“Reddit Im meeting up with someone online for the first time. HELP!”

A guy by the name of TheUltimateDouche had the most upvoted comment in the thread with this amazing response:

I GOT YOU COVERED BRO. I PICK UP ONLINE BITCHES ALL THE TIME.

• WALK UP TO HER LIKE YOU OWN THE JOINT. CHEST OUT, LEANIN BACK. AND LIMP AS IF YOUR DICK’S SO GODDAMN BIG IT’S TOUGH TO LUG THAT GIANT SUMBITCH AROUND. I DON’T GOTTA FAKE THIS, YOU MIGHT.
• MAKE YOUR FIRST WORDS COUNT BY PUTTIN THE BITCH IN HER PLACE EARLY: “YOU DON’T LOOK LIKE YOUR PICTURE. YOU LOOK LIKE YOU ATE THE GIRL IN THAT PICTURE. I MEAN, FUCK. MY MATTRESS IS LESS LUMPY THAN YOU.”
• NOW THAT THE TONE IS SET, SIT DOWN TO CHAT. ACT DISINTERESTED AS FUCK IN EVERYTHING THAT COMES OUT HER MOUTH (SHOULDN’T BE HARD … SHE’S A GIRL). INTERRUPT HER IN THE MIDDLE OF SENTENCES. TELL HER THINGS SHE LIKES ARE STUPID. TRUST ME ON THIS.
• KEEP THIS UP TIL SHE GETS PISSED AND STORMS OFF. GRAB HER BY THE WRIST, IT’LL GET HER ADRENALINE PUMPIN. WHEN SHE TURNS TO LOOK AT YOU GET THE MOST SADDEST, PATHETIC PUPPY DOG EYES YOU CAN MUSTER ON YOUR FACE. IT’S LIKE ANGRY PUSSY KRYPTONITE, SHE’LL STOP AND JUST STARE IN YOUR EYES.
• AT THIS POINT GIVE HER A SINCERE APOLOGY FOR YOUR WORDS & ACTIONS. TELL HER HOW YOU HAVE A FEAR OF INTIMACY AND SEEING HOW BEAUTIFUL SHE WAS TRIGGERED THIS SELF-DEFENSE REACTION. TELL HER IT WAS INEXCUSABLE. TELL HER YOU’VE BEEN HURT IN THE PAST AND IT WAS UNFAIR OF YOU TO TAKE THAT OUT ON SUCH A BEAUTIFUL GIRL. PAUSE FOR AFFECT. THEN TELL HER IF SHE GIVES YOU A SECOND CHANCE (LOOK DOWN) EVEN THOUGH YOU DON’T DESERVE IT (LOOK BACK UP) YOU’LL BE A DIFFERENT … A BETTER PERSON. BITCHES EAT THAT SHIT UP LIKE ITS HAAGEN-DAZS DURING THEIR PERIOD.
• FUCK HER IN A DIRTY BATHROOM STALL AND NEVER CALL HER AGAIN. POST PICS

Leaving is bittersweet and I have a lot of thoughts about the city and Argentina in general, but I’ll save those for a post tomorrow. In the meantime, I’m grateful that I got to live with a good friend of mine, and hang out with some really awesome people — Argentinian, British, American, Israeli, etc. In particular, there were a handful of high-roller American dudes who have been down here visiting at various times that were a blast to party with. These guys were all a fucking riot and in combination with the absolutely degenerate and non-stop night-life down here, a lot of hilarious quotes and situations occurred. So, in homage to this fucking insane city, I present some of the highlights below.

Buenos Aires, I bid you adieu… much love, but fuck you, I’m going to Cordoba next time.

———————————————————

Entropy: “I thought she was kinda cute with her little accent… well, except for that whole desperate whore thing…”

Entropy: “Out of all of us, why do all the trannies come and talk to me?”
Charlie: “Because you’re the only one taller than them…”

Argentinian Girl: “Do you want to go to an after party?”
Entropy: “You realize most people are going to work right now, right?”
Argentinian Girl: “It starts at 9AM.”

Jon (to me): “Don’t you hate it when you’re trying to have a spiritual experience with a girl, and she asks you for cocaine?”

