I sometimes cruise through the travel section of the Roosh V forums for information regarding the dating scene in Asia. The forum is populated by quite a bit of well-traveled dick slingers and as such it has a lot of useful information for the aspiring international playboy.
On a lark, I ran a google search on the entire forum for “Japan” and a thread titled “Bang Osaka” was the first result. Expecting a detailed datasheet regarding pick-up in Japan’s 3rd largest city, what I found instead was 19 pages worth of field reports demonstrating the limited efficacy of “game” in the pursuit of poon.
In my 7 years of running around this massive concrete jungle, I’ve had the opportunity to see and experience many aspects Tokyo that you will never read about in Lonely Planet. It would be a shame if this knowledge went to waste, so I will begin compiling information on various “darkside” topics of interest here. The first topic: everyone’s favorite drug-that-shouldn’t-be-a-drug, Marijuana.
I stumbled upon this means of generating intrigue when I first began going out and trying to meet girls in Tokyo. I used to simply just tell them that I’m a Japanese-American, but eventually I found it to be much more fun and effective to let them make an assumption about me before correcting them.
This post originally appeared on Reddit’s /r/TheRedPill subreddit.
Lately, I’ve been seeing a lot of Feel Good Bullshit™ creeping into posts and comments around here. I’d like to take this opportunity to discuss what exactly Feel Good Bullshit is, why it is bad, and how to spot it for what it is.
My first encounter with beer was your typical American college fare. It tasted like pisswater, but gut it out long enough and you’ll be too drunk to care.
Years later, a friend introduced me to American microbrews. They were delicious and hoppy and full of flavors other than piss. Their creators took great care in producing a fine, flavorful product. The first thing I thought was, “What the fuck have I been drinking?” I realized that beer is, in fact, not just carbonated piss water.
Two weeks late, but I said I would follow up, and damn it, I’m a man of my word.
On Halloween proper (a Thursday night), I once again donned my trusty, ostentatious costume and hit an early party in Roppongi with a friend. Opening sets of chicks was a breeze; I would just make eye contact or yell “Hey!” and motion for them to come over. The power of a great costume cannot be understated. I was regularly blowing guys with half-assed costumes out of the water just by being more visually interesting. We can sit here and argue about the validity of the “looks don’t matter” trope in the other 364 days of the year, but on Halloween, it simply is not true.