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The Pickup Artist: The New and Improved Art of Seduction (Englisch) Gebundene Ausgabe – 26. Januar 2010

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Wird oft zusammen gekauft

  • The Pickup Artist: The New and Improved Art of Seduction
  • +
  • The Game: Penetrating the Secret Society of Pickup Artists
  • +
  • The Mystery Method
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Über den Autor und weitere Mitwirkende

Mystery is the author of The Mystery Method, the star of VH1's The Pickup Artist, and the founder of VenusianArts.com, the top pickup training organization in the world. He has appeared on Late Night with Conan O'Brien, The Daily Show with Jon Stewart, Jimmy Kimmel Live!, and a wide variety of media including CNN, The New York Times, and Playboy. Mystery lives in Los Angeles and enjoys his travels.

Chris Odom, aka Lovedrop, has traveled with Mystery for years, coaching students in the field and speaking at pickup seminars and conferences all over the world. He is the author of Revelation, the co-writer of The Mystery Method, and a founder of VenusianArts.com. He lives in Los Angeles with his girlfriend.

Leseprobe. Abdruck erfolgt mit freundlicher Genehmigung der Rechteinhaber. Alle Rechte vorbehalten.

Chapter One


"I am indulging in my humanity," I said.

I took a long drag from my spliff and then passed it matter-of-factly to the blonde seated next to me (without looking at her). She took it as I continued, "And I can say to all of you now, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that I"-pause-"have earned it. Eh, brother?" I smiled at Lovedrop, my trusty wingman.

"Mystery, you're damn right," said Lovedrop, "and this is going to be a great year." He raised a glass of chocolate protein shake and took a swig.

"I'm just living in the Now," I said, making a grand, sweeping gesture with my hands. "The Universe presents itself. I mean, look at all the math. It's absolutely brilliant." My straight, dark hair was pulled back into a ponytail, an expression of fascination fixed on my angular face.

The blonde next to me wore my trademark fuzzy black hat. I had used it earlier in the night as a lock-in prop. It was too big on her, and she looked very cute with it on. She had almond-shaped doe eyes and wide, Slavic features-my favorite type. She smiled at me. It was on. I'd been working on this one for a few hours; I was just comfort building now.

"This couch looks like something out of The Jetsons!" said the other girl, a brunette with long, straight hair. She wore a green cocktail dress and dark eye makeup. "I love this rug, though. It must cost you a fortune to have it cleaned."

The four of us-Lovedrop, the two women, and I-relaxed on a white shag rug. Lining the wall around us was a futuristic, white leather couch. Everything was white. The fourteen-thousand-dollar custom curtains were white. The giant avant-garde, plastic light fixtures around the house were white. Even the dog was white.

Seated in a nook nearby at a glass table was our acquaintance, the Rat. He was using his debit card to crush a few small blue pills on the surface of the table. The Rat flashed a sagging, loose smile from wet lips.

"Hey LD," he said, a slight whine to his voice, slurring, "you want one of these Roxies?"

Lovedrop smirked. "Haven't you had enough already? You look like you're about to drool all over that table."

The girls giggled.

"Is that a no?" The Rat kept smiling greasily as if to say, You know you want some.

A projector played music videos on the far wall of the room, and a bouncy hip-hop song came on. Lovedrop got up and started to dance to the music, bathed in the changing light of the projector. "I love this song," he said, and he was only half lying. It wasn't what he would actually sit around listening to through a pair of headphones, but it was perfect for dancing with girls.

The brunette stood up and started to dance with him. "Do you guys own this house?" she asked, the shag rug feeling oh-so-soft under her bare feet. All the pieces came together as a vibe: the beat of the music, the light from the projector, the dancing, the laughter, the smoke in the air. He put one hand on her hip and circled the other in the air like swinging a lasso.

"Hey Mystery," said Lovedrop, "remember the Matthew McConaughey chicken dance? In Vegas." He started flapping his arms like a chicken.