Cruise (on the phone talking to someone): “Yeah, Anthony couldn’t make it out tonight… He was puking at like 8PM… No, no, he was just still drinking from the night before…”

Taxi Driver: “You guys want some cocaine?”
Us: “No, thanks.”
Taxi Driver: *Shrugs* “More for me…” *Pulls out his stash and does a line while speeding down the highway with his knees*
Jason: “We’re going to die tonight, aren’t we?”
Entropy: “Welcome to Argentina, buddy.”

*Walking, holding hands with an Argentinean girl on the street, little kid comes up to me and begs for change*
Entropy: “No, kid. Sorry…”
Kid: “Please, sir.”
Entropy: “Sorry, I have no money.”
Kid: “If you can pay for her, then you can pay for me…”
Girl: *Hits kid with her bag* “FUCK OFF!”

*Club bouncer screws us over, and ends up asking for over double the cover from us because we’re gringos. We get upset and decide to leave.*
Jason: “Doesn’t he realize we are ‘Fuck You’ rich?”
Entropy: “What’s ‘Fuck You’ rich?”
Jason: “When you have enough money to get anyone fired… where’s the club owner? Fuck this guy. I’ve got an AMEX.”
(Note: We did not, in fact, get the bouncer fired. And Jason was not, in fact, ‘Fuck You’ rich… just very drunk.)

Toryn: “Gentlemen, under principle, I refuse to take part in a porn site that I would not jerk off to myself.”

Weird American Girl: “You have no books in your room!”
Entropy: “Yeah, I just moved in last week.”
Weird American Girl: “Oh my God, I don’t think I can sleep with a guy with an empty bookshelf.”

Jason (asking Toryn to translate): “Tell her that my penis, while not big, is quite rich.”

*An old prostitute, probably in her 40’s, approaches Barrett and I*
Prostitute (in Spanish): “I want you two.”
Entropy (in Spanish): “No thanks.”
Prostitute: “At same time” *points at us*
Entropy (in Spanish): “No thanks.”
Barrett: “Wait, at least ask her how much…”
Entropy (in Spanish): “How much?”
Prostitute (in Spanish): “200 pesos.” (Equivalent to about $50US)
Entropy: “She says 200 pesos. That’s like $25US each. I don’t know, man. She’s pretty busted.”
Barrett: “Yeah, but you can buy a pizza for more than that…”
Entropy: “I think I respect the pizza more than I respect her.”
Barrett: “True… Tell her we’ll get back to her…”
(Note: Despite getting quite a bit more drunk, we did not double team a gross hooker for the price of two large pepperoni pizzas.)

‘Nuff said.

But last week, I stumbled across something funny. My favorite sports writer (Bill Simmons) was writing about his recent trip to Vegas and how a connection of his got him and his buddies into the famous nightclub Pure. Mind you, he and his friends are like 40 and married now, but the way he described modern nightclubs is eerily similar to the way I wrote about them in this post about a month back. Of course, being a far better writer than I am, he summed it up about twice as well in half the space. Money quote:

“Thanks to a connection, I drag everyone to Pure (the famous nightclub in Caesars) for 30 minutes just so they can enter the alternate universe that doubles as a Vegas nightclub. People are waiting two hours to get in. (This shatters my One-Hour Rule, which goes like this: If you’re waiting in line for an hour or more for ANYTHING, there’d better be free sex or free money at the end of that line.) Our connection leads us to the upstairs/outdoor patio, where we have a little booth and quickly realize that, hey, we’re too old and have nothing in common with anyone here. Like we didn’t know that already.

The current nightclub scene eludes me. As far as I can tell, our goal (if we were single) would be to somehow get a booth, then order $500 bottles with mixers, then see whether we can lure girls over to the booth to talk to us, drink from our $500 bottles and possibly give/get an STD. For the females (if single), their goal is to find a booth of unsuspecting marks, flirt with the guys, drink from their $500 bottles, make it seem as though something might happen and then either flee the premises or give/get an STD. And everyone is fine with this arrangement. It’s apparently fun.My three issues: First, the current system prices out nearly everyone who relies on casual sex (guys between 22 and 32). Second, I’m surprised Pure hasn’t printed enough money by now to buy the Grizzlies. What a racket. And third, whatever happened to just going to a crowded bar and buying people shots and beers? Am I that old? Is this how parents in the late ’60s felt when pot and Woodstock and acid and mushrooms started taking off? I don’t get your tattoos! I don’t get your $500 bottle nightclubs! I’m old. I’m old. Did I mention I’m old?”

