Okay, let's get this out of the way first. I've been out of the picture for awhile, but I'm back and having success for some reason. Three in the last two weeks. I usually don't brag about this shit, but that funkin weak chodey friend told me he had sex with 4 girls in the last 3 months so I'm like, why not, that's a challenge if I ever heard one. If he can fuck 4 chick in 3 months, I can double that in my sleep. I'm no Brad Pitt, but c'mon. He's the least coordinated non-athlete ever with minimal self-awareness. I know I'm an idiot! That helps.

He is a douche, and I am the cure.

But I digress. Tonight I pulled the best pick-up move ever. It didn't work. But it has mad potential.

I was at Circle Bar and I saw this bitch sitting solo by the entrance and...well, I didn't know if she was by herself. But she was sitting with a girl on one side and nobody on the other and looking hot. For ten minutes that was the status quo.

So here's my revolutionary move--I made a paper airplane out of a napkin. It sucked so I made another one out of a receipt. Then I took it over to her and said "I was going to throw this at you but I didn't think it would make it far enough."

Then I told her, "Do you think it would've made it?" She went ahead and threw it and it went straight down like Dave's cock and I'm like, "you threw it wrong, you twisted your wrist and made it go straight down. If I threw it it would be flying over Edmonton right now" or something like that.

Anyway, I talked to this bitch for a little while at least. Don't get me wrong, she's a hot piece of ass with bangs and I'm sure a wet cunt witch needs cock.

Only problem is she's 22.

Younger chicks always look hotter than they are. Cause they're young. In reality she's a wreck. But I'm getting ahead of myself.

She's like, "I hate my life."

Jesus, do you want to get fucked or not, dumb whore? Don't put this depressed BS on me.

Fucking lit major at UC Riverside. And she thinks she's a genius waiting to be discovered.

Let me tell you something. I used to think I was a genius waiting to be discovered. If you're waiting to be discovered, you're not a genius, twat. Do you think Jim Cameron waited around for somebody to give him the script to Terminator?

Still, nothing that a little jizz in twat (or at least throat) won't cure. At least tonight. But no, she has to continue with the self-loathing schtick. Dumb cunt.

Anyways, I wasted the best line ever on her. That line will definitely get me so tail, no question. If I'm not careful, it will get some bitches knocked up.

And oh yeah, I fucked a bitch on Friday night. That I met at like 1:50 ON THE WAY OUT OF CIRCLE BAR.

Put that in your pipe and smoke it, Klanno.

It helps being 6' 1" with tight ass jeans (that constantly pressed on my bladder so I needed to pee every 10 minutes) blond hair and a fuckin RAGLAN 50/50 American Apparel shirt!

Goddam I never thought this would happen. Goodbye Robert Graham. Don't let the door hit you on the way out.

One more thing, pilgrims. Remember to wear a condom. The last thing you want is a call from a girl you don't remember telling you you're a daddy.

Especially if she's fat.

Squirters...bidets for cocks?

I read somewhere that 1% of the female population are squirters. That is, capable of having an explosive fire-hydrant type orgasm during intercourse. I'm reading a book now that challenges this notion and claims that in reality like 8 out of 10 have this ability if the proper techniques are performed on them. Obviously, i'll read the book and hopefully meet some chick that will allow me to test these theories, but color me dubious. That I will meet a chick. And that these theories will work.

The reason I bring this up is because my experience pretty much back up the 1% thing. A few months ago in Vegas I actually did encounter a girl who did this (only the second time ever), and I've been trying to indentify ever since if either of these girls had anything in common, any sort of common identifier that an outsider might be able to recognize as a squirter sign. Unfortunately, aside from both of these harlots being short, kinda stocky and pretty freckly, no, not really. There was no really anything in common between the two.

Now, I had seen this kind of thing in porn movies but was never really that turned-on by it, it was more like watching the bearded lady or some crazy trapeze act at Ringling Bros.; facinating but kind of bizarre and not really relatable to me in any way. Chicks squirting streams of liquid like a garden hose is pretty neat but didn't arouse me and really all I could think about was some poor janitorial crew that would have to clean up that mess afterwards.

So it came as kind of a shock when I realized that it isn't always like that.

Don't get me wrong, both my experiences resulted in completely drenched/soiled beds and mattresses and there was clean-up involved. No, what I was surprised by was the lack of a steady stream; it was more like an exploding water balloon or a one-second waterfall repeated over and over. And it's not like cum or lube or anything like that, it's pretty much like H20--it's clear, warm and feels like a bidet on your penis, no joke. It's pretty freaky, but let me tell you, once you find one of these -- I don't want to say everything else pales in comparison, but -- it's a tough act to follow. It's like seeing the Lord of the Rings movies and then following it up with the Narnia movies. Pretty G-rated in comparison.

