Free A Thousand Tiny Failures : Memoirs of a Pickup Artist by Tony D Page B

had finally paid off. I knew it would. It may seem shallow on the outside, but a man who can’t attract a beautiful woman is like a monkey with no arms, or a sedated circus tiger.
    Ahhhh , finally.
    I didn’t get her by being nice, or complimenting, or begging, or buying. I remained present, without thought of consequence, and calmly followed the game. The game plays on whether you’re there or not.
    I got us a glass of water and pulled her close.
    She looked at me and said, “So what do you do In Vancouver? Do your parents live there? You must miss them and stuff?”
    “My mom lives close to there, and my stepmother too. My brothers are in the suburbs, outside the city,” I said, trying to avoid the inevitable awkward question that always followed this one.
    “So, like, where is your dad?”
    “Well, my dad died when I was twenty-one,” I said. I made sure to have a smile, and not seem sad, because I wasn’t. I only got sad when I wondered if I should be sad, and then became aware that whoever asked that question was also gauging my emotions, and wondered if they thought I should be sad. All this thought process leads to are mirrors, facing mirrors, facing mirrors.
    “Oh my god! I’m sorry. That’s so terrible. What happened?”
    I took a drink of my water, put it down, and took a deep breath. “Well, he got depressed, I think. He was an on again off again cocaine addict. You wouldn’t know it if you met him. He was really charming. But one day he parked himself in his work van, drank a sixty of vodka and shot himself full of liquid blow. No biggie.”
    Fuck.That’s a good story bro.
    Silence Hitler!
    “Oh Sebastian!”
    “No, it’s cool. I hardly knew the guy. Actually, he was alright, he just had issues. Can we change the subject?” I said, and forced a laugh. “It’s been a long time since. I’m fine with it,” I lied.
    The truth is, I always felt like I could have helped him, that if I knew back then what I know now I could have taught him about ego, about positivity . I was pissed off that I had to learn how to mack girls from the Internet. But, the present is where it’s at.
    Afterwards we smoked some weed and watched tv . We didn’t have much to talk about—we never did—but I didn’t mind. She was fun, and nice to look at.
    We shared a beer and then I went home, opened my laptop and wrote down everything that happened. I added flair, drama, and poetry. Then I posted it on the seduction forums. Glorious applause from the pickup nerds. They loved my writing. Even the trolls were happy. They told me I should write a book. I thought about it.
    Good luck with that.
    I really didn’t want to be immortalized as a womanizer, and had no idea how to write a book. I didn’t want to be a hero to awkward men worldwide, forever approached for pickup advice. Besides, I was no pickup artist, and my writing was alright, but I’m no literary legend.
    Limiting beliefs are limits you set for yourself. They’re Gestapo roadblocks in your brain. You can see the border to freedom, just beyond the smoky ridge, but you forgot your papers. Back to zee camp with you!
     

Chapter 12
     
    Sex, Drugs, Rock and Roll
     
    (Hand jobs for medical care)
     
    “I have to go home for a month,” Olivia told me.
    And I was again without a woman—but you can get used to being without a woman, and even come to enjoy it. Is that the beginning of madness, or sanity?
    You will never be able to attract every woman. Even if you’re the most beautiful and charming man in the world, like Charleton Heston , or Mussolini—you’ll still fail from time to time. Get used to it, laugh about it, enjoy failure. The same principle is universal and applies to everything of worth. I don’t believe in being gifted. I believe in hours invested and rigid standards.
    Eric wanted to go out, and I wanted someone to pick up girls with me, so we pre-drank a few tallies before hitting the road. On the way to Tokyo , he stopped and slipped