"I don't know about Matthew McConaughey, but you're in Miami now," said the Rat. "Hey LD, you look like the Backstreet Boys with that dance you're doing." He snickered under his breath and licked his lips.

"I guess I was lucky all I got was their dance moves," said Lovedrop. "And meanwhile you got stuck with their goatee, smack-dab in the middle of your face."

"Ouch," said the brunette. She smiled at Lovedrop and tucked her hair behind one ear.

The Rat scooted back in his futuristic chair and placed his hand on his chest indignantly. "LD, I'm hurt," he said in his whiny voice. "I'm hurt that you would say that. After everything that I would do for you." He actually sounded sad; it was good.

The Rat paused and then pushed it a little further. "LD, you know I love you like a brother, don't you? You guys, you're like brothers to me. I love you guys."

The brunette joked, "The girl is supposed to say 'I love you' first." She tossed her hair back and forth with the music, little green earrings swinging.

"Do you really know Matthew McConaughey?" the blonde asked me as she handed me the spliff. She touched her cheek and then ran her fingers back through her hair.

"No, no," I said, holding the spliff daintily. My nails were freshly painted black, matching my toes. I paused to take a drag. "I met him once in Vegas. In a small club. Not Tangerine, but near there. I saw him do his chicken dance."

The girls both said, "What's the chicken dance?" and then they looked at each other and giggled.

Lovedrop explained: "It's how McConaughey was picking up women. It's his game."

The blonde shook her head. "Matthew McConaughey doesn't need game to pick up women. He's hot."

"I deduced his game plan," I continued, "at least for that night. But I presumed he must have used this particular tactic before." I took a final drag from the spliff and then extinguished it directly onto the glass coffee table, then continued: "I was at this club in Vegas and there he was, doing this weird chicken dance, and of course it gets a reaction. McConaughey's flapping his arms around and walking low, and bobbing his head up and down. Just drunk as a skunk-"

"It provokes people!" said Lovedrop.

My voice took on a conspiratorial tone as I continued: "They make comments to each other about how funny he looks, and they start to ask each other, 'Who is that guy?' And then finally someone says, 'Wait, that's Matthew McConaughey!' and it starts to get around."

I spoke with a certain rhythm, and a fascinated glint in my eye. "Soon, McConaughey's got everyone whispering, 'He's that movie star' and 'Wasn't he dating so-and-so?' His value demonstrations got uploaded into everyone's head. People are looking at him, talking about him; the whole room is warmed up for him."

I paused, opened both of my hands, and continued: "And it worked. He started chicken dancing with this girl. And he was crossing some barriers, he was socially violating a little bit, but knowingly. I'm more than certain he knew what he was doing."

I suddenly produced a plastic eyeball and held it up for everyone to see. Then I tossed it into the air and it vanished, eliciting a gasp. I grinned and said, "McConaughey made his own chicken splash, all over the room."

Everyone laughed. "Did you talk to him?" asked the blonde.

"Well, I talked to him for a few minutes," I said. "He and I had dated the same girl, Jackie, and we talked about our dogs . . ."

The blonde squeezed my skinny arm and said, "Do you guys know what Mystery said to me tonight, when I walked by? He looked over at me like he's curious about something and then he says, 'You ever dump in a gold toilet?' "

The brunette's jaw dropped open. "Are you serious?" she said.

The blonde giggled. She started to apply some lip gloss and said, "I couldn't believe it at first: That was his opener! And then he says it again: 'I said, you ever dump in a gold toilet? It's divine!' "

Both of the girls burst out laughing, and the brunette looked at me and said, "Oh my God! I never would have talked to you if you had said that to me!"

The blonde continued, " . . . I mean who talks like that?"

No one talks like that, my dear, I thought; not when they're trying to impress you. That's the point. I'm a firm believer in disqualifying myself as a potential suitor early on; the pickup just seems to go easier that way.

The blonde started toying with the strap on her purse, and then she said, "We were curious about you guys, though. We thought you were in a band or something. Are you in a band?"

The brunette said, "Yeah really,...


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