Every weekend you see the same thing: a bunch of guys out and about, embarrassing themselves for women.
It’s humiliating to go out, attempt to dance, put on this “I’m a cool guy… really!” show, and essentially act like a monkey to get into a girls pants — to lower yourself for someone you don’t care about just to get that physical pleasure. But we have no choice. Unless we hit rock-star status, we always have to go out there in the field to the latest shithole, spitting the latest line or cracking that one funny joke that ladies love. We keep doing it until we have no energy left… until the game decides that we can’t cut it anymore.
No man quits when he’s on top. One day you wake up and realize you are that old, desperate loser in the club that you hated so much when you were young. You are finished, doomed to dating your coworkers and getting rejected by women on the internet, praying that you won’t die alone while envying friends whose relationships are far from perfect. No man who plays the game comes out on top because the game owns him. All the while there is that one guy who doesn’t play at all, who lives by his own rules and doesn’t care about sex, relationships, money, appearances, or power. He cares about himself, his thoughts, and his experiences. He’s the only winner, the only one who has created his own reality, with no rules and no regrets.