Cappy has a review up of Roosh V’s new book, Game. I have not read the book myself, and nor do I plan to, but I found some aspects of the review interesting. The book is essentially a manual for picking up women, and by the sound of it Roosh has hit it out of the park in this respect. But something was bothering Cappy while he was reading the book and in the review he manages to identify exactly what this was.
Roosh has written the most pro-female book ever written, and that includes anything written by feminists.
I came to this conclusion when I noticed I was becoming increasingly pained, even depressed as I read “Game.” In part it was because it reminded me of my past and just how much effort, energy, and resources I poured into chasing women (with varying levels of success). In part it was the painstaking detail Roosh applied to every whim, desire, outcome, and variable of women and what they wanted. In part it was the new and Orwellian countermeasures men had to take as precautions against fake rape, assault, and harassment accusations. And it was the fact that Roosh has been at this for 15 years, reminding me of not only what he had to have gone through, but what I and millions of other men have as well.
I couldn’t put my finger on it until I was almost done with the book, but the reason why I was so pained, even depressed was because it showed how Roosh, of all people, had dedicated his entire youth to making women happy.
Which in other words means that Roosh has been chasing a mirage for the simple fact that you can never make women happy.
If you are a young man just starting out on your pursuits of the opposite sex and you are not inordinately gifted with physical and psychological traits that ensure your natural success with the ladies, then I would not hesitate to purchase such a book. But I feel that it must be opened with a great word of caution, and that is to keep Roissy’s 3rd commandment of poon uppermost in your mind:
III. You shall make your mission, not your woman, your priority
Forget all those romantic cliches of the leading man proclaiming his undying love for the woman who completes him. Despite whatever protestations to the contrary, women do not want to be “The One” or the center of a man’s existence. They in fact want to subordinate themselves to a worthy man’s life purpose, to help him achieve that purpose with their feminine support, and to follow the path he lays out. You must respect a woman’s integrity and not lie to her that she is “your everything”. She is not your everything, and if she is, she will soon not be anymore.
I was lucky when I was a young man as I stumbled into the lackluster profession of guiding rafts for a living, a pursuit which provided no financial benefits of any kind. But it did provide an unending stream of women who wanted to sleep with me. My idea of foreplay was to extend a finger and beckon, and that is not much of an exaggeration.
With such a groundwork my natural inclination is to not make that much of a big deal of pursuing a gal. As far as I’m concerned, either she’s into me or she’s not. I’ll make a certain amount of effort up to a point but when it’s time for her to reciprocate if this does not transpire then I will simply move on.
The point is that women are great, they’re a lot of fun, and they complement us when things work as our wise forefathers intended them to work. But they can easily become an obsession; an endless quest of the next notch count, the next gratifying admission of intimacy, until the whole thing morphs into an unhealthy perversion of itself where you as a man find yourself in the constant pursuit of what essentially is positive gratification that you are okay because people want you, even if such desire was artificially manufactured by what are just tricks of the trade.
Which all boils down to deceiving yourself through pretty lies. So to all of you young men out there, open such a book as this with great caution. And remember at all times the very first trait of the modern man which is applicable in all things. It’s number one for a reason.