Full article can be read here. It’s basically just 10 pages about a guy who’s 40 and goes to Vegas for the 38th time. Pretty useless from a pickup point of view.

I’ll be returning to my normal posting from here on out again.

We didn’t know anyone there and hadn’t met anyone before. We met the organizers through a “friend of a friend of a friend” type thing, and had never met them in person.

We were excited and a bit nervous. We’ve obviously had threesomes before, but we had never taken part in full-fledged “swinging” before with other couples or having sex with up to 3-4 other people at a time before. The hosts were very reassuring over the phone. They said there would be 20-25 couples, a smattering of single ladies, average age in late 20’s, all in decent to good shape and sexy, no pressure to do anything, and refreshments and snacks provided.

We prepared ourselves emotionally, mentally and finally, physically. We got dressed and looked our best. Took a long drive out there, got horribly lost, completely stressed out, and finally found the hotel. Called for the room number, walked up and nervously knocked on the door.

The door opens… and was this going to be it? The doorstep to the most exhilarating night of our lives? An emotional roller-coaster full of mind-boggling pleasures? Was this our sexual utopia? An Elysium Fields of sweet, sweet pussy and hot sex sweat?

Not quite.

Everyone is fat… and hideously ugly… and old and creepy… and socially awkward and weird…. It was awful. We were shown the “playroom” where I saw two women — the size of small dinosaurs — getting double-teamed by fat black men… while 60-year-old men stood by and jerked off watching.

I’m sorry, I’m not usually this evil and vain. I don’t usually blast fat people or be blatantly judgmental like this, but I feel justified considering they clearly and REPEATEDLY mislead us. There weren’t even more than five couples there. It was literally like a bunch of old guys gangbanging four fat girls. It was horrible.

And I mean, they weren’t just fat people. They were the bottom of the social totem pole, the scraped algae at the floor of the gene pool. It was like a “Save the Whales” convention where only the whales were invited. In the 90 seconds we were there, they ate a part of my soul… and probably for no other reason than that they were still hungry after dinner.

After coming home and doing some searching around the internet, I found out the swinger scene is notorious for shit like this. You know how when you do online game and you meet that chick and she’s 10-15 pounds heavier than in her picture? Well, it’s like that times 10 apparently. Scams everywhere, constantly misleading. Sure, they demanding proof and pictures from us. But in the future we now know to demand proof and pictures from THEM.

It’s a moot point soon since my girlfriend is moving to Africa next week, but for future reference, I will not attend one of these parties unless someone I personally know (preferably a hot female) can personally vouch for the group. I have talked to guys who have been to these things and met attractive people and had a great time, so I know they do exist out there. But holy God, this one was not it.

But it’s like Mystery said once: two things can happen, either the night goes great, or you have a funny story for the rest of your life.

Well, hopefully you thought this one was pretty funny.

I’ve had two scenarios that rival this one:

- One time a girl broke into my apartment by ripping off the screen to my window and crawling through. She then waited for me for hours to come home because I hadn’t returned her calls in two days. I had only been seeing her for about a month. Somehow, I ended up seeing her for another year. She was bonafide nuts, but all in all, her nutso behavior was usually good towards me after that. She was great in the sack, spoiled me rotten and let me sleep with other women. Shrug.

- Another time I was supposed to go ice-skating with another girl on a Sunday. She called me at 8AM excited and ready to go. She said she wanted to leave then so we could spend the whole day together. I had been up until 3AM partying the night before, and told her I felt like shit and that I’d call her when I woke up, hung up and went back to sleep without thinking much of it. When I woke up at about noon, I had three voicemails and two MySpace messages from her alternating between violently screaming at me for standing her up, and apologizing and telling me she loved me. I never called her again. She sent another half dozen MySpace messages over the next three days, again, alternating between angry hysterics and heartfelt apologies. The ice-skating date was supposed to be our third date. Looking back, I think she was probably bipolar.

Every guy has a “girl with the crazies” story. What are some of your worst ones?