask?
Great question.
You should ignore it.
“Average guy”, and “above average guy”, even “pretty damn smooth guy” hell, even “Top 1% of Players Worldwide guy” would, of course, start “sexting” back and play into her hands (so to speak).
But what good is that really going to do?
G’s like real swooping, not “sexting”.
And as you should know by now, over here at The G Manifesto, we take a contrarian approach to life.
So, don’t respond.
(Side note II: When I say “over here at The G Manifesto, we take a contrarian approach to life” I really mean we take a contrarian approach to “modern day” life. We really just do what Men have been doing for the last 10,000 years up until “men” started acting like girls, which was started about, say, 1997-2000 or so, in case you were wondering.)
Anyways, after a few hours or more of non-responding, shoot something to her like:
“Ok, meet me at 10pm for dinner and claret at the fountain in the Piazza. Remember, high heels and a skirt.”
Here is a real innovative move that I just dug from the crates of The Chambers of The G Manifesto:
One of my attorneys introduced me to couple of real estate cats who owned this building with a restaurant on the first floor and some office spaces on the second floor.
The interesting thing about this building was that it was previously owned by some Albania or Russian Organized cats (I forget which) and they had a bar on the lowers and a gambling den (maybe some hookys) on the second floor.
Since the second floor was a little vice ridden, they installed a “secret door” that you could access from this little stairway in the restaurant. There was a button you pushed, and then the wall rose straight up. Real smooth.
Surprisingly, the multi-colored striped-shirted real estate cats that bought the building actually had the style and taste to keep the “secret door” which lead now to some office spaces.
When they showed it to me, I instantly rented one of the office spaces. Not to do work of course, but to swoop fly girls.
I would take girls to the restaurant below (which was actually pretty decent with a chef with some pretty heavy Wolfgang Puck pedigree) and say, “Let me show you something.”
I would then lead them up the stairway, walk to the wall, and hit the button for the “secret door”. The key would be to act like nothing was out of the ordinary, just a normal night in the life.
Girls would always be amazed.
I would then show them my “office” and go for the swoop.
It was really that easy.
Everyone should try to incorporate this move into their repertoire.