Though if you have any repeat business with one you will keep plenty of towels around let me tell you. Because if you want to sleep right after getting the rox off, you're probably like me and would rather not doze of in a pool of female ejaculatory. Though I hope everybody gets to experience that just once.

The uglier you are, the hotter the chick you will bag

Solo Clubber heard a really annoying statistic on the radio the other day. I don't remember where I was driving in my car, maybe I was stuck at some lame traffic light in Culver City or gridlock traffic on the 405 freeway, but on the radio they were talking about some statistics concerning marriages, and which ones are successful. Obviously, with divorce rates being what they are these days, the chances that any given marriage will last are about equal to the chances of Solo Clubber ever having sex with Fergie, but believe it or not. some last.

According to this statistic, the most successful couples are the ones in which the chick is hotter than the dude. In other words, the chick might be a 9 and the dude might be a 5 in the looks department, and these couples have the highest survival rates. The rationale for this is that men go for looks, while chicks are more emotion-driven. All the guy cares about is that his chick stays hot, and he will support her in any way possible (money, adulation, pedastal-placing, etc) to keep her happy. And the harlot will be happy, because all girls really want is money, adulation, and being put on a pedastal. That and a guy whose fish can swim. Just remember this next time you see a really hot chick with some douche who looks like God shit on his face. She's probably happier with him than she ever would be with you!

Getting noticed...the first step to getting laid!

It goes without saying that wardrobe is very important to Solo Clubber, as it really should be to any aspiring soloclubber who is attempting to have sex that he doesn't deserve. And I don't just mean in clubbing environments, either. It's not like you only have to look good on Friday and Saturday night, there's no law that says you can't go crazy at the workplace either. Though not advisable, workplace hookups can be pleasurable for short periods of time. Until she starts IM'ing and texting you every two seconds and trying to have lunch with you all of the time to the point that your boss runs into you two half-naked in the mailroom sheathing a saber in her munchbox. Not that that ever happens.

Now, you'd think SC has an advantage of sorts in that he live in the LA area so he can't help but be apprised of the various fashion trends since it is a fashionable place. But of course he pays no attention to them and basically buys all of his own clothes on ebay.

Tracing the evolution of SC's wardrobe is an interesting thing, because like Michael Jackson's career, it has gone through many phases, and again like Jackson's career, most of them have been weird and ill-advised. If we are going to be chronological about it, it has probably gone in reverse order of his career, with the worst starting at first and then gradually getting slightly better step by step until finally achieving of level of -- I can't quite say respectability -- less mediocre attire.

Now the first rule of Soloclubber is if you own a polo shirt, trash it. Ditto anything khaki, it might work on the golf course but for crissakes, it's kryptonite to getting laid. Tucked in shirts, flipped up collars, sneakers, skechers...wear these and you might as well strap a stick of dynamite on your cock, because you won't be needing it.

Unfortunately it took me eons to discover this. I am a slow learner. It took me an eternity to learn not only which clothes were cool, but also which clothes will GET YOU NOTICED. And not noticed for being a douche, but noticed for actually having a nano-molecule of a clue.

I think the first thing I learned was how bad J. Crew/Abercrombie stuff is at clubs. I mean, it's great at an Alpha Douche Kappa party -- or if you're a young buck at an nighttime enclave populated by cougars -- but won't cut it in the slimy grimy unforgiving trenches of clubs where it takes more to get laid then an argyle sweater.

I think I started with cheezy Structure sweaters and the mentioned J. Crew stuff, and started making my way up to button-down short-sleeved Positano and Kenneth Cole shirts. Actually, my mistake, if we're really talking the real beginning, I was going to anchor blue and buying $30 shiny button down shirts. That was my "shock and awe" period. If you can't blind them with your looks, blind them with your shirt, was the thought. I had some shiny ones.

I had some success with these but I think that was because it was by pre-SC days -- I was in my mid-twenties hooking up with older chicks and wasn't as battle- and alcohol-ravaged then as I am now. Following that, I made a short-lived ill-advised sojourn into long-sleeved banana republic crap and upscale kenneth cole shirts that cost like $100 each. What a waste of money that was.

That stage only lasted about 6 months before I discovered the H Hilfiger label of shirts in '04. This style was a step above anything I had worn previously in that it added a hint of flair to the proceedings with cuffs with different fabrics, high collars and overall eye-catching accoutrements. It was a more professional garment that made me look a more refined than I was. It gave the impression I was a man of means, if you will. And that opened my eyes to the Robert Graham line, which is what I have cast my lot with for the last 3+ years.

