Step into a club, a coffee shoppe, a yoga class, hell, anywhere where there’s an abundance of women, and you’ll witness a phenomenon so ultimately important and final in a matter of a split second that you’ll never know what a monumental occurrence just took place.
Shit, dog. I’m here for ya, don’t I tell you that every time? This time around Dick’s got the low-down on what’s going down with the bitches. Just for you insensitive cockchafers. So pull up a chair and you just might learn something.
There’s two things that happen when you look at a woman. Don’t pretend like you’re too good for this shit, because you’re a man, and a man is wired specifically for two things when the eyes make contact with femme fatale. 1) What she would look like naked, and 2) what she would look like in bed. Period. Punto. Période. Am I not right on this? Hold your manhood and gimme a heeeeeyll yea. That’s right.
Women, on the other hand, having their © Fucked-Up Circuits, think three things when their eyes fall on you: 1) Does he look like he has a job?
2) Does he look like he’s got a good job?
3) Does he look like he can hold a job long enough to support my ass for a reasonable amount of time?
Why the fuck do you think you’re getting a 10-point Physical Inspection with Complementary Financial Analysis when you ask a bitch to dance?
Women are good with their eyes. Those sneaky see-holes are trained and conditioned to see what they want to see, without staring or being obvious. Hell, they might even make up their mind about you before they’ve even gotten your attention.
Yea, I know, bullshit, huh? Think about it, though. Any man who puts on pants in the morning notices contours and curves. Tits and tassels. Abs and ass. Bitches, on the other hand, notice form and structure. They also notice men’s eyes, hands, teeth, smile, and class. Women who are more interested in a man’s qualities notice men who are honest, outgoing, confident, and have style, intelligence, a sense of humor, and class. These kind of guys are perceived as likable, friendly and genuinely interested in others. I know, because I am.
Key point, fellas. Bitches use their eyes to communicate interest in a man. Men, on the other hand, will usually avoid eye contact with a bitch they’re into.
That doesn’t mean you perverts can stare or undress bitches with your eyes. If they’re interested, make them melt by looking deeply into their eyes. Fuck that, I ain’t no sassy boy, Dick! Trust me, the man that knows how to use his eyes to let her know he’s possibly interested will fare far better than any fool that looks away, looking like a pre-pubed shy-guy. I know you’ve heard it all before, but you ain’t heard it from me. Yet: The eye contact exchange is critical. Nuclear meltdown, klaxon blaring, imminent danger critical. Don’t be a sucka and lose one of your main advantages.
That said, don’t act a fool and start licking your damn lips or any of that gay shit that movies will lead you to believe makes you an unstoppable Sexy Tiger of Seduction and Doom. Tom Cruise? Eat a dick. Please. Preferably Kilmer’s. Look at her without climaxing in your cords, either. She’ll notice. Promise.
By doing this whole eye-contact thing, you’re achieving two things. First, and most obviously, is that you’re expressing some sort of interest in this bitch. Secondly, you can “observe” and “read” (!) what the bitch is “communicating". Fuck that complicated shit, you say. To which I reply, can you make your bitch’s eyes roll into her head?, I say. Cuz I just did.
Let her break that first gaze, young pimp. Might seem a little off, or uncomfortable ("You got me man thongs?"), but just try it. It works.
Key point numero dos: Most women can tell if a man has cheating eyes, lying eyes, dishonest eyes, married eyes, wandering eyes, or sincere eyes. So get your shit straightened out before you go and do any of this looking shit. Clean your room, do the dishes, confess to the priest, and call mom non-collect. Somehow, the Wiring somehow got extra-sensitive to allow bitches to notice this shit. They can tell if you’re desperate or confident with those mascara-dipped eye-holes of theirs. Just by the way you look at them.
If her gaze goes south, be cool. Don’t stick your hips out or flop your cock around. And don’t start the pneumatic penis-enlarging underwear balloon. Yet. She’s checking out your hands, bro. First, for the wedding band, naturally. Secondly, she’s using a mental ruler and measuring the length from your wrist to the tip of your middle finger. It’s a key length for a woman. You’ll understand later, young pimpowan. Nothing you can do at this point, my man. Except mentally will your fingers to grow a foot longer.
And for Jeremiah’s sake, don’t forget the smile. Obviously, us guys don’t smile all that much, because we’re not fake bitches trying to manipulate everybody with our Evil Ways. Fact: Average looking people who smile are much more appealing than beautiful bitches and handsome men who won’t.
But I’m busy with my Tom Cruise sexy face! you exclaim. Again, refer yourself to Kilmer’s genitalia. This is the wealth of information you’re giving a bitch (whether you like it or not) when you show both rows of those milky whites: I’m charming, optimistic, friendly, expressive with my feelings, likes what I see, and, most importantly, I’m approachable. When we smile, our facial muscles stimulate our nervous system to produce a hormone called cerebral morphine. This hormone gives us a pleasant, calming feeling. It also has an anesthetic effect.
Don’t do drugs.
So you’re in the club, gettin’ your smile on (don’t overdose, fag), making correct eye contact with bitches. What separates the men from the boys at this point?
Class, my man. Class.
Ninety percent of the dudes in any given establishment are just ordinary shower-wankers. Joe schmoes. Savagely average. The rest emanate this so-called “class", and bitches pick up on this. So what in sovereign tarnation’s name is class, exactly? Ask a woman, and she’ll give me you a hummer shrug. They can’t define it. So I will. It’s like an aura (yea, I know, real concrete); you carry yourself in a way that commands bitches’ attention.
Under no circumstance have I just told you to point your nose in the air and act above anybody. Period. A man with class does everything with style. He’s as interested in everybody else as he is in himself. He can humble himself. And most importantly, he treats all women with respect.
So how do you remember your evenings? Let me guess:
1) If I danced with her
2) If I kissed her
3) If I got her telephone number
4) If I had sex with her that night
Fuck up The Circuits, and women will remember this:
1) His initial approach
2) What he was wearing
3) If he was wearing cologne
4) His choice of beverage
5) If he was a gentleman
6) If and how he interacted with other men and women
7) If he made her laugh
Sigh of Relief Moment: the belief that women only notice the most handsome and well-built dudes is a myth.
Men who dress to impress, are outgoing and friendly with everyone, and have a great sense of humor are the ones who have the competitive edge. Like Gillette, but with more edge.
Since clothes usually cover about 95% of a man’s body (sans you exhibitionist wackos), it’s only reasonable to expect women to notice what you wear (do yourself a favor and invest in some outstanding shoes, belts, and sunglasses, for starters). As well, men who interact with other men and women don’t seem desperate. Women follow and respond to their emotions. Laughter incites the emotion of joy, and women love to laugh. That doesn’t mean giving her Tickle-Fest Two Thousand K as she white-knuckles her fingers and toes into the sheets.
Although, giving it a second thought, I’d give you my Balls of Steele Award for Courage ®, along with a few (hundred) Purple Hearts.
I dare ya.
Daisy-Girl | Chokey Chicken | DarkMounty
By Robert Shagwell | Jul 6, 2004 | Permalink |
