even sit down at a table adjacent to some females. Tiny Adrian walks up to a girl seated on some steps but his squeaky Jiminy Cricket vocal merely causes her to collapse in gales of laughter and swat him aside. Walking lard mountain Neil strikes up the first meaningful conversation by claiming to be a panda bear. The only thing giving him away is that a panda bear moves quicker.
So the seduction gurus are faced with a reasonably tall man who believes he is Goliath, a man in a four-year-old child’s body and a smiling tub of guts who believes himself to be a panda bear. You can see that they have their work cut out.
And they quickly get cracking teaching the losers the importance of kino (light touching), assertive body-language and statements of intent (letting the target know you think she’s sexy). And on they go with the usual self-improvement makeover horseshit that we can recite in our sleep by now. The Juggler Method is a bit shit to be honest. Heavily derivative of the Mystery Method, it’s a mixture of the bleeding obvious and highly tenuous. The most effective thing any man can do to improve his strike rate with the dames is simply to get out there, get chatting and try his luck. The seduction gurus force them into these situations relentlessly so it’s not surprising that some progress is made. Tiny Adrian is having difficulty telling a female friend that he wants her in the Bad Way. At some point, he plucks up the courage to tell her and she tells him to fuck himself which he seems to take as some kind of victory. If that’s a positive outcome, what’s your version of a failure?
The seduction gurus seemed to claim success on the final night because Jabba and the dwarf got a phone number each and Dave the Giant had a snog with a flagcracker. And if you see the fucking prices they charge you realise that since Neil Strauss blew the lid on the underground seduction community in The Game, this is one helluva racket these guys have got going on.
And it’s not slowing down any time soon. Every fucker’s an expert on women now and they’re all taking MasterCard. Men are always going to want to get laid and where alcohol and flattery haven’t worked, paying a stranger $1,600 to shout at you in public probably seems fair enough.
The verdict on Seduction School: Size Doesn’t Matter: I think of you more as a friend.
Marks out of 10: 6
My Friend Michael Jackson
Most of us wouldn't be in a rush to tell the world of our friendship with an anti-Semite paedophile but most of us aren't Uri Geller and most kiddy fiddling Jew bashers aren't Michael Jackson. It clearly didn't take much persuasion for Geller to share his deeply personal and deeply private intimate footage of his friendship with the King of Pop for the documentary My Friend Michael Jackson. Geller is a huckster to his core and this taints everything that comes out of his mouth. At the end of the day he's just another cunt with a story to tell - he just has some pretty neat footage. Take the renewal of his wedding vows ceremony where Michael was his best man. Uri doesn't like talking about it but he'll do it for you. And Michael. His friend.
The wedding ceremony footage is indeed bizarre (it's Michael Jackson - of
course
it's bizarre). Jackson looking exactly as strange as you expect a racially self-mutilated pederast to, he seems to have little idea what's going on or who anyone (including Geller) is. Industrial strength painkillers clearly have him in thrall and rather like when Mr Burns inhales Ether and hallucinates Homer Simpson is Poppin' Fresh, Jackson seems to think Uri Geller is Jesus Christ or some other failed Hebrew Messiah. The strangeness multiplies.
But once the drugs have worn off, Geller needs to keep Michael's interest so he starts spinning him a yarn about GOING TO THE MOON. See, Uri knows this guy yeah? He works for Boeing, the plane people, but he has “ties to NASA” and he tells Uri that “no matter how science
So the seduction gurus are faced with a reasonably tall man who believes he is Goliath, a man in a four-year-old child’s body and a smiling tub of guts who believes himself to be a panda bear. You can see that they have their work cut out.
And they quickly get cracking teaching the losers the importance of kino (light touching), assertive body-language and statements of intent (letting the target know you think she’s sexy). And on they go with the usual self-improvement makeover horseshit that we can recite in our sleep by now. The Juggler Method is a bit shit to be honest. Heavily derivative of the Mystery Method, it’s a mixture of the bleeding obvious and highly tenuous. The most effective thing any man can do to improve his strike rate with the dames is simply to get out there, get chatting and try his luck. The seduction gurus force them into these situations relentlessly so it’s not surprising that some progress is made. Tiny Adrian is having difficulty telling a female friend that he wants her in the Bad Way. At some point, he plucks up the courage to tell her and she tells him to fuck himself which he seems to take as some kind of victory. If that’s a positive outcome, what’s your version of a failure?
The seduction gurus seemed to claim success on the final night because Jabba and the dwarf got a phone number each and Dave the Giant had a snog with a flagcracker. And if you see the fucking prices they charge you realise that since Neil Strauss blew the lid on the underground seduction community in The Game, this is one helluva racket these guys have got going on.
And it’s not slowing down any time soon. Every fucker’s an expert on women now and they’re all taking MasterCard. Men are always going to want to get laid and where alcohol and flattery haven’t worked, paying a stranger $1,600 to shout at you in public probably seems fair enough.
The verdict on Seduction School: Size Doesn’t Matter: I think of you more as a friend.
Marks out of 10: 6
My Friend Michael Jackson
Most of us wouldn't be in a rush to tell the world of our friendship with an anti-Semite paedophile but most of us aren't Uri Geller and most kiddy fiddling Jew bashers aren't Michael Jackson. It clearly didn't take much persuasion for Geller to share his deeply personal and deeply private intimate footage of his friendship with the King of Pop for the documentary My Friend Michael Jackson. Geller is a huckster to his core and this taints everything that comes out of his mouth. At the end of the day he's just another cunt with a story to tell - he just has some pretty neat footage. Take the renewal of his wedding vows ceremony where Michael was his best man. Uri doesn't like talking about it but he'll do it for you. And Michael. His friend.
The wedding ceremony footage is indeed bizarre (it's Michael Jackson - of
course
it's bizarre). Jackson looking exactly as strange as you expect a racially self-mutilated pederast to, he seems to have little idea what's going on or who anyone (including Geller) is. Industrial strength painkillers clearly have him in thrall and rather like when Mr Burns inhales Ether and hallucinates Homer Simpson is Poppin' Fresh, Jackson seems to think Uri Geller is Jesus Christ or some other failed Hebrew Messiah. The strangeness multiplies.
But once the drugs have worn off, Geller needs to keep Michael's interest so he starts spinning him a yarn about GOING TO THE MOON. See, Uri knows this guy yeah? He works for Boeing, the plane people, but he has “ties to NASA” and he tells Uri that “no matter how science
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