The Game - Neil Strauss - (EPUB全文下载)

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The Game
Penetrating The Secret Society of Pick-Up Artists
Neil Strauss
THE GAME
Neil Strauss is a regular contributor to the New York Times and Rolling Stone. He is also the co-author of three New York Times bestsellers—Jenna Jameson’s How to Make Love Like a Porn Star, Mötley Crüe’s The Dirt and Marilyn Manson’s The Long Hard Road Out of Hell—and a Los Angeles Times bestseller, Dave Navarro’s Don’t Try This at Home. He lives in Los Angeles.
Dedicated to the thousands of people I talked to inbars, clubs, malls, airports, grocery stores, subways,and elevators over the last two years.
If you are reading this, I want you to know that Iwasn’t running game on you. I was being sincere.Really. You were different.
“I COULD NOT BECOME ANYTHING:NEITHER BAD NOR GOOD, NEITHERA SCOUNDREL NOR AN HONEST MAN,NEITHER A HERO NOR AN INSECT.AND NOW I AM EKING OUT MY DAYSIN MY CORNER, TAUNTING MYSELFWITH THE BITTER AND ENTIRELYUSELESS CONSOLATION THAT ANINTELLIGENT MAN CANNOT SERIOUSLYBECOME ANYTHING; THAT ONLYA FOOL CAN BECOME SOMETHING.”
FYODOR DOSTOEVSKY,Notes from Underground
Those who have read early drafts of this book have all asked the same questions:
IS THIS TRUE?DID IT REALLY HAPPEN?ARE THESE GUYSFOR REAL?
Thus, I find it necessary to employan old literary device…
THEFOLLOWINGIS A TRUESTORY.
IT REALLY HAPPENED.
Men will deny it,Women will doubt it.But I present it to you here,Naked, vulnerable, anddisturbingly real.I beg you for your forgiveness in advance.
DON’T HATE THE PLAYER…HATE THE GAME.
MEN WEREN’T REALLY THE ENEMY—THEY WERE FELLOW VICTIMSSUFFERING FROM AN OUTMODEDMASCULINE MYSTIQUE THAT MADETHEM FEEL UNNECESSARILYINADEQUATE WHEN THERE WERENO BEARS TO KILL.
—BETTY FRIEDANThe Feminine Mystique
MEET MYSTERY
The house was a disaster.
Doors were split and smashed off their hinges; walls were dented in the shape of fists, phones, and flowerpots; Herbal was hiding in a hotel room scared for his life; and Mystery was collapsed on the living room carpet crying. He’d been crying for two days straight.
This wasn’t a normal kind of crying. Ordinary tears are understandable. But Mystery was beyond understanding. He was out of control. For a week, he’d been vacillating between periods of extreme anger and violence, and jags of fitful, cathartic sobbing. And now he was threatening to kill himself.
There were five of us living in the house: Herbal, Mystery, Papa, Playboy, and me. Boys and men came from every corner of the globe to shake our hands, take photos with us, learn ............

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