Any bar, disco, nightclub, party, or social gathering where men and women meet.
Seven days a week, with special consideration given to Friday and Saturday. So whoever wins on Friday or Saturday gets extra points.
Anytime after 9:00 p.m.
Men on one side, Women on the other.
money, drugs, booze, clothes, car, a place to bring her so you can both be alone (^lso known as an apartment, house, or wcondoM)f jewelry, cologne, credit cards. Optional accessory weapons: hair pieces, elevator shoes, fake chest hair.
Women: makeup, perfume, hairstyle, clothes, wigs, jewelry, car, rape whistle, credit cards, piirsi, mace. Optional accessory weapons: padded bra, girdle, elevator shoes.
The Arena: The Day:
The Weapons: Men:
The Objective: Men: (1) To get your penis into her vagina as fast as possible. (2) To spend as little money as possible.
Women: (1) To keep his penis out of your vagina for as long as possible (and if you can keep his penis out of your vagina until there's a ring on your finger, you're the undisputed winner). (2) To make him pay, pay, pay.
To lie, steal, cheat, manipulate, con, deceive, mislead, falsify, humiliate, and intimidate in any way you can. In short-there are no rules-anything goes.
Usually 5 hours, tops. The contestants on both sides agree to prolong it for more than 5 hours means you're a rank amateur and don't belong in this league.
Everyone in the room. Spectators can become contestants at any moment, so beware. Also, the more spectators who watch you, the more points you score, with added bonus points if they take your side.
Walter walks over to a hot little fox and says, "You come here often?"
"Yes. You want to buy me a drink?"
Length of Game:
"Okay," says Walter.
"I'd like a rose from the flower girl, too." "No problem."
"And while we're at it, how's about a few quarters for the juke box?" she asks.
"Sure. By the way, what's your name?"
"Hgy. Don't get so personal, what kind of a girl do you think I am?" she says.
Harry walks over to Lucy. "Hey babe, let me buy you a drink."
"Okay." She turns to the bartender and says, "I'll have a Triple Godzilla, and make it 'Flaming'! That's extra, isn't it?" "It sure is, honey," the bartender replies. "Oh, good" she says, taking out her scorecard. "Oh, shit," Harry says, wetting his pants.
"My name is 'Fuck-off with one hyphen," she coldly replies.
In the meantime, Janet is in the ladies' room putting on her new "On the Rag Again" perfume, because she's you-know-
Peter is sitting next to an ultra-foxy brunette who's wearing transparent black lace lingerie under her light blue denim jacket. He can see her entire breast, erect nipple and all. Peter has had one drink too many and he accidentally shoots his load in his pants while staring at her, knocking him back into the "wimp league" for a mandatory 2 weeks. Longer, if the wet stain shows through his pants, longer still if she sees it.
John goes over to a gal and says, "Hey, fox, you look good enough to eat. Can I buy you a drink?"
"Oh yes," she says, turning to the bartender. Td like some cognac. I want some of your Napoleon Remy Martin bottled in 1423."
"Here you go," says the bartender, then to John, "That'll be $16,542.53, please." Mary just keeps racking up points on her score card. John begins crying. John hands the bartender his American Express Gold card, wondering why he didn't "leave home without it." The bartender rings it up and hands John back his receipt, which he signs, and the bartender gives him his copy. Mary has watched and waited patiently until the drink has been paid for (she's played this game before). Then she picks up the snifter and downs it in one gulp. "Thanks, now get lost," she says. John wonders out loud, "Why can't I go after women like the one dad married instead of like the ones he has on the side?"
Four guys at the other end of the bar are independently disqualified for running out of money.
Fred, in a desperate attempt to get some points for his team, goes up to a woman who looks like a French poodle who got into an argument with a lawn mower and lost. "Can I buy you a drink?" asks Fred, standing in his favorite Stud Pose #3 (that he got from an old Roger Moore James Bond flick).
"Why not?" she says, taking out her score card while she adjusts the left pad of her padded bra, lest he see it and try to claim extra points for his team.
Til have a double Bozo Fizzy, made with King Alphonso's Imported Martian Rum. That's $14 a shot, isn't it?" she asks the bartender.
"It sure is, honey. We got a new bottle of it yesterday so there's plenty of it left."
"Where's it imported from?" asks Fred.
"East Los Angeles," says the bartender. "Where do they make it?" asks Fred again.
"Downtown Los Angeles," says the bartender.
"Why does it cost so much?"
"Advertising and merchandising."
"Oh," says Fred, with all the pride and authority of a used car salesman, pleased that he's secretly "in the know."
It hasn't been a good night for the men, but the ladies have done splendidly. Some even gave away fake phone numbers, gaining extra bonus points.
Both sides used strategy, techniques, methods, and tacticl that would make lawyers, politicians, professional wrestl0r%
used car salesmen, T.V. evangelists, people collecting for charity, and kids before Christmas, run for their lives.
They add new meaning to the phrase "All's fair in love and war." And they verify what gifted philosophers have known all along: in this kind of a game, there are no winners, only losers, because everyone goes home alone and lonely, unfulfilled and unsatisfied.
Now, if you're the bartender in this situation, it's easy for me to tell how long you've been on the job: a beginner is in shock, an intermediate has to keep picking himself up off the floor because he's laughing so hard, an intermediate/advanced is bitter, while an advanced bartender takes it all in stride and goes over to one of the few available women in there who wants a serious relationship. He talks with her for awhile, they go home, and have a wonderful time together.
The advanced bartender knows the rules of the game. He knows the #1 rule, the key to the whole game, is a paradox, and that unless you know and understand the #1 rule, the rest of the rules don't make any sense. He knows the #1 rule states very clearly: "the key to winning this game is by not playing games." Unless, and until, you learn this rule, you cannot win.
Most guys, after playing this "no-win" situation, decide "Yeah, well, I may not be getting laid, but no other guy out there is, either." He'd rather do battle with a man, where he knows what his chances are of winning and losing, rather than with a woman half his size who can kick the shit out of him emotionally in under 10 seconds (not to mention his wallet). After an encounter like this, all he can do is go back to his friends for emotional support. And when they ask him what happened, all he can say is "I don't know. I went over and asked her if I could buy her a drink and the next thing I knew, I was broke, she was gone, and I was left standing there with a fake phone number for Leroy's Barbecued Jelly Beans."
Now, I hope you're laughing because this chapter is meant to be funny. But it's also sad. If I took the humor out and changed the names of these non-existent drinks to real drinks and real prices, you'd have to start crying, because this is the way things are in bars all over the United States. But I have some good news: you don't need to play games to get what you want. If you ¿q play games, I guarantee you won't get what you want. As you sit back and learn the rules, you'll be able to spot where each man and woman's head is at. If you didn't need to play games to get what you wanted, would you? Of course not. So sit back while I show you both sides of the coin: the game players who never get anywhere, and the guys who know what they're doing. This will give you a choice: you can profit from my 14 years of experience and move ahead of the competition, or stay where you are and go home alone every night.
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