Now, if you disregard everything Solo Clubber swears to...you are probably smart. However, if you deign to listen and abide by one of my musings, this would be the one to honor. You simply cannot go wrong with a RG shirt...quite simply, they get you noticed. And getting noticed is the first step to getting laid!

Of course, they also make chicks ask you if you're gay, which is girlspeak for: "You're shirt is so hot, you have to be gay! Either that, or your girlfriend picked it out for you." Either way, contact is made. Mission accomplished!

Jumping on the Grenade

Okay, I know it's been awhile since I've posted here and I can't say I have that great of an excuse, other than there either hasn't really been much to note or I basically blacked out about the previous night and couldn't remember anything useful.

That is, until last Saturday, when I finally got a worthy story to share, namely because my number was up--that's right the all the numbers lined up for once and I actually spent the nice at a chick's house. Which was great because otherwise I would have been sleeping in my car again and it's starting to stink in there.

Long story short, I actually drove down to San Diego on Saturday evening to go out at a club in the Gaslamp district called On Broadway. Now all sorts of people want to know why I do this and all I can say is that once you've been solo clubbing in LA as long as I have...well, it's not as big of a place as you might think. Plus, I've totally grown tired of the stale club scene in all the major spots--and it's tough to find harlots that will give it up. And honestly, if you go out solo in LA, you have to watch your back. There are a lot of sketchy characters out there (example: at Circle Bar in Santa Monica a month ago some guy standing behind me in line said he had a gun; thanks but no thanks.).

In general, I've found that SD chicks are a little more willing to at least hear my pitch, and I don't need to worry about some latino gang member capping me either, with is a bonus.

I could construct a 10-part blog about all of my On-Broadway forays but in this case it's all sort of irrelevant because it's not what happened in the club that cinched anything, it was afterwards. Because after a night of debauchery and letdown, on the way to the car to pass out, I see this hot caucasian chick swarmed by like three suitors. Nothing unusual about that, douchebags cock-sabering over a hot ho is as common as flies on shit. No, what caught my eye here was the homely looking ethnic wench -- she looked part persian or italian or something -- that was leaning against the wall a few feet from these sharks and their prey. Just as sure as Batman has his Robin and Johnny Carson had McMahon, this chick was the ugly friend for the hot number that was teasing those guys a few feet away.

So what do I do? Beeline for the ugly one and parlay. Because if there's one thing that Solo Clubber understands, it's that the nasty chick is much easier to bag than the hot one, especially when it's 1:45am and people are heading home. My plan was to play into this chick's desire to make her hot friend jealous, and it worked hook line and sinker.

You see, chicks are catty, especially the ugly ones who have hot friends who always get all the attention. Deep in their heart of hearts, they secretly hate then for this, and I knew she would love to take a dude home since her friend probably does the same to her. And to make matters even more interesting, the two Turkish guys that are circling the hottie friend as if there was fresh chum in the water are laying it on in such a pathetic and slimy manner, it becomes pretty obvious in fact that the hot friend is actually out of options on this night, no way she was hooking up with such shameless eurotrash.

So the cab ride is me in the front seat, and the two girls in the backseat. I'm not sure I knew what to expect at this point, but I figure I'd get some good face sucking at the minimum, and hopefully so sword-sheathing at the maximum. Though given my track record of ending up cock in hand after seemingly sure things, it was tenuous at best. But again, the manipulation of the ugly chick jealousy against the model worked like a charm, and we ended up cabbing from the friends house back to homely's home where we sealed the deal. Now she was probably a 3-4 on the 1-10 meter but given how hard-up Solo Clubber has been lately, I was more than happy to take it. I grabbed a cab from her house at 9am back to my car and was home asleep in my bed in LA by 11am.

Those are the deets. Analysis to follow...

Unequal distribution of wealth (i.e. why do douchebags score all of the hot chicks?)

Which movie is more fake: Live Free or Die Hard or Knocked Up? Bruce Willis jumped a car using a toll booth as ramp and crashed it into a suspended helicopter. Pretty ridiculous scene, but in Knocked Up, a hot chick has sex with a nice guy with no job.

What irks me much more in movies is when something really ridiculous happens, such as the nice fat guy getting the girl, like in Knocked Up. Talk about fake. That movie makes the most ridiculously audacious Bruce Willis stunt look utterly plausible in comparison.

The reason for this is simple: hot chicks don't really care whether a guy is nice or not, their looking for guys with big bank accounts, and by the time these chicks shift their priorities around because they've been burned by the rich douchebags, they are no longer hot. If we broke down the hot girl population and look at the kind of guys they end up with, the resultant pie chart would read something like this:

Rich douchebags 28%

Rich nerds 32%

Guys in rock bands 1%

So obviously the guys in rock bands score tons of tail because they're in rock bands, that's self explanatory and there's no need for further explanation. But why the disproportionate amount of douches that score chicks.

One universal constant I've noticed with most of these dudes is that they totally lack any sense of self-awareness whatsoever--they don't realize how douchey they are, they live in a total fantasy world where they actually think they are cool and ironically, this helps them with chicks. Because of this apparent self-delusion that leads them to believe they are actually cool guys, even though their more realistic self-doubting peers recognize the sheer amount of chodeyness inherent in them, the chicks are essentially overwhelmed by the douchey off-kilter baseball caps and von dutch garb and overpowering douchebag cologne. They are so smug in their conviction that they are in fact cool that they half-make the chicks think they actually are.

The Lost Art of the Booty Call

Well this report was supposed to be about all of the shenanigans and adventures of my New Year's in Vegas.

But the outcomes of said adventures were pretty much the same as my last report.

So instead of rehashing my failures (especially since they are so recent and the wounds cut so deep), I'm going to address that utter necessity tucked in the back pocket of battle-ravaged Solo Clubber, the one thing that has prevented him from slitting his wrists after lo all these many years of coming home Hand Solo at 3am on a Saturday night.

Namely, the booty call (hereafter referred to as BC for short).

As previously mentioned, Solo Clubber goes out approximately 100 times a year and has a batting average of .050. Pretty shitty ratio, I know. However, meeting chicks 5% of the time can mean sex more than 5% of the time.

That math doesn't make much sense unless you consider that solo clubber is still having BC sex with chicks he picked up 5 years ago. Well, that's actually an exaggeration of sorts, because the 5-year-BC girl I'm talking about stopped returning my calls recently. But we did have close to a 1-year gap earlier in which it was on life support, only to be miraculously revived out of nowhere later, so rekindling can happen again.

Now in many ways it's extremely pathetic to still be having no-strings attached sex with an average looking girl I met in 2002. But when it's late at night, you're alcohol ravaged and have a near-expired condom burning a hole in your wallet, there are worse options.

Now I am an expert on few things other than solo clubbing, and even my experience there is iffy. But I have had some spotty success with the BC; beside the on-and-off five year girl, I've managed to keep two others going strong for around two years now. Ironically, that is longer than the shelf-life of many healthy relationships I've seen.

Having been relatively consistent in the way I deal with all three of these girls, I have learned a few basic ground rules on how to keep these charades going.

HUGE CAVEAT: Please note that the chances of developing and nurturing a booty call with a particular girl are inversely proportional to how hot she is. That is to say, the hotter she is, the less chance you have of establishing a BC with her, and even if you can, the odds of it being short-lived are great.

The reason for this is of course because hot harlots are seldom single and when they are they are seldom looking for BC's. They can easily snatch up another boyfriend by going to any bar or club in town, and giving her number away to 10 douches who would much rather take a girl to dinner and cater to her every whim than have completely free on-demand sex.

So unless you resemble Lenny Kravitz or are hung like Peter North (and if you are, these blog is completely irrelevant to you) you will find it is much easier to establish a BC with the *ahem* homelier chicks. Not necessarily 1's and 2's, but 4's and 5's. Or be like Solo Clubber, strap on some goggles and a snorkel and dive into those 1's and 2's.

Here are the five keys to establishing and nurturing the booty call:

1) Do not -- I repeat, do not -- go on a date with her, ever. This is kryptonite to any good booty call because she'll either expect a relationship or get tired of your ass in no time.

2) Only call if it's a Friday or Saturday night and it's 2am or later after a night of clubbing. This will imply that you're drunk and not looking for anything else other than sex. No pretense.

3) Never see her more than twice a month, tops. This should be obvious. Otherwise she'll get tired of you, natch.

4) Call once and if it goes to voicemail, hang up. Do not leave a message. Chicks have caller ID nowadays, so if she doesn't pick up she's either asleep, busy or not interested in your dick. And don't call more than once a night, you psychos.

5) If she calls you, let it go to voicemail and wait a bit before you call her. That will make her think that you might be with another chick which will make her HOT for you. Remain elusive, chicks dig challenge and (seemingly) in-demand guys. In reality you might be at home pinching a loaf, I don't care, create the illusion.

There are probably more end-all be-all rules but this is all Solo Clubber could come up with in five minutes. Good guidelines nonetheless.

Contrary to popular belief, chicks can be just as horny as guys are--It's just not as socially acceptable for them to engage in booty calls for fear of being called a sluts. But in their heart of hearts, in the darkest recesses of their sick, tormented minds...they want it. They want to be ravaged fetal-deep style for their bodies and to hell with having an IQ. As long as none of their friends find out about it, of course.

I have a bunch more points to make about this, like which chicks are most willing to do this (chicks over 30 and divorced are primo) but I'm going to sleep on it a little more.

SC out.